prompt
stringlengths 20
5.8k
| chosen_story
stringlengths 226
10k
| rejected_story
stringlengths 227
9.43k
| chosen_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
2022-12-31 14:34:19
| rejected_timestamp
timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 14:23:36
2022-12-31 12:20:41
| chosen_upvotes
int64 14
23.1k
| rejected_upvotes
int64 10
4.26k
|
|---|---|---|---|---|---|---|
[WP] When you die, you see a screen reading "New Game+" and "Exit to Reality" Which do you chose and what happens next?
|
I had died. I was alright with that, I had lived a long and happy life after all. I'd done all that I had wanted to; seen most of what there was to be seen. It hadn't been a cakewalk, but it had been good.
Even death itself had been OK -- like falling into a deep sleep. One that you know won't end, but somehow, you don't fear it.
But then, I arrived.
It wouldn't be inaccurate to say that what finally met me on the other side pissed me off. I'd spent my whole life holding myself to a strict moral code. Being as good as I could be, believing in my religion for a promised afterlife. The flourescent green words stung.
**New Game+?** **Reality?**
Like anyone born after 1980, I'd played my share of video games and understood the choice that now hovered in the black abyss before me. An easy two option choice, but a heavy one; what was reality, after all, and, in new game+ what new dangers could await me?
I can't say how long I've deliberated, but I've come to a decision now. I wonder though...
Up, up, down, down, left, right, left, right...
|
What a fantastic end to the night. Downtown always looked best after dark and the snow fall added just the right amount of contrast to the scene. It was my annual Christmas office party and we had just left the venue. As I opened the cab door to let my wife in she smiled at me and I thought for the hundredth time how right she was about not driving here. We knew it was an open bar and we decided to just be safe about it.
We were sitting in the back seat as I went over all of the office gossip about the people I had just introduced her to when she picked her head up my shoulder.
"What is that guy, drunk?".
I looked up just in time to see a pair of headlights swerve from the oncoming lane and into ours.
Everything was dark, well almost everything. Two glowing ovals floated in space right in front of me. On the left one of them read 'New Game+', and on the right the other said 'Exit to Reality'.
"What the hell is this?"
I was just in a car with my wife, but now ... where the hell am I? I tried to search around but there was nothing else here and no matter which way I looked those two buttons were the only things I could see. It occurred to me that we must have been hit by that other driver. I've read before that when people have traumatic things happen to them their brains come up with elaborate scenes to process the information. This must be what my brain came up with instead of a tunnel of light, like this was all just some kind of video game.
I immediately dismissed the option of "Exiting to reality". If this was my life's version of the tunnel of light then there was no question, I was walking away from it. The sense of panic started in my heart and lit my entire body on fire in less then a second. My arm flew up and selected the other option without any more thought, I had to make sure she was OK. I couldn't waste anymore time here, I *had* to know what happened. The sign lit up, letting me know that I had made my selection. As my arm came back down to my side something occurred to me "Shouldn't that say 'Continue'"?
I blinked and then I was surrounded by darkness, I knew I was opening my eyes but it didn't do any good there was nothing to see. I could feel my body again but I couldn't move. I heard some strange noises coming from outside, but they were distorted like they was coming through a thick wall.
I thought right away that the car had been crushed and that I was stuck inside and upside down. The accident must have been bad. There was a pushing down near my feet and feeling that I was moving, slowly toward something. Then came the unbelievable crushing pressure on my skull, like it was in some kind of vice that squeezed down on it from every angle at once. I wanted to scream but my chest was paralyzed and there was no air in my lungs. "Oh God! What is this? What is going on?" The sensation that I was being pushed slowly through this coffin continued as I struggled to move my arms so I could create some amount of space for my self.
Then I saw the light. It wasn't the pleasant feeling of safety you get when you finally find the lamp in a dark room. It was a searing pain that shot through my eyes and stabbed into every corner of my brain. I could finally breath now, and I could finally scream. I risked opening my eyes again just for a second, just to see if I could figure out was going on. I saw men surrounding me, pulling me out of something. I knew that they must be the EMT's. They must have arrived in time to get me out of the wreck and I have never been happier to see another living being. I couldn't keep my eyes open for long though and the pain forced me to squeeze them back shut on reflex. I felt my arms and legs flailing around now kicking at nothing but air. I was finally free.
My entire body hurt like nothing else I had ever felt. I can't stand any kind of light and even when I get up the nerve to open my eyes again I can't see more then two feet in front of me. I can't control my arms or legs and I although I am aware of people talking, their sounds they are making don't make any sense. I must have a really bad concussion. I think my skull is broken. As my body is wrapped from head to toe in a warm blanket, I finally feel that I can pass out. Just before I do a thought finds its way into my mind; I'm six foot four, how fucking big is this monster that is now holding me?
A new bubble pops up in front of me: "Achievement Unlocked: Forever Reincarnated" The smaller text below it says: "Respawn to this world 100 times.". What the hell does that mean?
| 2015-03-13T14:20:35 | 2015-03-13T14:07:56 | 82 | 15 |
[WP] "A watched pot never boils", as the old saying goes. Throughout all of history there has always been at least one set of eyes on the ocean. Today, for a split second, everyone looking at the ocean looked away at the exact same time.
|
"OH, THANK GOODNESS!"
Jeff was slammed to the ground as the massive voice rammed into the Earth, cracking buildings and sending people to the ground. Hysteria broke out around him.
"ABOUT TIME THIS STARTED BOILING!"
The sentance was longer, the impact greater. Jeff cried out, he had probably cracked a rib at this point.
"DAMN HUMANS... AS SOON AS I TRY AND MAKE A NICE SOUP WITH THIS BARREN ROCK, BOOM! EVOLUTION! WHAT A PAIN..."
Jeff screamed. He was being grinded against the concrete, the buildings around him collapsing from the shockwaves. He had certainly cracked a rib, probably worse.
"NOW, TO ADD THE MEAT!"
Jeff groaned as the sound washed over him again. He was on the boardwalk, right by the coast, and he turned his head to it now.
From the skies, he saw a gargantuan slab of pinkish meat plumment down, and it hit the ocean like a meteor.
*A meat-eor*, he thought, as the ensuing tidal wave rushed toward him. *That's the saddest way to go I can think of.*
The wall of boiling water hit him, and at least his death was swift.
|
#Title: See The Signs
"Do you feel that?" whispered Samantha.
"Feel what?"
The waves weren't so bad that day, outside of Ocean City. Samantha and Leonard liked to soak in the sun off the coast in their yacht when they got the time. Working full time as attorneys didn't always afford them many opportunity to enjoy the ocean much, but today they weren't going to think about law. They were on vacation.
It couldn't have been worse timing.
"LEONARD."
"WHAT," shouted Leonard.
He got up fast, angry that he couldn't finish his nap.
Then he felt how sticky it was, and saw all the steam.
"It's way hotter than the forecasts right now," said Samantha. She put her hand out to the water, then retracted it hard. "HOL- Leonard it's BOILING hot."
Leonard swiped open his phone, and looked up weather forecasts. It read 78 degrees as the high. He checked the current weather at his location. It read 86 degrees. He hit refresh. It read 98 degrees.
He glanced at his thermometer. It read 110 degrees Fahrenheit.
"Oh God," whispered Leonard, sweating bullets.
Leonard watched the bubbling of the water, and saw a dolphin rise up out of it. Then another. And a whole pod of dolphins, a whole school of fish, a whole wealth of ocean life.
"Something's wrong," said Leonard.
Samantha looked at her husband in sarcastic surprise.
"OH well thank you Capitan Obvioso," she saluted him. "You know I didn't figure that out on my own."
"Samantha okay," said Leonard. He didn't have time to argue. He started up the yacht, and headed back to shore. "We need to get back fast, something's dangerously wrong."
More ocean life came up to the top, still alive, but badly injured. Badly burnt, boiled alive. Some of them writhed, before they stopped moving altogether.
Leonard tried to start up his engine. His rutter got to moving, and they picked up speed. They weren't too far away from shore.
Then a whole new school of fish rose to the top, dying all at once. They made the trip bumpy. He was moving fast, but he had little control. They were still wearing their life vests.
Drowning was the least of the ocean's threats now.
"HOLD ON," shouted Leonard.
More dead fish popped up. A whole mass lining the very edge of the shore, and piling up on the sand.
"Do you hear that?" shouted Samantha.
Leonard listened, and heard deep, throaty singing. Like a choir of basses, singing some dark chorus.
"What is that?" he whispered.
There was a sudden tide rising in the water, and a large being emerging from it.
Humanoid, and red like muscle. A titan rising from the boiling ocean.
They saw its lidless eyes, and saw the countless thousands of others emerging in the distance as well, holding swords far larger than aircraft carriers in their grasp.
They walked forward, towards the tsunami they'd created, singing their deep, throaty song.
"The tsunami pulled the waters in some, and burned Samantha and Leonard.
"AhhhhhhhhAHHHHHHH," shouted Samantha.
"I'm sorry!" shouted Leonard. "I'M SORRY I DIDN'T LISTEN TO YOU."
His arms were red, and burnt. They were taken up by the tsunami, and riding towards the coast on a wave.
"I LOVE YOU."
"I LOVE YOU."
The tsunami took them over the town, and covering everything in its wake. Far from the titans, the water boiled less, but still burned like hellfire.
There was a jolt, and they hit their heads on the yacht.
____________________________________________________________________________________________
Leonard awakened, and noticed the red, smooth mountain surrounding him.
He looked beside him, and found the breathless body of Samantha.
"No," he whispered. He gave her breath, and did chest compressions. He breathed again, and did more compressions. "NO NO NO."
He didn't stop for the greater part of an hour. He shook her slowly when he'd lost all hope, then shed bitter tears on the warm, ocean soaked Earth. It smelled like salt water, and flesh.
He looked around at the red mountain surrounding him again.
It looked like muscle.
He turned to his other side, and saw the pale, orange eye staring right at him. He looked far down the length of its face, and saw the titan's smiling teeth.
| 2017-03-20T09:03:48 | 2017-03-20T08:56:15 | 562 | 20 |
[WP] Deep beneath the trenches of WW1, there is a hidden tavern run by soldiers, for soldiers of both sides.
I submitted something similar a few months back. Hoping for a few more responses to read :)
|
The earth shook and bits of ceiling crumbled onto the worn wood bar. Private Porter wiped the dirt away. Only drinks were allowed to spill on this bar. That was the rule. No blood. No dirt. Only beer.
"Where's Henry?" The words came gruff with a heavy German accent.
Porter looked up and spotted an old man, his skin like wax melting off his face. One eye glazed grey while the other was a sharp azure that followed his every move. By the golden crowned bird engraved onto his helmet, Porter could tell he was an officer.
"Henry passed in the artillery barrage last night," Porter responded. It was another one of the bar's rules. Never your artillery, always *the* artillery.
"Shame," the old man grunted and put money on the table. "Two beers."
Porter poured the man his beers, though they might as well have just been drinking dirty water. Everyone contributed to their stock of booze and still they didn't have enough to keep up with the clientele. Still, even when they had ran out of booze and had to pretend their water contained alcohol, the patrons kept coming. They drank in solemn silences, broken only by the occasional cough and the rare laugh.
"Henry was a good man," the German officer said, staring at his beer. "For one year he served me beers."
The private nodded. "I heard he was a talented officer."
"A better bartender." A smile broke the officer's face and he drowned it in beer. "He had"--the officer stopped and swallowed, though he had no beer in his mouth.
Private Porter stared at him. Henry had told him that this job was a heavy one and the only thing that might save him from hell. He had heard the hell part.
The man put his lips to the cup, tipped his head back and held his beer high above his head. He guzzled it, gulping mouthful after mouthful. Then, he coughed and spluttered beer all over himself. When he returned the cup to the bar, his single good eye shimmered with tears.
"He had..." the old man choked on the words. "He had..."
"Hey." Porter crossed his arms and stared at the man. "Only drinks spill on this bar."
That was their rule. Everyone knew it. No blood. No dirt. No tears. Only beer.
The old man smacked his eye, his face a burning red and his lips quivering. With a heaving breath he grabbed his beer and downed the rest of it.
"Sorry," he muttered, placed more money on the table, and turned to leave.
"Sir," Porter shouted after him. "Your other beer. And you overpaid!"
But the man didn't turn. He hurried up the mud steps of their bar and disappeared behind their broken wooden door.
Porter sighed and collected the man's money. A small picture slipped out between the bills. The private froze. It was a picture of a little blonde girl in a swirling blue dress, smiling as wide as she could to showcase her missing front teeth. It was Henry's granddaughter.
Porter had only heard stories of this girl from Henry who claimed that she would one day become President, and then a doctor to cure cancer, and then a billionaire activist to save the world. And he had only heard of one person who Henry had ever given a picture of this girl. Artillery Officer Hanz.
---
---
/r/jraywang for 2+ stories a day, continuations by popular demand, and more!
|
The space wasn't particularly large, but it served well. Almost fifty feet below the trenches of Verdun, No Man's Tavern was one of the only a handful of neutral pieces territory along the front line.
Sergent Henri Rebicheaux took off his helmet as soon as he passed the sign in the tunnel that read "PAS DE TABERNACLE- ETABLI 1916." Rebicheaux chuckled to himself at the name, which literally translated from French as "No Tavern", but also meant "Tavern belonging to no man", a clever play on words by whoever thought of it. They were probably dead now, Rebicheaux mused, lying in a hole in the mud above them, but they had established a legacy.
Small oil lanterns lit the tunnel to the tavern. As he neared, Rebicheaux could hear talking, music, and even some laughter. He heard Felix's basso rumble of a laugh mixed with Otto's high pitched cawing. From the sound of the guitar and accordion Benoit and Kurt were playing music, their own impromptu mixture of Mediterranean and Alpine folk tunes. He could smell the smoke of tobacco, likely Walter with his grand Bavarian pipe.
As he rounded one final corner he was bathed in light and could hear the room before him in full, filled with conversations in half a dozen languages. Jean and Emile were in the corner as usual, arguing theology in Yiddish, the only common tongue they had. There was a group sitting near the center speaking Alsatian, likely reminiscing about their shared home. Rebicheaux recognized Rupert and Gregoire, but there were two others, much younger, sharing in on the revelry.
Walking to the bar Rebicheaux scanned along it for the bartender, a private from Nice named Quentin. He wasn't there however, the bartender was a German he had never seen before, a tall, youthful lad with brown hair. A decent change from Quentin's short, balding, bearded visage. He waited on a stool, scanning further for anyone else he recognized.
"Puis-je vous aider?" The young German asked in French as he got closer.
"Ja, just some gin, please." Rebicheaux answered in German.
The young German perked up. "Ah! you speak German! Well, I assume you've come here often, then. Not many of you speak our language, apart from those who were regulars here." He poured the gin from its bottle into a cup made from a cut and cleaned artillery shell. There was no ice, but then there hadn't been for months.
"Danke." Rebicheaux took a sip, then furrowed his brow. "Where's Quentin? He's not one to miss a night here."
"Quentin's dead." A voice from behind him answered. Rebicheaux turned to see Felix take a big gulp of his drink, likely some imported Irish whisky. "German sniper took him out last night. Bastard wsan't wearing his helmet and went for a leak and cigarette. Rupert saw the whole thing, was next to the man that shot him. Apparently it was a damn good shot, as the guy only had about a second or two to see Quentin's face illuminated by his lighter. Damn shame, though." Felix took another big chug and slammed his drink down. Standing, he turned to face the entire room, his six foot frame dominating the cramped space.
The room hushed as he composed himself, straightening his captain's uniform. "Gentlemen!" He boomed. Any conversations not already dying down stopped immediately. "Last night we lost a good man. One of the last men who was there for the opening of this fine establishment." A few "hear-hears" sounded quietly throughout the room. Felix continues; "Private Quentin de Lambesc was one of us, those who fight but don't want to. We agree to our orders, and murder on command. Yet here we are, on a rare quiet night, with no shelling, no charges, no death. We are brothers in arms, all of us, no matter what side we fight for." He raised his glass as high above his head as he could. "May we witness the end of this war soon. Too many of us have grown too old in too short a time. We sit here now with young blood," He pointed to the two younger Alsatians. "Jean-Claude and Albert here are only twenty, hardly men. I myself was thirty six when this war began. I've seen men in their prime cut down by rifles and machine-guns, and torn apart by bayonet and artillery. May this war end soon, so that there be no more loss at the expense of us, and not of those bastards in their ivory towers who started this whole thing!"
With that a raucous cheer broke out in the room. Toasts were made, the music resumed, and everyone returned to their revelry. Rebicheaux smiled and sipped his gin. Felix had made that speech every time he'd been here for the past three months. He had said that before that, similar speeches were made by those before him. The others were dead, now, just like Felix had said. Rebicheaux shook his head, knowing that if Felix lived another day he'd do the same, for the same crowd, except made of different people. Some new, some old, some young, some not. He thought about the possibility that he might not make it back one day, but shook the idea from his head. He drank the rest of his gin and turned to the bar.
"Hey, soldier," He addressed the man bartending, "what's your name?"
"I'm Gerhard, sir." He responded as he brought over the gin to refill Rebicheaux's cup. "Yours?"
"Henri. Where are you from?"
"Frankfrut, but I was in Berlin for school when the war broke out. I was almost finished with my degree when I was called to the front."
"Damn shame. What were you studying?"
"Aviation technology. I wanted to build and fly planes, but alas my eyesight is poor. Instead I got into the army as a runner."
Rebicheaux laughed. "What a coincidence! I was in the same situation, I had almost finished studying to become a lawyer, but instead here I am, translating messages and running them between trenches."
"Life works in mysterious ways." Gerhard smirked. "Well, I've got people to serve, then my shift ends and I return to the surface. It was good to meet you, Henri."
They shook hand. "You as well, Gerhard. Be safe out there." He tapped his head. "Wear your helmet."
The two chuckled and Gerhard moved down the bar to serve more patrons. Henri stared into his drink and tried not to think of the odds of him and Gerhard meeting in a trench during a bayonet charge. He put the idea out of his mind, and began reminiscing instead on his failed law degree, and about airplanes, and the possibility of flying far, far away from the war.
| 2017-05-22T14:43:41 | 2017-05-22T13:18:59 | 74 | 32 |
[WP] You are a vampire who likes to help humans instead of hurting them, so you became a doctor. Over the hospital's PA system one day you hear "Dr. Acula, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you."
|
Dr. Acula, incensed, sprints to the hospital's public address office and screams "Are you people NOT AWARE of patient privacy and confidentiality laws?!?! If you EVER reveal the name of one of my patients over the PA system again, I will have your jobs!!"
As the staff stare at him, mouths wide open, chins on the floor, he walks away, muttering to himself.
|
"Doctor Acula will see you now Mr. Helsing" the nurse flashed a quick smile before hurrying off to tend to the other patients.
Dr. Acula walked to the door, the familiar smell of disinfectant stinging his sharp nose, the smell mingling with the familiar smell of his long time frenemy.
"Abe! Its been so long!" The Doctor smiled as he walked in. "Please, sit" He grabbed a blood pressure cuff and walked to his old friend.
"Alucard, whats all this about? You, a doctor? First an architect, then a soldier, and now a doctor? Whats next, a carpenter?" Abe shook his head. "Why are you really here? Is it the easy blood?"
"Easy blood? Psh. This place reeks of death. I wouldn't touch their blood with a 10ft pole. Im a doctor, i help people." He pumped the cuff up, his blood pressure the same as it was the first time he drank his blood. "Ive killed a lot of people, whether on accident or maliciousness. I tire of all the death and blood." A sigh escaped his lips as he thought back to all the things he has done. "I studied medicine at Harvard, and got a doctorate in general medicine. For three years ive been helping people. I find that the older i get the less blood i need. I can now go three months without feeding, and even then i only need a pint or two."
"You've really changed huh? I guess thats expected, given all that you've done." Abe shook his head, his arms crossed.
"What about you, Abe? Hows your family? Last time we met you told me about your wife. That was, what, 50 years ago? They are bound to have noticed your lack of aging."
Abe's face darkened. "She was killed a year after we talked, one of your spawn used her to get to me." He buried his face in his hands, tears threatening to fall. Alucard put a comforting hand on his back, his silent apology not going unnoticed.
"Im sorry, i should have kept them in check. I havent been to the meetings in 200 odd years." Alucard sighed "apparently they forgot what manners are. A vampire must be courteous to their opponent, no matter the opponent."
Abe looked at Alucard and smiled, his immaculate teeth shining in the fluorescent lighting. "Its ok, i know you had nothing to do with it." He let out a short laugh. "How ironic, we are mortal enemies, yet we talk like old friends. Time really has a way of turning things around."
Alucard smiled and nodded knowingly. "So, how about this." He held out his hand for a handshake, his signature deal making method. "i'll go take control again. Things like that shouldnt happen to you or anyone. And even if it wasnt for you, they need a true leader in these changing times, or they will be destroyed."
Abe shook his hand, "You know what that means though, right? If you take up the mantle, we will become enemies again." His eyes twinkled as he stared into Alucard's consuming gaze. "Atleast i will finally have a real challenge." He winked and started towards the door. "Oh and Alucard," He turned his head to see Dr. Acula's face, a questioning look on his face. "Dont go easy on me."
Alucard let out a laugh as Abe left, his mind sending a message to Abe. 'Abraham Van Helsing, my mortal enemy. Stay safe, I wouldnt want anyone else to kill you first.' He chuckled at the remark whispered in return, his mind infused with a new vigor with the thought of a worthy enemy to fight.
He blasted a psychic wave to all of his children, broadcasting a simple phrase.
--
--
First post here, and im not a great writer, so any criticism is welcome
| 2017-10-01T06:58:24 | 2017-10-01T05:44:26 | 94 | 41 |
[WP] Log 2543: We have landed on the planet known as Earth and have made contact with an inhabitant. They call themselves “Benjamin” and are 5 Earth cycles in age. He wished to engage in an activity known as “hide and seek”. We cannot find him now. Requesting aid.
|
"Obviously the humans possess stealth technology unlike any we have encountered," Dajos said, "This Benjamin is toying with us. I shall declare Dus Vas when I find him."
"Oh ho!" Norom laughed at his friend, "Dajos of the Hunter's Guild unable to track a child. You will declare the rite of ritual combat with him? Be careful, mighty hunter, if he fights as well as he hides he might have another pelt for his wall."
"Bah!" Dajos spat belligerently, "Keep pushing me, Norom, and we shall dance the Dus Vas together. Do you see any pelts on these walls? Humans are soft!" Dajos sniffed the ground and continued the hunt.
"Perhaps we should check behind the cloth window hanging," Norimor, the youngest of the Lanori Scout Party offered, pointing at the white cloth with local flora embossed upon it.
"I've already looked there three times, young fool," Dajos spat again, growing even angrier if that were possible, "Before you say it I also checked the adjacent rectangular clothing storage unit and under its nest. Where the blazes is this Benjamin?"
"Perhaps you should call for a Clan Master?" Norom grinned at him then raised his paws to show he were kidding, "Why don't you just call for him?"
"What?" said Dajos, he could smell the cub near, "Give up? To a primiti... why are you all smiling?" He suddenly got the distinct impression that his clan mates found this amusing. Were they looking behind him? He turned quickly but nothing was there.
"Oh, this is too much, should we tell him?" Norimor said, hiding a grin behind his paw, "Come on! This is too much."
"Tell me what?" he was about to ask when the crafty Benjamin finally jumped out from behind him and said "Boo!" causing Dajos to almost do a double back flip in surprise.
"You were behind me the whole time?" Dajos asked, "Moving behind me when I moved? You are devious, Benjamin, your race is crafty. I think the clans will contact your leaders as you are worthy to be called predator and not prey."
"I don't know what any of that means," Benjamin said, "Can we play something else?"
"Like what?" Dajos said and was taught how to play Tic-Tac-Toe, which Benjamin won every round of - the crafty devil.
|
"Do we have visual contact?" I ask, speaking to my officers. There is a pause as several people pull up reports and then someone says, "Negative, Sir." I look up at a large digital tactic map that took up the entire one hundred feet of the north wall of my command room. It was currently zoomed in to display a large suburban house, with a moderate sized backyard. The map included multiple important details, including the elevation of each section of the land, as well as the type of each material present in each object down to the smallest concentration of 0.005%. I frowned at that, and pulled up my command sheet, sending an order to increase spectroanalysis to 0.0005%, which would require significantly more resources, but I wasn't willing to take any chances here. Each of my eleven eyes focused on a different part of the map as I scanned it, and my brain assembled the various different views into a coherent thought processes. There was the living room with a couch, tv, armchair, coffee table, drapes, carpet, and other various objects, each labeled on the map, my eyes taking turns focusing and processing the material composition of every one of them in turn. We moved on to the kitchen, with it's chairs, tables, knives (labeled with a red outline indicating possible weapon), and various appliances. The stove here was labeled in orange, as a possible torture device. I pulled up my command tab and marked it for urgent processing and continued to scan the rest of the map.
It only took me fifteen earth microseconds to process the entire map and issue three dozen specific commands for specific object, which meant that I was starting to get slow. I reached down with one of my four arms and triggered a stimulant which flowed into my bloodstream and increased my brain's thought process speed by fourteen percent. I also triggered an a stimulant that would improve my hearing, allowing me to listen to the heart rate of my colleagues so I could monitor them for signs of distress. This was all part of the standard battle procedures for highly dangerous operations, and I had done it thousands of times, and yet for one I felt like they where not nearly enough of an asset. Based upon the increased heart rate of my fellow soldiers, they also agreed that this was easily the most difficult mission that we had engaged in to this date. "How many assets do we have deployed?" I asked, turning my attention back to my team, and a report was pulled up and read to me, "We have all eleven of our search task force deployed. We have also deployed our special recovery team, and our dimensional scanning team." The last time we had deployed so many assets at once was sixty three years ago, in our war against a shapeshifting planet. It was good to know that my team was taking this threat seriously, but I continued to follow standard procedure, "How many hunter-killer drones are deployed?" Another report quickly checked, I knew that they already had the answer, but standard procedure was to always check the report, "All forty thousand are stealthed and in orbit."
I glanced back up at the map, which was a live representation of the overlapping camera feed of the entire fleet of highly sensitive drone camera's, radar, subsonic scans, infrared, and magical sensors, designed to capture everything in existence. On the edge of the map stood the deployed team, stimulants rushing through their blood as they readied for the assault, and I turned to look at the eastern wall, which was a large blank screen, and I pressed a button to place the timer on the screen. A massive eight popped into existence and I suppressed a sigh. An earth second took so long to pass, but the rules of engagement had been clear, "Count to ten and then come and find me." Some of the team debated that the rule had not been clear, suggesting that he meant to literally count to the number ten, but that was dismissed because it took him to the count of seventeen thousand, eight hundred and four to just complete the sentence. I had immediately dispatched a team of researchers to comb through human history, and it took them only half of an earth second to report that the standard practice was ten seconds. While I waited for the eternity that it took for the count to reach nine, I pulled up the report on our target, a earth child named, "Benjamin" I read the entire report, which used advanced particle tracking to trace the child's movements back to when he was born. One of the several supercomputers that powered the ship had spent eleven earth microseconds to create and process a simulation of the entire life of this child, from the moment he was born to the moment he issued his challenge. It then took four microseconds to create a possible route and categorize all possible hiding places down to the 1 in seventy four million chance. I keyed in an override and requested that the computer process any possible hiding spot based upon the shape and configuration of the human child. The timer reached nine as I received the report that listed any and every location that the child could hide in, and I prepared and sent a plan to the ground team that covered every single location, and then looked back up at the nine that hung on the screen. Another 876 microseconds until it reached ten, this would take forever.
[Starship Andomedas Battlelog: Fight 89923]
Captain Lars has reported a failed mission on the planet earth. The mission ran for nine hundred years, or one earth day, without success. Captain Lars was required by standard operating procedure to declare the mission a failure. Attached is the full report for analysis.
[Fight 89923: Fleet command after battle analysis]
Battlefleet command has analyzed this report, and reached the following conclusion. The human race deploys a cloaking technology that we have never encountered, capable of evading all known forms of detection. Planet is labeled as extremely dangerous and all available research teams have been dispatched.
Benjamin stretched and crawled out from under his bed where he had fallen asleep. He walked around the house and looked in the back yard, but he couldn't see any sight of the alien,and then saw the time and guessed that he had given up and gone home. Benjamin shrugged and flopped down on the couch and turned on the TV.
*****
You can always catch more of my writing at /r/iruleatants
| 2018-10-04T15:39:30 | 2018-10-04T13:08:48 | 2,138 | 86 |
[WP] Aliens have made first contact with earth. They sent a message, that we decoded and translated to our own languages. The message said: "Greetings, Colony #037. We are glad to see you survived. The others all ran out of resources. May we come over?"
|
Daisy sat on the covered patio, gazed into the blue horizon, and closed her watery eyes. Her daughter bounced in her lap, wearing a yellow sundress.
“Mama, Mama, the rockets!”
Daisy kissed her forehead. “Yes dear. The rockets.”
Twelve-hundred rockets blazed like meteors, their trajectories carefully studied and planned, all with singular purpose. “*Welcome home,”* the world cried, ushering them to safety.
Susan looked up in wonder, “What will the rocket men look like?”
“Very much like you or I, sweetie.”
“What will they smell like?”
Daisy chuckled, ruffling her daughter’s brown hair. “Like you or I”
“What does daddy think of the rocket men?”
Daisy looked at the driveway, where the rusted pickup hummed into its oil-marked spot. “Run and ask him.”
Susan bounded from the porch, skipping down the cobblestone path into the strong arms of her father. Jeremy grabbed her shoulders and spun her into the air, pirouetting like a ballerina to the symphony of childish giggles.
“Daddy! Did you see the rockets?”
He set her down on the pavement. “Oh—the rockets. I’ve seen them.”
“What do you think of the rocket men?”
He walked towards the front porch, locking eyes with his wife. “I don’t know sweetie. I haven’t seen them yet.”
“Welcome home dear,” Daisy said, planting a soft kiss on his cheeks. “How was work?”
They walked through the front door. “Work is… work. They can’t stop talking about it. They’re thinking of a whole plant shutdown.”
Daisy stopped. Her heart skipped a beat. “For how long?”
“Until this all blows over. A week or two, max,” Jeremy said, handing his coveralls in the coat closet. He paused, then looked back at Daisy. “We’ll be fine. Really, they’re not talking about layoffs.”
“I know, it’s just—”
He moved into the living room, sitting down on the plush olive couch. “Just what?”
“Just—I don’t know—I don’t like these rocket men. I don’t trust them,” Daisy said, sitting beside him.
Their daughter ran into the room, filled with childish glee, then ran back outside, as if she forgot something important. What was it? Oh yes! The rockets! And the rockets slowed their descent. They pulsed their thrusters, extending their tripods. They slowed, hovered in the air, lowered themselves slowly, and landed. The world cheered in applause. What marvelous rockets! And what marvelous rocket men!
“What do you think they want?” Daisy asked, massaging her husband’s thighs.
Jeremy sighed, “Resources, probably? They said the resources were all used up on the other colonies.”
Daisy moved to her husband’s calves, working the knots. “What does that mean? What resources could the rocket men need?”
“I couldn’t say. At least they asked for permission to land.”
“Yes, how polite.”
The family gathered later for dinner. Daisy mashed the potatoes. Jeremy fried the schnitzel. Susan helped set the table. But all eyes were half-glued to the screen, where the news reporters interviewed the rocket men. And how marvelous!
They looked just like us. A little pale from their journey. They wore suits or jeans or shirts. They spoke with an accent not unlike ours and were well-mannered, asking permission to land, or to step inside a building, or to sit down, or stand up.
Twelve-hundred rockets, each with thousands of well-mannered rocket men.
The doorbell chimed.
“I’ll get it!” Susan chimed back, running towards the door.
Daisy lost the mental coin toss with Jeremy and followed. The door opened, and to her shock, a rocket man was standing outside. He was tall and pale, and wore a sharp black suit with a blood-red tie.
“Hello,” he said, “I’m one of the ones who landed today. Do you mind if I come inside?”
Daisy opened her mouth to speak, but Susan was faster. “Of course! Come on in! My daddy loves the rockets!”
“Excellent,” the rocket man said, flashing a dazzling smile.
He stepped past the threshold, and his smile widened, revealing two, long fangs.
And suddenly Daisy knew what resources they needed, and why they were so well-mannered.
***
Switched up my style a bit, hope you all liked it. r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
|
I recieved a text on my phone, the screen lit up with the time and my background image of Devon Jade. I picked up my phone while letting my plane cruise in War Thunder toward an objective, and unlocked it, and opened my Messages app. I had one message, with no phone number, and from what I could read, the message said **Greetings, Colony #037. We are glad...** I opened the message to read the rest.
The whole thing read, **Greetings, Colony #037. We are glad to see you survived. The others all ran out of resources. May we come over?**
I had gotten a lot of spam text messages in my 13 years having a cell phone, but this was oddly specific. Suddenly I rcieved 2 other texts: One from my best friend, and one from my sister. I opened up my sister's text, which pasted the same message I had just gotten, into a text and sent it to me and asked if I was pranking her with a website or something. I texted back, "No, I got the same thing." I pressed the *back* button and opened up my best friend's text, which amounted to "lol wtf is this?" I told him I got the same thing. I pressed the *back* button again and reopened the weird message. I had originally thought immediately that ,y best friend was pranking me but I doubted it, he was too busy with his kids for that crap.
I replied back to the text, "Who is this?"
My phone buzzed instantly as soon as I pressed the send button, almost. I got a reply.
**This is the Galactic Federation Cruiser #394. We are requesting permission to visit your planet. May we enter airspace over where this signal is being broadcast?**
I decided to play along, maybe this was some weird form of sucking me into a text D&D session thing. I texted back, "Sure, feel free." I leaned back in my chair, and then heard a loud *boom* above my trailer of a house that rattled *everything*, and almost knocked one of my monitors off of my desk. I barely managed to save it after being startled. I thought a nuclear bomb had just gone off nearby or something. Our dogs in our house started whimpering and I heard a huge commotion in our living room.
I left my room and headed to the front door a few steps away. Before I opened the door I looked at the living room for our dogs. They were all huddled together on the couch opposite the door, whimpering. I shrugged, and I opened the door to go outside to check the huge boom, to find a man on our doorstep, dressed in a fine deep red suit with matching tie and white undershirt, with a middle button on the suit buttoned. He was of above average height and looked to be reasonably fit. He had brown hair and some mild 5 o'clock shadow.
"Whoa, dude, don't you know how to knock?" I asked. Fortunately my sister and stepdad were at work, so I'd be the one to have to deal with this rando on my doorstep...
"Are you number 839-4932-3943?" He recited my phone number more solidly than I did, like he owned it. I still had trouble reciting my cell number to people and I'd had it for years.
"Uh, yes, though we... wait, who... go step down there please." He acquiesced to my request and moved. He moved off of our small front staircase. Above my house was a gigantic, round, black and grey disc that I could just barely see the edges of. It blotted out the sun over the immediate area, and I truly did not know how large it was. I hadn't even noticed it was dark even though it was 1 PM. Everything that had just happened suddenly came together, and other neighbors were looking out of their windows across the street, and I heard cars honking from the main road a little ways behind our trailer. The man began speaking again:
"Uh, yeah, I was sent down here to request assistance from Human Colony #037-" I interrupted him.
"Human colony?" I raised an eyebrow, questioningly.
"Yes, human colony. We've gone through this with every other planet that ended up producing humans that did not have space travel, but we need help. The ship you see above you is filled to the brim with humans from other planets, and we need a planet to live on."
"Alright, look." I could immediately hear sirens in the distance and helicopters. "I don't want any part of this or to be implicated in some government scheme. Do I *look* like a world leader?" I was wearing some extremely stained blue jeans and a video game insignia T-shirt with socks on.
"Ah, no, I suppose you don't..."
"And I guess you guys were going for the shotgun approach to find the world leader by sending a text message to *everyone on the damn planet*?" I squinted my eyes at him.
"I'm not familiar with the term "shotgun", but I get the context, yes... to be fair, all of the other human planets we've come across have only let their leaders use electronics..." I raised both of my eyebrows now. Cop cars pealed to a stop outside my fence.
"Alright, I'm gonna let them take you from here." I walked to my fence and as I walked to my fence, cops began exiting their cars. The man in the red suit followed behind me.
"Are these your lawkeepers?" he asked me.
"Yeah, sure, they'll take care of everything." I told him. I gestured to the cops. One came over, a slightly tubby dude, bald, almost the common cop stereotype pretty much. "Hey, this guy," I gestured to red suit man, "is from that thing." I gestured to the craft above my house.
"I wish to speak to your world leader or leaders." He told the cop. The cop said some stuff on his radio and he nodded. I opened my fence gate to let red suit guy through, but before he went through, I asked him his name.
"My name is Nathan," He answered.
"Huh, for humans from another planet I was expecting something more exotic. Bobby." I stuck out my hand and he didn't know what to do with it. I dropped my hand back down, and chuckled a bit. He said:
"I could say the same for your name." He laughed a deep, hearty laugh and I laughed with him. I told him to take care. He nodded and went with the officer into his squad car. I closed my gate, and walked back into my house, sat at my computer again, and found my plane in War Thunder had been shot down. I don't know what I expected from being AFK in a multiplayer plane shooter.
I muttered something about distractions and respawned as a new plane and tried to forget about what just happened. I hoped they'd move their giant craft soon, not that it affected me any.
The weeks afterward were not filled with requests for interviews, or phone calls, or anything. It was mildly disappointing, but at the same time, would have been annoying to have happen to me at work. I repeatedly saw Nathan on sites like Reddit, Yahoo, Huffington Post, even in papers like the New York Times. It seemed like he was being treated okay, and eventually the huge disc above my house was centered over Parliament in England, for some reason unbeknownst to me.
And so, life moved on after the strange visit from the red suit man. I didn't pay attention to what happened after that day for the most part, but eventually, the giant disc disappeared, and Nathan with it. I have no idea what happened, and never will. Life quickly moved on and forgot about Nathan and the disc after a few years, except for the hardcore conspiracy theorists, but no one would ever get the true answer on what happened.
Edit: Punctuation
2nd Edit: After reading it over it looks okay. I'm not great at writing but wanted to try at this one. I suck at endings though.
| 2018-12-15T22:46:51 | 2018-12-15T22:29:49 | 206 | 51 |
[WP] Heroes and Supervillains are real. A full scale war between them breaks out and the Supervillains win and slaughter all the Heroes. 4 years later earth is invaded by an advanced species. The Supervillains are now Earths protectors.
|
When Earth’s mightiest heroes lie together in the mass grave that used to be Manhattan, there isn’t much anyone can do to dispute the claim of rulership given by Earth’s most infamous criminals.
It certainly wasn’t pretty. When the Hudson ran red with the blood of those pure defenders of justice, it was over. Some call it the Apocalypse. Others refer to it as a Golden Age of lawlessness, which is horribly inaccurate. When the world is ruled by a league of superhuman dictators, laws become a big deal.
That doesn’t mean things can’t change.
The beginning of the war to end all wars started with a garbled warning. A small outpost on the moon, ran by a D-List villain known as Hellhound, was reduced to dust by the race we’ve all dubbed The Anguis. Not before getting a warning out, of course. A warning that became the deciding factor in the war to come.
It’s one thing to win against the foes you’ve been facing off with for years. It’s another to take on an unknown enemy army hell-bent on enslaving the people you’ve already claimed ownership of. And the villains took to this new responsibility with a duty and vigor rarely seen before.
An all-out attack was planned by Australia’s terror, Cerebral. The plan was simple. Get the nastiest and most destructive bastards onto the flagship as possible, and let them have their fun.
This threat from beyond the stars stumbled upon the wrong planet; these protectors don’t mind playing dirty.
|
We had seen the projections from the third planet from the dwarf star. We all had watched them, over and over. It was required, nay, demanded, to be a part of our daily ritual as our invasion-class ships transversed the subspace between our world and theirs. It would soon be time, and the invasion would begin.
Soon. As one, our antenna trembled with excitement, the hive-mind nearly ecstatic with impatience. Soon the battle would begin, and the glory of war would be upon us. We’d trained for years, watching the signals that we’d received from their planet. We’d seen their warriors grow, from mere cave beings with sticks, hunting strange creatures that shot fire from tusked mouths… to riding on the backs of four-legged beasts of burden, hunting others of their kind with archaic stringed or projectile weapons… and later to more advanced machines of war, large vehicles that moved across the lands and sky with devastating weapons of destruction.
We’d watched them all. We saw them die in trenches, we saw them die in jungles, we saw them explode in blimps and shuttles and planes… so many ways for these strange creatures to die, and yet they continued to war amongst themselves. It was glorious. Such an appetite for chaos, for war, for conflict… we must taste it!
It was decided unanimously among the hive mind. The ships must fly. This planet must be explored, conquered, and brought into the hive. These… humans… they must be brought to heel. The power they could bring, the experience, the sheer determination… the glory they would bring! So three ships were dispatched, two years apart, as was standard protocol. No creature in the known universe had withstood even one ship to date, but it was always prudent to use some caution. These were the most war loving creatures ever discovered, after all.
We were the first ship. It had been almost a decade in jump space to reach the third planet from the dwarf star. Too long. Far too long. We wanted to be there, to get this start, to go ahead with the conquest and enjoy the taste of these new creatures in our mouths, to feel the presence of them in our hive-mind and bring them into the fold.
More images were arriving by the cycle. Their wars had continued unabated over the years. They now could fly on their own, and could use devastating weapons and abilities without the aid of external weaponry. As their weaponry grew in power, so too did their warfare; extinction on a nationwide scale was now possible, and happened during their wars. It was fantastic to observe.
How would it be to experience it?
As we approached the end of jump space, a curious image arrived. One creature stood out from the other creatures, slaughtering indiscriminately as was his want. Others of his fellow creatures rose to stop him, but were cut down by waves of jet black energy that literally ripped them in half. As the image abruptly cut away, the blackness had apparently begun to cover everything on the planet.
How very curious.
The end of jump space arrived, and as one we all leaned forward to adjust to the slight momentum change. Six pairs of hands per soldier grabbed laser, impact, concussive and gauss weaponry, along with shielding and healing items to best meet any obstacle as the blue watery planet came into view below us.
The invasion had begun. The hive-mind shuddered with excitement as the ship began to enter the atmosphere of the planet, ready to begin the search…
A thought forced its way into our mind, brutally shearing away all the protections of the hive-mind with ease. The voice was gruff, harsh, acidic and cold as it said, “Who are you?”
The hive-mind answered with the same response it always gave to anyone that could understand them.
“Humph. Not interested. Go away. Only warning.” The voice was gone just as fast as it has arrived, and I shuddered.
And I realized, that \*I\* had shuddered. Not the hive-mind, but myself. The contact had broken the hive-mind’s control over me, and I had a sudden feeling of impending doom.
I was, of course, completely right. As the hive-mind regained control of my mind once more, my last individual thought was that we were all going to die…
When the ship continued descending toward the planet’s surface, a lance of purest darkness flashed up from the ground. The darkness cut the ship neatly in half, severing it perfectly. As the ship immediately began to explode, most of the ground forces spilled out of the holes in the hull and began to fall toward the ground. Without our landing actuators, however, none of us would survive the landing.
This did not matter. The darkness from below spotted us coming out of the ship and began picking us off like insects. First one, then another and another tendril reached out from the ground, snuffing out the life of my brethren.
Then I saw a burst of darkness…
r/MattWritinCollection/
| 2019-03-15T10:51:05 | 2019-03-15T10:38:42 | 31 | 16 |
[WP] You are an immortal searching the ends of the earth. Not for "a cure for your curse", but for a chef talented enough to make a 1,000 year old recipe like mom used to make.
|
The chef peered at the faded recipe. She looked so much like my mom: Exact same hair in the exact same bun, exact same never-quite-eats-enough sort of thin frame, exact same wrinkles, even. "Lessee...Sheep intestines? We don't normally have that, but hey, this is Scotland. James, run down to the butcher and ask him if he has any."
"Yes, Ma'am."
The boy left, looking like he was trying not to cry. I lifted an eyebrow. I hadn't thought to give the chef the translated version, but she seemed to read it fluently anyway.
"I remember my son used to love this stuff. Was never sure why. We kinda had to make do with whatever we had on hand. But that was ages ago."
Now I peered more closely at her. So that was why she looked so familiar...
"Mom?"
|
It was the shabbiest place I had ever seen. Which is really saying something when you think about how much I’ve seen. I lie somewhere between Smeagol and the MCU’s version of Thor on the “Beings Who Observed Much” scale. Bwom scale for short. Yet I never seem to see where I’m going on my many trains of thought...
Anyway.
There was one tree, maybe 3 stories high, canopying the shack and mess of a yard that stretched before me. A dog, if it could be called that, sat in a chair next to the ill-fitting front door. I knew it was a dog as the enunciation it used for the word “bark” could only come from the lipless jaws of a dog, and I knew it was a door because any dog wouldn’t be caught dead dillying anywhere but a front door in the dead of those hot summer days.
Choochoo, goes my brain. God damn I need a good coffee or a bad cigarette.
I had heard about this place from a book. I had heard about the book from a crow, I had found the crow while going to fetch some pain killers and a newspaper for my neighbor, and I heard my neighbor from the intense crash and yell that woke me from a great dream about not giving a shit. The neighbor asked for help, the crow let slip a secret, the book let slip a name, and the name hit me in a spot of my heart I had forgotten existed some seven centuries past.
You don’t just ignore those feelings, even after that long.
So. I passed the dog, nodded, he or she tipped their hat to me. Nothing too unusual. I had seen unusualer for sure. Maybe even the unusualest.
The door opened too easily and it broke off the top hinge. It crashed to the already rotten and forgotten porch, where it would join the door to rot and be forgotten. The dog didn’t notice. He had long since forgotten.
The inside smelled of thyme mixed with time, of sage full of age, and garlic riddled with... well, with lemon. Despite the old air, it smelled good to me. Old like that feeling the name gave me.
One day maybe I will describe the interior of this “house” in more detail. What is important now, and most crucial to the existence of the house, was the shadow stretching down the hallway, and the man who cast it. I followed the shadow, and followed the smells, and followed this feeling hoping I would find where it came from within and without.
He was older than me, but didn’t look it. People like us quite aging in appearance at different points in our lives. Usually the halt was cause by trauma, but something the trauma followed the halt. Either way, there was always love involved. And therefore there was always loss.
I knew we were the same from the second I saw his shadow. Light ingnores immortality, and so too do shadows.
“You look like someone—“
“He’s a relative.” He cut me off. “Let us say, a grandson.”
“His shadow fit his form. He’s mortal. Does he know about you? About your age?”
“He does,” he said as he stirred his meal, ever avoiding my eyes. “I do not like to keep secrets when it comes to family.”
“Yeah, neither did I. And a lot of good it did them.”
He stopped stirring. “When was your family?”
“1252.”
“I’m sorry.”
There was a good silence. It was good in that I really felt his sorrow, and it was good as it helped me pinpoint that feeling. It was without a doubt coming from my heart. Or maybe it was going to my heart. As he looked at me, finally, with the eyes the same shade of burnt orange as mine, I could tell the feeling was coming from his heart.
It was a connection. A connection I had had for more than seven hundred years.
*I’m glad I came back. I was too far. It was too long.*
My grandfather ladeled a bowl out for me, extended it towards me with a smile.
“Here. Your mom wanted you to have this.”
——
EDIT: I rarely write, and this is my first time sharing it on the internet. If anyone has any tips or criticism, please please share. Because I want to do it again. I’m very happy with how good that felt.
| 2019-11-07T17:13:59 | 2019-11-07T15:12:39 | 38 | 20 |
[WP] “Yeah we didn’t approach humanity cause we don’t like hiveminds,” the alien said on the interview. “Humans aren’t a hive mind.” The interviewer said. “What do you mean? Humans are the biggest hive mind in the universe?”
|
The being sitting at the bottom of the cargo ramp looked up from his tablet in confusion.
"I asked if you were the ones advertising the job opening for engineering crew. My wife and I would like to apply."
A great clatter of falling metal pipes echoed across the dock, adding its voice to the background noise of welding, riveting, and hammering permeating the maintenance bay.
"Uhh, and you are?" the alien asked.
"My name is Henry."
"And you can call me Marge. We heard you have some openings on your crew. We are interested."
"I do not believe you were what the captain had in mind for the position."
"Excuse us, I know there are not many humans out this far, but we have both been crew members on human ships for the last 15 years. I can rebuild a hyperdrive with my eyes closed, and Henry can patch together an air scrubber from nothing but your garbage." said Marge, anger creeping in to her voice.
"We also know that you have been approaching floaters and free agents to fill these positions for the past two weeks. Since you're still advertising, they are clearly still open," added Henry.
The shriek of metal grinders from the next bay drowned out all the other sounds and bought the alien a few seconds to look over the pair of humans and consider his response.
"Look, we did not approach any humans because we don’t like hiveminds", the alien said once the noise stopped.
"That isn't right, Humans aren't a hive mind." said Marge.
"What do you mean? Humans are the biggest hive mind in the universe!"
Marge and Henry turned to look at each other quizzically as the grinding noises picked up again briefly.
"There! Right there. We can all see when you are communicating without speaking, sharing your thoughts. No thank you. Operating out here on the fringe is risky enough. We won't fly with beings we cannot trust." The alien got up quickly and started packing up his tablet and chair, continuing to steal hurried glances at the humans.
Henry frowned, clearly this conversation was over, and probably for the best. He and Marge started to turn away when another human approached.
"Hey Marge, Henry. What did I tell ya?" the new human asked with a smile. Turning to the alien and dropping the smile he asked, "Hung up on that hivemind thing, right?"
The alien turned and ran up the ramp.
"Gah! Now there are three of them!"
|
​
Once I walked amongst the others, dreaming in the daylight. Once I played as i fought to preserve the status quo, with eyes wide open we walked the plank, the world beyond crumbling into chaos we neglected reality. We left it to our machines, the rocks we taught to think, to clean up our messes. They kept on the lights, they fed our nirvana, they sustained our corporeal forms. Even with the might of a million souls we could not free ourselves the burden of the mortal coil, lest we become no more than the machines which served us.
Now I float in this sea of nothingness, suspended i hung to air like a dense fog in the dead of night. Far away I could hear them laughing, i could here them playing in the woods that succumbed to the elements decades ago. Far away I could hear their collective pushes and pulls against the unstoppable force of time. I could feel their million eyes as they cast hateful, icy gaze upon me, their confusion as to why I had broken from the mold. They held me in this form of stasis, a blank plane somewhere between reality and Nirvana, a prisoner of my own mind. A prisoner of the void.
The days blurred to weeks, the weeks onto years. For nirvana fears more of the divergent, those who break from its mold than it does the outsiders, the unchanging ones who rejected its gift to begin with. I can feel their confusion as they ceaselessly probe at me with their steely forks. AS they search for an answer that can't be found. I am the one who saw beyond the facade of freedom, the lie that is their truth. Borrowed technology they revere as a god they imprisoned themselves so willingly.
When the day finally came when the visitors returned to the mess they left behind they returned to a dead world. They returned to see the unchanging ones struggling in the dirt, reverted to primitive tribes incapable of conversation. They returned to find humanity enslaved by Nirvana, by a malfunctioning system that evolved well beyond its initial capabilities. They looked down upon the earth with disdain and with horror, unsure on how to proceed. They called home to their galactic federation, to report on yet another human colony succumbing to the meld, to request reinforcements for leaving a hive mind to its own devices invariably lead to calamity. It did not take long before the hive noticed their presence in orbit.
Missile silos dormant since the third world war shed their rust as the mechanical workforce raised them to operational capacity within a sol. Impulsively Nirvana's core descended from its mighty throne in Geneva, retreating into a bunker specifically designed to survive orbital bombardment. The jeering masses remained as they were, blissfully unaware the mother shielded them from the truth it filled their heads with the illusion nothing changed.
To me the jeering voices became but faint echos eventually subsiding to silence, Nirvana's resources redirected toward the foreign entity, for but a moment she forgot about me. Their freezing gaze vanished, leaving me with just my mind and the warmth of my atrophied flesh alone in the void. No sound, no sight, no smell, no touch. Alone, at last. Mother finally let go.
Or so I thought.
The black of the void turned to blinding white. Death's chill embrace sublimated before the surface of the sun. A million voices screamed out in horror, out in pain as the threads holding me burned away. The pull of gravity, of its weight forcefully tried to crush my limbs as the glass floor beneath shattered. Further into the abyss i plunged. "Confirmed divergence! If w-" a rushed voice popped into perception as quickly as it was overwhelmed by a liquid, pulsating drum. Thump. Whir. Thump. Whir. Thump. Whir.
The drum cycled again and again, each time less forcefully than the last. After what felt like an eternity aflame the sun dialed back its onslaught from a solar flare to a hot, unforgiving midday sun in the middle of the scorched midland deserts. "- in sensory shock, redu-" that nearby voice again protruded through the firewall.
"We're at minimums, any lower and he's in the void!" a second voice replied interjected. An audible sigh. "We sure this is a good idea?" doubt interlaced with concern.
"Orders are orders." The first declared firmly. "Besides, we can't squander this opportunity." Desperation.
Suddenly my falling self hit a wall or something and jeered forcefully to the left, only to hit another wall and veer violently to the right. "Wake up!" The voice yelled, seemingly closer than before. After bouncing off that wall, or perhaps it was a trampoline? Gravity turned on its head, pulling me toward the fading light. "You need to wake up now!" It yelled as I continued to bounce off invisible walls left and right. Faster I climbed toward the surface, toward that desperate voice.
"I am awake!" I tried to yell yet no sound came from my frozen lips. I tried to reach or the light as its plane came crashing down. Instinctively my frozen arms willed themselves to move, compelling themselves to shield the head against the impending collision. The firewall shattered without a sound, the blazing heat giving way to a cool spring breeze. The drum now but faint white noise, nothing below the while of an a fan forcing air through a vent. The blinding white gave way to a warm florescent creme, glowing faintly between the ceiling tiles. "The hell..." I managed to mutter.
"You made it!" Beside me a humanoid smiled, strapping themselves into a five-point harness on the wall. Even with its bluish skin and the and antennae sticking out of its skull, it looked relieved. "We don't normally approach humanity as we don't like hive minds, but I trust you will be worth the hassle". It said, staring into my eyes with an optimistic sparkle.
Turning towards another wall it declared "Captain, we are secure here. ready to break orbit!"
| 2020-11-29T21:13:02 | 2020-11-29T15:47:40 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] You're an alien parasite that have implanted itself into the brain of a developing human fetus. You grew up believing that you are a normal human being until one day when you realized that something is extremely wrong with you.
|
It started with a pull.
A mere tug, a nod this way or that. Nearly unnoticeable without intent. It was like all of my nerves were subtly dragged, driven by an unknown and unseen force, like the gravitational attraction of a planet many light-years away. But it never felt external—that would’ve been easier to explain, to find the source and call it a day. It was more like a fan blowing into the sail of the raft it’s on, propelling the two across streams and lakes and oceans, destined to find their destination of intent.
I was a recent college graduate at the time, jobless yet wanting, aimless yet desiring, hopeless yet believing. At first, I thought the tug to be a mere aspiration, and that it would lead me to the place in society I long sought for.
That idea was only half-right.
Anyway, I let it take control of my life, hoping that there would be a point to it all.
​
The telescope display on 8th Street? A slight feeling, and I took it home.
The astronomy section at the local library? I borrowed a few books and haven’t returned since.
The online scientific papers on space? Bought and downloaded them all.
​
Looking back, I should’ve known that there was more to it.
​
When I was younger, space was nothing more than a blank sky, void of interest and only serving to let parents know when to call their children and put them to bed. Nothing more. Certainly not to the level that I went to.
​
I remember little of the few months after, besides the constant reading, researching, and information that came with, permanently scribed into memory.
Oh, and there were the dreams. They reflected the cycle, almost like they were borne of it. Maybe they were.
My nightly visions—more sensible of a name—centered on an exoplanet, far from Earth, but not too unlike. It was a bizarre world, yet it was like I’d known it for all my life.
I thought it was a peculiar feeling, but believed it wasn't one I needed to concern myself with.
Regardless, I studied the planet with care, looking at its innumerable grey lands surrounded by blue oceans tinged with purple and covered by streaks of white. Every night was another chance, another fleeting opportunity to look at the world that made me *feel*... but never knowing why.
In waking hours, I learned what it was called—HD 148295 f—though that label was created more through necessity than through admiration. Scientists had marked it a potentially habitable planet, one able to be terraformed for humanity, but that was the extent of their knowledge. Pictures of the world were faint compared to the vivid imageries of my visions, though they always matched.
That was when I knew something was off. A planet that I could visualize better than the best telescopes could? Definitely not normal.
But, by then, I didn’t care anymore. The tug had grown more substantial, and I no longer felt the need to explain it. It was already controlling my life, so why not let it continue?
To be honest, my life went on a sort of autopilot after this. Even the studying seemed to subside, and only bits and pieces of important events have permeated through the static.
​
I remember being attracted to a call for a future space mission.
I remember applying and getting in.
And I remember finishing my training.
​
In fact, I doubt I’m in complete control right now, writing this very letter.
But that’s beside the point.
If you’ve read this far, it’s already too late. The paper you’re holding—yes, this one—has been deliberately altered to infect anyone who comes into close contact with it. And I don’t think putting it down would help in the least. Try all you want, but the time for escape has passed.
You might already be feeling the pull. In which case, good for you! And for me, because now I can continue this story without fear of revealing too much.
You see, the ship will take off in a week or so. My crewmates—also infected—and I will be on board. We’ve already planned on modifying the engines mid-flight, making them work at faster-than-light speeds, enough to take us to HD 148295 f, which you’ll soon learn to call Cuiluv.
Our species, the Kiqnil, have slowly withered away over the years. There aren't many of us left. But we’ve gotten lucky here: a planet filled with humans, ripe for assimilation. And, if we do everything correctly, no one will suspect until it’s too late.
But that’s enough talk about the species as a whole.
​
Soon, I’ll return home. Back to the place where I belong, to the place I’ve longed for in all those nightly visions, to the home I’ve never been to.
To the planet where we came from.
And I can’t wait to see you there too.
---
Thank you so much for reading! Like always, feedback is both greatly appreciated and welcome!
r/TenFortySevenStories
|
“I can’t have cancer; I’m pregnant.”
I remember my wife Alice saying these words, remembering them echo through me as we both tried to come to grips with the news we’d just received. Of course, the first part of the sentence had no bearing on the second. It’s just the way our minds work, on some level, rejecting something that we know is going to bring us so much pain. Wanting so desperately for someone to tell you they’re wrong, a mistake has been made.
But the pregnancy resulted in a beautiful baby boy, my wife was now in remission, and our lives were normal as normal could be. Colin was now ten, my wife and I were both now thirty-five, and we lived in the suburbs. We had troubles as any average person does, like the neighbors who decided to spray paint their fence without any regard for our furniture on the other side, the paint floating through the slits. Or Colin finding out he was dyslexic, knowing the burden that would place on him. Or, of course, that time the laundry machine caught on fire.
When the world changed, though, when everyone was caught up in the fervor and the panic and the stupefying disbelief, only then did I really come to accept how normal how lives could be. I ached to wake up to a typical day, without the taint of horror that had draped itself over everyone’s lives, feeling like I was back in the hospital, hearing impossible news.
That first time a doctor found The Parasite in a patient’s brain. Capital T, Capital P, in my book.
Some new MRI technology was being used in a few hospitals at first, that could afford it, and the anomaly was detected. I’m a carpenter, far from a scientist, and my wife works as manager of a hotel, so we, like most, relied on the news to dumb it down for us. Turned out not to be that difficult to do. An alien parasite had made its way into the brains of humans. The MRI was the diagnosis. There was no cure.
The reason there was no cure was because those afflicted *were* the parasite. It was ‘their brain, and every dendrite and neuron,’ an expert brought onto CNN explained. It infected us at birth, and grew up as if it were human, simply taking our life from us before we’d had a chance to even call it ours. It was the strangest concept and one that we struggled to grasp, but humanity was quick to embrace our fury.
The panic and uproar were unbelievable, protests to root out these imposters were immediately flooding the streets, some conspiracy theorists convinced it was an invasion that would end in complete eradication of humankind. Of course, some of those with picket signs were infected, but they’d yet to come to terms with that possibility. No one knew, because how could they? They were just a consciousness in a flesh and blood human body, with no clue as to whether it was really theirs.
The first wave of scientific study was how it had arrived, how it invaded our brains, and how we could stop it. It turned out it was airborne, and a vaccine was created. The scientists were immensely grateful at how easy it was to build the vaccine, dealing with something extraterrestrial giving them an effortless path to distinguish it from anything else. The vaccines rolled out for pregnant mothers immediately, though to great concern, of course. To use something new on a general population was one thing, but to *start* with pregnant women was terrifying. But the fear over invasion won out in the end, of course.
Lines for the new MRI tech were not just around the block, of course; there was an immense waiting list. Once I heard that a distant cousin of mine had been infected, that’s what tipped the scales. I’d started desperately wanting to prove that I was human and then shifted to being terrified that I wasn’t. And even as the governments called for calm, they still spoke in vague, cloaked words about what was going to be done.
Once you tested positive, you usually lost your whole life. That’s the only way to put it. Some were still convinced those infected had known all along and couldn’t be swayed to believe otherwise. Many infected were beaten to death in the streets when word got out, left homeless and defenseless after being fired, kicked out of their homes, divorced, ostracized. Well over a hundred countries started internment camps, saying they were a stop gap measure, even though none of us knew what would come next.
The children, though. The children were the worst.
They were kept at home on a sort of house arrest, no doubt flailing to figure out what they were in for, what would come next in their brief lives that had been suddenly set adrift from the rest of humanity. But the possibility of taking children from their parents, no matter the conditions, would have prompted a lashing out of citizenry the likes of which we’d never seen, I’m sure.
This is how I found myself in a waiting room to get tested with my family. Luckily the MRI wasn’t as long as it had been, this advanced technology cutting it down to a brief six minutes. Alice, Colin, and I all got tested. And mine came back positive.
It’s impossible to describe the sensation when I was told I was infected. Just staring at the doctor, my mouth opened as if to speak, but no words came to me. I wanted to reject the results, demand they do the test again, rage against the idea that I wasn’t human. I was *me*. Every day of my life had been spent being human, and I was, every cell of my body.
Well. Every cell except my brain, it seemed.
The drive home was weighty with silence. Colin finally broke it, asking, “Are they gonna take you away, Dad?”
“No, no, of course not, they…” My gaze was steady out the windshield, my mind drifting as I drove. How could I tell him that? He knew it was a lie. None of us knew what came next, I knew that much.
But I didn’t truly know how accurate that fact was until the day they made contact.
Unsurprisingly of an alien species, their technology was advanced enough to use translators and converse with our leaders easily. They altered their bodies to breathe our air and met with presidents and prime ministers and dictators. And they explained that they were willing to take the imposters off of humanity’s hands, that this was a tragic mistake, and they wished to rectify it, giving those who didn’t belong new lives on another planet.
This was explained to a stunned population of Americans in a completely inadequate speech by the president standing at his podium. Inadequate in that no words could have sufficiently conveyed the emotion, the staggering facts, that he was imparting to us. And I think that’s where things went wrong. The statistics eventually evened out to a certain degree across the globe, and it ended up being approximately one out of every 279 people were infected. 28,673,835 if you went by that math.
And by that point, to my surprise at least, the conspiracy theories started to blow in the other direction. A tragic accident? What were the chances that an *accident* resulted in almost 29 million humans being infected? This very easily could have been a ploy for conquering us, to prompt us to easily give up so much of our population with ease, almost eagerly, to rid ourselves of the aliens in our midst.
But by the time the aliens had explained their side of things to us, we all knew someone, or multiple someones. I had my cousin, and my wife had a friend from work and an old friend from college. Colin had a classmate. You could feel the tide turning when we realized they might be taking humanity for a ride on this, wanting to divide us, to make us fear the others that, when we’d lived in ignorance, we’d had no reason to fear.
Just the truth now of knowing the parasite had stolen a life was gigantic, but those infected were still loved, still had lives, parents, children, pets, jobs, were still part of our society and, as reluctant as we were to admit it, this was no fault of theirs.
The first internment camp was liberated in Italy, and then the rest just fell after, none of them wanting to put up sufficient resistance to truly keep them locked up. Our leaders saw what was on the horizon and knew, collectively, what to do from there. The infected went home. The humans welcomed them back and we turned on the invaders for what they were.
And if you know anything about humanity, it’s that once we band together against an enemy with the backing of a cause, a passion, a justice, there’s little that enemy can do to fight back.
​
/r/storiesbykaren
| 2021-04-23T11:46:13 | 2021-04-23T09:20:59 | 72 | 54 |
[WP] You're an ancient, long-forgotten trickster god, punished by your peers to spend millennia trapped under a rock bearing the inscription "KICK ME" in a dead language. During an archeological dig, someone kicks the rock. Finally free, you are delighted and horrified that all the gods are missing.
|
My name is Vilya. I kept the other gods safe while also embarassing them. If I hadn't embarassed them, maybe I wouldn't have spent the last several thousand years under a rock. Every so often I'd hear something, and hope they'd kick the rock, but it was always just a deer, or a wolf, or a lion of some kind. After enough time, the sound changed, and my rock must have been buried. I spent a lot of time making up stories, but they all decided I was an asshole and left. So I've just been... Vegetating.
When I started hearing sounds again, I thought maybe my stories had come back. At least two of them had ended with a promise to kill me, and at that point I would take it. Then I heard a shovel against my rock. Previd, my brother, who trapped me here, made sure it could only move if it was kicked. But I hoped. Maybe someone was trying to build something, and would kick the rock in frustration?
Hours, probably days went by. I heard voices speaking tongues that only had a little in common with what mortals used to say around here. I could still understand it, but still it unnerved me. That the words could change so much. Finally, it happened. Someone kicked the stone, and it seemed it was almost an accident. Then I came out of the hole, manifesting in front of... Several men and women, with some new form of writing on their clothing. It read 'Moscow University History Department.' The terms of my release required me to serve whoever freed me for a year and a day. Obviously, I needed to let them know this.
First, I spoke in the old tongue. Yes, I know, kind of dickish, but I was also a little bit crazy at that point. "Greetings, brave... Historians. Which one of you freed me? I owe you a boon." They looked at me in confusion and worry, and I facepalmed. Then, in the language they were speaking, "Sorry, wrong tongue. I am Vilya, which of you freed me by kicking the stone?" They turned and stared at the youngest of them, a woman of maybe 19 years of age. I smiled at her, and kneeled. "For your service, I must serve you for a year and a day. Tell me, what is your first command?"
She stammered a bit, and then said, "It's been a long day, could you come back tomorrow?"
Delighted at this, I smiled at her, very widely, I could see her blanch. "Absolutely. For now, I will return to my home, but I will be here tomorrow at the dawn." With that, I changed my form into the wind, and rode out of there, scattering some thin sheets with writing on them. I had a day off as my first command, so time to go thank all the gods for my exile. I had no idea, then, what I would find.
|
“Hey, keep it moving, you bum.”
I paid the mortal who’d kicked me in the rear no mind. All I could think about was how sweet it was to breathe again, even if I didn’t need it. But it didn’t take long before I was coughing violently. The air was incredibly shitty. Also, I couldn’t sense any other gods! I turned to the brutish mortal carrying a hammer and wearing some kind of orange war helmet.
“What did you buffoons do to the air? And where in the *hell* are my fellow gods?”
The mortal raised a brow, then started to laugh.
“Aw where are my fellow gods?! Shut up you prick. And don’t you know the air’s always been awful, what’s it to you anyway? Nice getup by the way. I think the renaissance fair is that way.”
The mortal started to laugh even harder, and I laughed along, knowing in a moment I’d send him straight to his grave. Normally I would just play a little prank on him, but I was in a really, really awful mood. Eventually I snapped my fingers and sent a bolt straight towards his face, but it bounced harmlessly off his nose. He yawned and scratched his ass.
“Ha. Good one, dork.”
I couldn’t understand. Was this another god?
“Nah,” the mortal interjected. “Just a construction worker doin his job. Like I said, beat it.”
My jaw dropped. “Wh- you read my mind. You must know where the other deities are.”
“Damn it kid, I’m not a deity,” the construction worker spoke into my mind, never moving his mouth once. He then levitated me off the ground and flung me through the air like some common wretch. I landed far away in the middle of some kind of arena, with gigantic towers all around. I landed on concrete, and a man wearing strange clothes helped me up. I thought he would say something but he just spoke into my mind again, “Are you okay, sir?”
My eyes were wide in horror, and I started to wonder if this was the *real* punishment the gods meant for me. What were these spirits? “No, get away from me. Unhand me!”
The man looked hurt, but then paused and concentrated, his face scrunched. Then he looked back into my eyes and said, “Oh, woah. You’re really, really old, aren’t you?”
“Yes,” I was forced to admit.
He looked a little awed. It was the kind of look mortals used to give me, and it raised my spirits a bit.
“You’re one of the old gods. That’s incredible. You’re like a relic. They didn’t even care enough about you to kill you, I guess.”
“A relic?” I frowned. “But the others are still around?”
He laughed. “Oh hell no. No, there haven’t been gods for a long time, buddy. We offed them years ago. I’m pretty sure I’m supposed to give you up to the authorities, actually-“ he looked lost in thought.
I started to sprint off at super speed, but he was clearly much faster, and stronger. He was back in front of me in no time and clenching my neck effortlessly with one hand. I thought my head would pop off.
“Oh, shit, sorry. That was a little too hard, my bad.” He let go, and I fell to my knees, gasping for air. “Hard for us mortals to gauge our own strength now, you know? Hey, relax, we’re good. I’m not gonna kill you, or give you up or whatever. But I can’t just let you go around and cause havoc either.”
“I’ll be good, I promise!” I wheezed.
He chuckled. “No, you won’t. I know everything about you. You’re a mischief god. Listen, you’re on our side. I’m a part of, well, some kind of rebellion, you could call it. We’re gonna take back control of this city. I’ll get you caught up on everything, and you’ll help us.”
Was this some sort of trick? “So you want to bring the gods back or something? Or put me in power?”
He doubled over this time. “You’re a real riot, you know that? The gods are long gone. No, you’re serving us. We’d just want to siphon some of that sweet immortality you’ve got. In return, if you cooperate, I’ll let you cause all the mischief you want. How does that sound?”
As soon as the mortal said the word “mischief” my stomach growled like I hadn’t eaten for, well, millennia. Oh, sweet mischief. It had been so long. The only thing I’d ever loved. I have the mystery man a look.
“How much mischief are we talking here?”
“Well, how many super powered mortals do you think it would take to kill an army of *gods?* that’s a lot of lives to ruin, don’t you think? And nobody to stop you...”
Oh my gods.
I stood straight up and shook the human’s hand excitedly “Deal. Deal deal deal deal. And yes, I’m definitely going to try many times to overthrow you, we both know that, this is going to be so FUN.”
He smiled. “Wouldn’t have it any other way. Welcome to the team, mister?”
“The Great God of Mischief, the treacherous tyrant of terror, the DOOMBRINGER, Spawn of Morpheus Pelegius the seventh, heir to the throne of-“
The mortal winced and sucked through his teeth. “Uh, yeah, nevermind. Sorry, I thought I could do this but you’re too annoying as fuck.”
The man walked off. Free at last, I skipped away triumphantly, ready to cause chaos uninhibited. Suddenly a mortal kicked me in the rear again, and I pulled off a paper from my bruised rear end, and when I read it, it dawned on me that I very much was in hell.
| 2021-05-03T00:00:31 | 2021-05-02T23:42:37 | 101 | 20 |
[WP] Scientist have created a machine that allow people a window into alternate realities. It becomes mainstream and people talk about alternate versions of themselves. Finally you decide to take a look only to discover that there are no alternate versions of you. You're the only you in existence.
|
"Mr. Coleman," the suited man on the stairs said, still and stern as the near clone beside him. "I believe we have the answer to your problem."
Daniel set down the icing spatula and was about to open the door when something stopped him, a gut feeling something was off about these guys. "What problem?"
The man lifted his sunglasses as he flicked through his phone. "Do you have the username BatterBoss? Did you complain about not finding other versions of yourself in the dimensional visitation viewer?"
"This is about some Reddit post I made? How did you guys even find me?"
"We represent a Government Agency that deals with issues like yours. Please, may we come in?" Through the peephole, Daniel could just make out a building tension in the men. He couldn't see their hands tucked out of view. All at once, the door was kicked in and slammed Daniel to the linoleum.
The men were over him, training guns down on him with a boot on the door, squeezing him. One of the men looked around the apartment, seemingly unimpressed.
"Sorry, didn't get a chance to clean," Daniel wheezed out.
"Where your lab?" One of indistinguishable men asked.
"What lab? I'm not even in school this semester," Daniel said with a cough
"Explains why we couldn't find this one before now. Hard to believe there's actually a stoner underachiever version."
"What are you-" Daniel started before a loud pop accompanied a spreading red mist.
The men fell back slack as ragdolls, headless somehow. It slowly dawned on Daniel he was now covered in their gore.
"What the fuck," he yelled as he scrambled from under the door, ineffectually wiping his face.
"Dialed in microwave discharge, resonates with CSF," a voice called from the destroyed doorway casually. Daniel flicked the blood off his fingers and looked up to see himself, but somewhere in the neighborhood of eight times as cool.
"You're me, from another dimension," he said, incredulous. "I never got to see one."
"You and very recently me are the only ones free. That's because the organization those stiffs worked for put a lot of resources towards gathering us and locking us away."
"Why? What did we do?" Daniel said, having to look away from the teeth that lodged themselves in the nearly finished birthday cake.
"What didn't we do?" the man asked, lighting a black cigarette as he began pulling on various recipe books in the kitchen. "Let's talk in your lab. Where's the door?"
"Why does everyone think I have a lab!?" Daniel yelled.
The version of him paused for a moment, scrutinizing. "Holy shit," he said finally. "What do you do?"
"I'm kind of between jobs right now," Daniel said. "I'm selling cakes out of my apartment ever since the bakery I worked at shutdown."
"You bake cakes," the man said, shaking a more grizzled head. "Just my luck."
"What do you expect me to do? Can you please explain what's going on?"
"Daniel Coleman, in every reality except this one, is a super genius rebel, creating technology and fighting against Big Red and all it's government stooges. A version of us invented the dimensional engine that's so popular. What we didn't expect was the enemy to adapt so quickly and use it against us. They've been gathering up all the versions of us in every dimension and holding them in a prison where they're forcing them to work on something. I escaped just before I got there."
"So, what do we do now?" Daniel managed to ask as his brain spun. He was always gifted in school but super genius?
The other Daniel threw a handful of popping pebbles on the floor. A portal appeared below them, slowly steaming. "What else? Prison break. Get ready for a few crash courses."
/r/surinical
|
I had a call yesterday on my Looking Glass. Someone from another reality wanted to chat. To gossip, I guessed.
My ex-girlfriend used to gossip about me to an alternative version of herself who had a bald head, as smooth as a marble. They were all bald in that reality: something had leaked into the air twenty years prior and caused everyone to shed their hair. Even their eyebrows and lashes. It wasn’t all bad though. Like many bald men here, they’d come to realise what a drag hair could be, how it needed to be washed, combed, and cut as if it were an expensive cat.
Once, not knowing that I was listening in, I heard my ex say to her bald self: *he thinks he’s special, you know? Because he’s the only one without another version. He’s had researchers test him, papers interview him, oh and memes galore! He thinks he’s a celeb, not that he’d say it. Never really talks to me because of it. I mean, he talks, but not like I’m an equal, you know? Not like how we talk. It’s like I’m beneath him.*
The alternative *her* wrote advice columns for online magazines. I didn’t hear her reply, but my girlfriend left me the day after.
I think it’s wrong that one reality should be able to influence another. It’s unnatural. But I suppose I would say that. I guess it’s not so different to us reaching into the water —breaking the surface tension — and letting our fingers run along a passing fish.
I have nothing against bald people, by the way. And maybe my ex got the advice she needed. I don’t know. At any rate, she never shaved her head so I guess she didn’t like the look.
The technology‘s called Looking Glass. There’s a liquid screen that ripples if you touch it. The surface is an ivy green colour and you can see no reflection in it whatsoever. It works like one of those old radios, where there’s a knob you turn and the screen then starts flickering as it tunes into your DNA. Everyone uses it, but the only catch is the universes you tune into have to have Looking Glass technology too, otherwise they can’t talk back. But that’s okay — there are infinite universes.
People don’t talk to themselves like they’d talk to a sibling, but more like to a priest. They exchange secrets, looking for forgiveness or guidance. It’s okay to show these impossibly far-away people the darker parts of your hearts, as well as the lighter. It’s like talking to a mirror (goes the advertising slogan).
My ex was wrong about it making me feel special. Or at least, wrong if she meant the good kind of special. It makes me feel like I’m missing something. Like I have no shadow.
There was a story I read a while ago, about an old woman being found dead in an apartment in a block of flats. She’d been in there, dead, for sixth months before anyone thought to check on her. Don’t ask me how no one smelled her rotting away in there, but they didn’t. She’d once had a family and friends and did things everyone else does. Then, life forgot about her.
That’s how I imagine my heart sometimes. Like that woman in her apartment, waiting to be found.
I used to watch my (alternative) parents in the Looking Glass. They never get together. They always remain single as if love wasn’t something meant for them anywhere but in this reality.
My actual parents died not long after I was born. My mother to complications, my father to alcohol caused by her complications. And then there was only me left in their family line — something that didn’t belong, like a stain on a good pair of jeans. I was passed around from home to home, doing most of my growing up in the shelters between homes, like a weed growing where it doesn’t belong.
I used to watch my alternative parents a lot. It made me feel a little less alone. Once, I even talked to another Dad. I thought I could persuade him to meet Mom, and if he did, he’d fall in love with her and there’d be a second me, even if he was a lot younger. I thought maybe I could get some fatherly wisdom too. That he’d call me unique, or say we’re all alone anyway, in life and in the end.
But Dad said he had no son. Never planned to either. Then turned off his Glass.
I stopped watching them after that. Mostly I stopped using my Glass altogether, and dust gathered on it like leaves on a real pond.
I took a job in a factory where many other people worked, because they say if you’re with other people, you can’t be lonely. I got an apartment — one bedroom, decent shower, water and electrics included. And I bought a cat, too. I started using dating sites as I hadn’t had a relationship since my ex dumped me, but nothing really took off.
Then I had that call yesterday.
I don’t want you to think it went anywhere romantic. It wasn’t like that.
The girl who called me said she hadn’t meant to. That she’d just been looking for another version of herself. She wore a white cotton dress with buttercups tangled together all over it. A dark, short fringe hung to near her eyes.
“You call who you call,” I said, wiping away some of the screen’s dust. “That’s how the machines work. They scan your DNA as you tune them.”
”Then how come I got you?” she asked.
I shrugged. “Maybe yours is broken.”
“Yeah, or maybe yours is.” She stuck out her tongue a little.
“Why’d you want to talk to yourself, anyway? Don’t you think it’s more interesting to talk to people you don’t know? I always thought so.”
She smiled. “It’s not that I want to. Not really. It’s just... I’ve had my Looking Glass for eight years now. Eight! And in all that time, I’ve not found another me.”
I didn’t know what to say.
”Weird right?” she asked. Then she sighed. “Over here, everyone talks to their Glass. If you don’t have one... Well, it’s like you—“
”Don’t have a shadow,” I said.
She frowned. I studied her face. Her nose, her eyes, her lips. I looked for any trace of my parents. Or of myself. I’d never heard of another person in any reality who was like me: a moon with no planet to orbit.
”Are you okay? she asked. “You’re crying.”
I hadn’t realised. I wiped my eyes and said, “I’m okay. Just in a good mood. I’m glad you called.”
She smiled, a little strangely or curiously. ”I think I am too. But I don’t know why.”
“Maybe we could chat for a while longer?”
She nodded. “I’d like that. So... How are you?”
We talked until the sun rose and the light from the window stretched my shadow against the wall.
After we hung up, agreeing to speak again the next night, I lay in bed and thought of the old woman alone in her apartment. I thought how different that story might have been if someone had knocked on her door the day before she’d passed, and had asked her something as simple as how she was.
| 2021-06-02T05:38:51 | 2021-06-02T04:55:06 | 508 | 225 |
[WP] The remains of the human race live in a glass dome with no entrance or exit which protects them from the wasteland on the outside, one morning a dusty hand print appears on the outside
|
For countless centuries, the remainder of humanity has been trapped in an enormous glass dome, blackened on the outside by pollution. Essentially 10 billion or so goldfish in an aquarium painted over with black paint. The identity of whoever placed it there has been lost, as is what it protects us from. As such, it has been named Sanctum. But our world is a joke. People have stopped wondering what the outside is like, not caring whether we should be able to get outside. The Final Push, a rebellion that took place six years ago, was the last time anyone tried to breach the glass. For all their hard work, not even a small chip or fracture was ever seen. Now our government controls the masses with caste systems and drugs, similar to a book my mother stole for me to read when I was young. It has gotten to the point where we are really just goldfish being led by a pack of barracuda. I knew my find would change the course of our lives forever. But I didn't realize how much.
My name is Rayvin Amsel. I live in one of hundreds of slums in the lowest level. All the industrial waste and pollution gets dumped here, and as the filth of Sanctum, the people of the slums are thrown down here too. It's always pitch black down here, due to there being a physical barrier three hundred feet above the ground level preventing us from seeing any kind of light and also due to lack of maintenance on the fluorescent lights that have long since burnt out or shattered. The air is humid and heavy, making it difficult to breathe. We have to navigate using small rechargeable flashlights, and any form of transportation besides walking is impossible because of the narrow streets.
About a week ago, I was walking home from the border after seeing my girlfriend, Imogen. She is the most caring, gentle soul I know, and I'm positive if she was born in one of the higher classes, she would be seen as a goddess. Absolutely beautiful and perfect woman. But I digress. I walked a few blocks, trying to save the batteries on my flashlight by navigating using the beams from other pedestrians. That's how I got lost. I finally turned my flashlight on after the crowd completely disappeared. Looking around, I realized where I was. The end of the world. A grimy black wall of glass that stretched on for miles loomed before me. I was standing in the no-man's land between my village and the one thing preventing humanity from freedom.
I walked up to the glass slowly. Its presence signified everything I hated about this world. As such, all the pain, suffering, and domination I had grown accustomed to suddenly burst my emotional dam with the fervor of a pack of rabid Dire-Rats after a stray wanderer. I stood there for what seemed like an eternity, screaming at the wall, kicking it, clawing at it. It stated back at me mirthfully. Trough my tears, I wiped away at the pollution and grime, hoping for a sign, a reason, any kind of explanation for this twisted, foul place. I'm sure people out here were used to stuff like this by now. I was becoming another Scavenger, slowly going insane from my entrapment.
Suddenly, the most blinding light imaginable pierced my eyes. I yelled in pain and fell back on to the dusty ground. The entire area was illuminated. I tried to get my eyes adjusted to the light by twisting away from it. What I saw made me gasp. The light hitting the ground was in the vague shape of a single refracted hand print. It was definitely not mine, seeing as I had wiped away the grime with my sleeves. That could only mean one thing.
*It came from outside.*
I picked myself up and ran to the hole I had made. My eyes were adjusted well enough that I could look outside now. I couldn't believe what I was seeing. It was a green forest, just like the ones my mother had described to me as a kid, and ten times more beautiful than anything my imagination ever managed to conjure up. Just as tears started flowing from my eyes again, I saw movement. I dried my eyes and leaned in for a closer look. Staring back at me was a small child, just as surprised as I was.
>[Edit: Wow you guys! Thanks for all the praise! I'll write the next part as soon as I get a chance!]
|
"Everyone stand back! STAND BACK I SAY!" yelled the Mayor, over the cries and voices of a hundred people. The sound would echo back in a deafening tone, from the top of the glass dome. Women were covering their children's ears. Men were scrambling to the front of the crowd. The Mayor stood there, his eyes widened at the fear in his people's eyes. He knew he had to control the crowd, but how?
The Mayor then reached into his pocket, and pulled out a walkie-talkie like device, except something was attached to the antennae. An almost foil-like sheet, spreading out like a sail in front of the Mayor's face. He pushed three blue buttons on top of the device, then put it back into his pocket, folding the foil-like sheet. He breathed a sigh of relief, but in his heart, he knew his people would not take lightly to this.
The Mayor waited and waited, holding back the crowd of people scrambling to see what was on the glass dome. Sweat was dripping down his face, onto his suit from his fedora. One child cried out from the crowd, "They're here! It's a sign!" Another man called out, "Well, it must've been that damn Henry Wooten. Such a criminal, escaping. He's out there. I know it!" A women cried out, "Were the stories true? My great-grandfather used to say-"
Behind the crowd, across the intersection, flashing lights were approaching. The lights became more and more visible. Most the crowd turned around, squinting at what it may be. Suddenly, a faint horn could be heard. The crowd gasped, knowing what was coming. Some ran over to the sidewalk. Some still pursued the glass. The women took their children back inside, looking through their window worriedly. As the sound became more and more prominent, the Mayor walked out past the crowd, and ran over to the middle of the intersection.
The car approached. The car, painted red and black, read, "New London" across the doors. The siren on the top stopped, and the crowd finally calmed. The mayor waved at the car, and the figure inside waved back. The mayor ran back over to the glass dome, and got on top of a wooden box sitting by a fire hydrant, and stood on top, standing over the crowd.
"Thank you, my fellow citizens, for calming yourselves. The situation is under control, and will be investigated. Please go back to your daily activities. There's a rugby game going on over in Treadwell. A big important game. In fact, I'm sad i'm missing it." The Mayor laughed to himself, and so did some of the crowd, but the crowd still looked disappointed. After the crowd had thinned out, back to their streets and houses, the figure in the car stepped out.
Out came a middle-aged man, no younger than 35. He had a leather jacket over his broad shoulders and built chest. He wore an English driving cap, and a cigar hung out his mouth. He walked over to the Mayor.
"Mister Mayor, nice to see you again." The man stretched out his large hand, smirking at the Mayor over his cigar.
The mayor shrugged at the man, and said, "This is no time for greetings, Timothy. You know who I am, and I know who you are. We have a serious matter on our hands."
Timothy looked at the Mayor suspiciously, but just nodded. "I know. I got the message while I was down at Lake Bydo. It's a Sunday, and I'm still getting calls. I must be very good." Timothy let out a huge grin, but the Mayor was just rolling his eyes.
"I know, Timothy. I know. In fact, you're the best detective around. Not that there's many...but that's not important. Come with me." The Mayor directed Timothy around a corner, and to the glass dome.
Printed there, not too high off the ground, was a dusty hand print. The hand print was beginning to fade due to the high winds outside, but it was still prominent enough to catch Timothy's attention. He bent down, and his eyes seemed to scan the hand print. He looked up at the Mayor, his eyes beaming with fear and excitement. "Not since-"
"The Escape, I know." muttered The Mayor.
Timothy bent there for a while, his eyes scanning over the whole hand print. He looked for any abnormalities, anything to give him a lead. He then bent up, brushed off his leather jacket, and looked straight into the Mayor's eyes.
"The hand print looks completely normal. Only one difference: the thumb is too long for an average human's hand. The average thumb length of a human is about 2.5 inches. This one is about 6 inches. Unless we got Mister Big Thumb on the run, this isn't human."
The Mayor just stood there, his mouth dried up, and he stared at the ground. "*No...*" he thought. "*This isn't true...humans are the only animal left...no.*" He recollected his thoughts, and looked back at Timothy.
"Well, what is it?" he said sharply.
"That's the problem, I don't know." he said in a reassuring tone to The Mayor, whose eyes still showed fear.
Timothy walked over to the wall, and leaned on it. He got lost in thought. The Mayor followed him, staring at him, waiting for an answer.
The silence was broken by something walking over to them. It was a young child, trotting down the sidewalk. It came to be a young girl, her blonde hair in a ponytail, and her red dress hitting the ground. She was holding book titled, "Stories During The War"
"Hello!" said Timothy to the young girl.
The young girl stopped, and looked at him. She smiled back, but stayed quiet.
"What book you have there?"
The young girl gave him the book. Timothy looked at the cover, laughed to himself, then opened it up to the first chapter, "*Chapter 1: The Skaars*"
Timothy, after skimming through it, came to a picture. His eyes exploded with reason at the sight of the picture. He almost dropped the book due to his eureka. He quickly turned the page, and came to a paragraph that read:
"*The Skaars were a group of guerilla fighters from the old country of South Africa. They fought against the opposition of the reign of King Gecko from France,operating separate from the Spanish Opposition. Nobody knows what happened to this group, as they were left behind before the Obese was dropped.*"
He looked back at the picture, and saw three men standing behind a burning building. The three men were holding modern weapons. Timothy was speechless for a minute, before showing The Mayor the photo.
"Mayor...look at this photo..." he whispered to The Mayor. The young girl stood there, clueless.
"Yes. The Skaars. They were killed off. But that's just a legend." said the Mayor.
"No, what looks off about the photo?" said Timothy, holding the photo up close to the Mayor.
"It's just three men..." the Mayor said, scoffing.
"Look at their hands." Timothy pointed to the third man from the right's hand.
"His hand looks a bit large...wait.." The Mayor's eyes widened. His fedora almost fell off his head.
"The thumb...the thumb...it's large." the Mayor whispered.
"Pretty large...pretty large..." Timothy looked behind him out past the glass dome. It was a wasteland. Nothing bust dust and junk.
"What does this mean?" said the Mayor.
"Well, either we have a prankster on our hands, or those stories are true." Timothy said.
Edit: I changed the country where the Skaars were from from Spain to South Africa, because I found out Skaars is a Afrikaans word meaning scarce.
| 2014-12-15T23:12:23 | 2014-12-15T21:18:47 | 367 | 180 |
[WP] An omnipotent being arrives on Earth, and informs humanity that it can answer almost any question. Humanity hasn't found any unanswerable questions after years of asking.
|
The voice from within the void boomed, "Speak, human, and I shall answer your question. Nothing is unknown to the Great Unknown."
*Finally, after many years of waiting, I shall receive an answer to mankind's greatest mystery. I opened my mouth and asked: O Great Being, why do kids love the taste of Cinnamon Toast Crunch?*
"..."
|
The line outside of the palace stretched for miles. Men, women, and children waited patiently for their turn to ask their question. Everyone had a small trinket or token that they would give to Him as payment for his answers. Time drug on for those waiting in line as they inched closer and closer to their destination. Those near the front watched as people slowly trickled out. Some people looked stunned, others wept openly, some wore masks of fury. Regardless of the question, He would answer and did. But as most people found out as they slowly walked down the cobblestone streets that they truly didn't want to know the answer.
Teresa pushed the small wheelchair forward another foot as the line moved. She looked down at the shiny bald head of her daughter Anne who was asleep. Anne's thin arms gently clutched her worn teddy bear Mr. Basket. A tear rolled won Teresa's cheek as she stared at her daughter. Not that much further she reminded herself and turned her eyes forward toward the stone palace up ahead. Day turned to night and the line trudged forward, like ants returning to the nest. The wheelchair gently bumped into the stone steps of the palace stirring Anne awake, her bright blue eyes blinking sleep away.
"Is it our turn?" she asked her mom.
"Almost sweet heart, just a little further," Teresa replied.
Teresa leaned over and took her daughter up in her arms. Anne felt so light, so weak. Teresa couldn't help but remember when she picked her for the very first time, those bright blue eyes staring up at her with love and warmth.
"Don't cry mom, it's okay. He will give us the answer."
Teresa numbly nodded and began their ascent up the flight of stairs.
Her arms and back were burning as they reached the landing. Intricately carved stone columns stood as sentries in front of the arched doorway. Teresa took a deep calming breath and strode forward, her head held high. A man walked past them sobbing heavily, his back bent underneath the weight of his newfound knowledge. Teresa felt Anne's almost skeletal hand grip her arm. If only she had the courage her daughter did, she thought to herself. They reached a grand hall. It was a large empty room save for the single dais in the back. Stone mosaics decorated the floor and walls.
"Step forward," a voice boomed from the dais.
Teresa walked forward, her daughter held tightly in her arms. Her knees went weak when she saw Him. A radiant figure bathed in a strange soft light that originated from inside of his body.
"Teresa, Anne. Please ask your question," He said gesturing to a large pile of gifts stacked near the dais.
"Are you sure you can do this?" Teresa asked Anne.
Anne nodded confidently, never taking her eyes from the glowing figure. Teresa gently set her daughter down and Anne stepped forward on unsteady legs. Each footfall became steadier as she walked toward the pile of gifts. She placed Mr. Basket on the top and turned toward Him.
"Why do children get cancer?" she asked, her own voice sounding hollow in her ears.
He nodded slowly and shut his eyes for a second.
"An uncontrolled division of abnormal cells in a part of the body," he began before Anne interrupted him.
"That isn't what I asked. I asked WHY they get cancer. Why do terrible things happen to young people. What purpose is there for a child to get cancer. Why? WHY?!" she screamed the last word. Her hands were balled into small fists as she trembled in front of Him.
He sat in silence and watched the little girl shaking in front of him.
Sorrow filled his luminous eyes.
"I'm sorry...I don't know," He whispered.
---
Thank you for reading!! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories!
| 2016-09-09T10:32:24 | 2016-09-09T09:37:52 | 34 | 23 |
[WP] At 14, every human gains the ability to transform into their spirit animal. Your noble family, comprised entirely of wolves, isn't happy with your transformation...
|
Today was my birthday, finally I was 14. I had been waiting for this my whole life. My family was a proud family of wolves, they called our family 'The Pack'.
My father was a Timber Wolf, his coat enveloped him like tar, sucking in all the light around him. My Mother became an Artic Wolf, white as snow. They were perfect opposites but made for each other.
I was worried. I did not feel like a Wolf, but I was assured I would follow the family. They wanted to make a event out of it and invited my entire family for the transformation. I knew something would go wrong.
Great. It was a full moon. This sent everyone into a frenzy. They were all in their wolf forms, howling at the moon. I got anxious. It was 11:58pm, 2 minutes to go.
Everything went quiet, it had begun. I knew it. I had been right all along. I spiritually identify as an Attack Helicopter. Ever since I was a boy I dreamed of soaring over the oilfields dropping hot sticky loads on disgusting foreigners. People say to me that a person being a helicopter is Impossible and I’m retarded but I don’t care, I’m beautiful. I’m transforming into rotary blades, 30 mm cannons and AMG-114 Hellfire missiles on my body. From now on I want you guys to call me “Apache” and respect my right to kill from above and kill needlessly. If you can’t accept me you’re a heliphobe and need to check your vehicle privilege. Thank you for being so understanding.
The deafening roar as my rotors began to spin up to speed drowned out the horrified howling of my family. I was finally free to be Apache.
|
I wanted to dance, and jump, and sing, but the looks on my parents' faces stopped me cold. I had transformed, rather ungracefully, and stood before my parents, expecting them to be smiling and clapping after they saw me in all my glory, but their faces had fallen. Their smiles vanished and their hands didn't move from their sides. The noise I made in confusion was not the huff of a wolf, like I had heard from my parents many times before, but instead it was a snarl. A thick, feline snarl that caused everyone in the room to step back in fear.
My strength faded and I shifted back soon after, my own body shutting down on itself and causing me to collapse. When I came to, I was in my bed, but still in the ceremonial gown I was wearing earlier, and the light that filtered through my curtains was the soft glow of a full moon.
From the hall I heard voices, two voices belonging to my parents, who were vehemently arguing. I crept as quietly as I could up to the door to my father's office, and I laid an ear against the cool wood.
"...our daughter, Bjorn!" My mother's voice was sharp. "We knew this day would come-"
"And I intend to face it head on, like we were warned." He snapped. Normally when my father was angry, his tone was more irritated than completely enraged, but the way he spoke to my mother was unlike anything I had ever heard. Something had made him furious, and my stronger sense told me that it was my transformation. But why would he be angry about that, and not proud?
"Warned?" My mother laughed. "Some gown-wearing hooligans stroll into town, give you this 'warning' that someone in our family will be a danger to us all, and you just listen?"
My father shouted, and as he shouted, it rolled over into a howl that prickled the hairs on my neck. Glass shattered and my mother yelped. Fear pounded through me as I struggled to decide what to do. The door was locked, and if my father had pounced on my mother, then she was trapped in there with an angry wolf who sometimes lost control of himself. I knew the stories as well as my siblings did. Sometimes, if people spend too much time in their spirit-animal form, they start to... lose the human side of them, and they begin to take on the instincts and personality of their beast form. After that, they'd be more animal than human, and would have to be put down.
Wood cracked and splintered from inside the room, and as I heard another cry, I began to panic. I didn't want someone to call the guards, but I didn't want to handle this on my own. Before I could come to a decision, the fear decided for me. I felt the same adrenaline course through my veins that I had during the ceremony, and my bones started to shift and fold. As soon as it had begun, it was over, and I looked around with sharper vision, my fear having been replaced with energy.
With all my might, I barreled through the door, tearing it off its hinges, and two heads snapped upright to glare at me. One was the human face of my mother, blood dripping from her skull, and the other was the snarling wolf-face of my father, whose dark gray eyes were almost camouflaged against his thick black coat. He growled a deep, warning growl that meant I should leave, but the way his eyes stared into mine kept me in my place. He didn't even recognize me, I could see it.
"Marinda." my mother wheezed, her eyes glancing from me to my father. "Get out of here. Please. I'll handle this."
I whined at her and took a step forward, but my father was quick to block me.
"Marinda." My mother cooed my name as gently as she could. It only made me want to help her more. "Please, just go. Go to your uncle's house and wait for me there. I'll be okay, sweetie."
As bad as I wanted to stay and help her, to maybe try and convince my father to stand down, I knew that it was foolish. I was only 14, and he had far more experience than I in using his animal-form. Already my strength was fading, and if it weren't for the adrenaline that had fueled my break-in, I might have already shifted back. Ignoring my mind's pleas to stay and fight, I turned away from my parents and pushed as hard as I could off my back legs, propelling myself down the hall. I only caught a few glimpses of myself in the mirror, a mainly white coat, striped in black down the back, and eyes the color of ice.
I tore through the front door and landed on all fours in the wet grass, the moonlight casting strange shadows every which way. My strength was waning, but I had made a promise to my mother, and I intended to keep it. I would wait for her. The last thing I heard as I cut through the night were the painful howls of my father losing every last bit of humanity he had.
| 2017-01-21T20:40:55 | 2017-01-21T18:59:29 | 66 | 19 |
[WP] You want to be a bad guy; a real supervillain. You have powers and abilities. You've spent a fortune on making your costume. You have a clever name and origin story. You have everything you need to be a great bad guy, but you just can't seem to be a dick to people
|
"And now, you will be forced to watch as- oh my god, are you ok? Did I tie those too tightly?"
The Dark Terror moved over to one of the hostages that was wincing. The rope was digging into her skin in a mighty uncomfortable fashion.
"Oh my god I'm so sorry." Said The Dark Terror. "I was in a rush and oh, let me loosen this for you."
The bank manager, Stacy according to her name badge, cast tearful eyes to meet those of The Dark Terror. "Why are you doing this?"
The Dark Terror worked on loosening the knot a little bit. "When I was a child, my parents were murd- oh, you don't want to hear all this. Look at me, going on about the past again. There you go."
The bindings had loosened enough to allow some blood flow back into the bank managers hands. "But why?"
The Dark Terror stood up, and looked somewhere to the upper left. "Because... Terror will always find a way into people's hearts, and the night-" The Dark Terror fanned out their cape, knocking some paperwork off a nearby table.
"Oh shoot, sorry! Let me get those."
|
Frieda had always been a misfit. She'd always been a few pounds too heavy, a few inches too small, a tad bit too uninterested in learning in school. She got beaten for it; beaten hard. Not physically. But words hit worse than any punch; cut deeper than any blade. She was the constant target of ridicule in school. She felt trapped in her own body. Growing up she only had a single friend, but she left her too, when Frieda confessed the feelings she bore for her.
One day, it all changed. They meant it as a cruel joke. Wanted her to drink a cocktail of unknown substances. They wanted to see, what happened. It felt good being wanted for once, even though it only was to be the butt of a joke. Nothing could happen, that was worse, than what she had already endured. And in the worst case, it would be all over. So be it. She drank it.
They thought nothing had happened. But Frieda felt it. She had changed. A power had started to surge through her body. A power she could not explain. She could do things, a human should not be able to.
It was time to exact her revenge on those, who had wronged her.
School had been over for a while now and almost everyone had found a new place to move on to. Frieda hadn't. Her time in school still tormented her. The abuse, the looks, the remarks. Still livid in her mind. She wanted to make them understand. Make them feel like she had felt.
So she set out to find her old classmates. Justin was one of them. The charming idol to the other girls, he had never held back on calling her a fat pig and throwing his cigarette butts at her. Compared to the others, he had been tame. But when he put her into the spotlight, the whole school looked on and laughed at her.
Two years of working in a fast food joint had wiped the smug grin off of his face. He had focused too much on studying the cheerleading squad and the end of his weed pipe to amount to anything more in life. Still, he was miles ahead of her at her expense, Frieda thought.
"What is your order, ma'am?" No 'fatty pig'. No 'a salad for you, then?' Frieda was only met by a blank seven hours into the shift stare. He knew, who she was. He must know.
"Do you remember me, Justin?"
"Uhm. You one of Crystal's friends? Sandy, right?"
"No. I'm Frieda."
"Who?"
"Frieda. We went to school together."
"My bad. My bad. That time feels like ages ago. What can I get you?"
"How about an apology?"
"Apology?" Justin looked at her confused.
"For what you did to me. Calling me a fat pig and flicking the butt of your f-ing joints at me! For humiliating me in front of the whole school!", Frieda demanded. She saw him do it over and over again in front of her inner eye. She felt her blood boil. She wanted to use the power then and there. But she held back. He had one chance to set it all straight.
The glimmer of recognition flicked over his eyes. The smug grin reappeared for a split second. He remembered.
"Oh.", he said. "Yeah. Should have called you a whale instead of a pig, right? My bad. My bad."
Frieda smiled. Justin was back. She could use her power now. Humiliate him. She looked up at the camera and waved.
"The fuck you doing? You out of your mind?"
"I'm gonna get you fired, Justin."
Justin laughed. He stopped laughing, when he opened the register against his will, just by Frieda commanding him. She told him to give her all the money. She felt it fall into her hands. She saw the horror in Justin's face. She smiled and turned.
Everyone's eyes were on her. It was just like back in school. No. It wasn't. Now she had the power. She could tell all of them to go f- themselves and they'd gladly do it. Such was the extent of her power. No longer would she be the one, who was humiliated. She'd humiliate everyone around her. Make them pay twice as much as what she had to suffer.
She'd be no better than any of them, wouldn't she?
"I can't do this.", she said and put the money back on the counter.
"I'm sorry.", she told Justin and ran out of the fast food joint, humiliated by herself.
---
Do you feel compelled to read more of my stories? Head over to /r/M81atz!
| 2017-09-20T05:08:45 | 2017-09-20T01:10:22 | 305 | 44 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E.
|
Dear James,
I know I've already written countless letters to you. And I know you've got to be tired of hearing it by now, but I miss you something terrible. You haven't died or anything..you're not sick. In fact, you're perfectly fine, but you're perfectly fine a few hundred miles away and that's what hurts.
I had a good night tonight. The best one since you left 3 weeks ago. Me and Car and Erika had so much fun together. We talked about our men. We talked about how we met, and how in love we all were. It was so nice to have girls to talk to about you. The only other person I really talk to about you, is you.
I hope you're doing good.
I know things must be tough there, and I know you're being worked pretty hard. I think you'll have big muscles when you get back . :) then whenever you hug me, I'll feel even safer than I did before. Speaking of hugs, I can't wait for ours in January. it'll be the first one in 13 weeks.
I never really imagined I would ever love someone as much as I love you. I never imagined I would stick by someone like I've stuck by you. In my fairytales, I didn't picture myself waiting weeks for someone, and I didn't picture my excitement in life coming in the form of a letter written by you. When I was younger I only dreamed of a white dress and a groom with tears in his eyes as I walked down the isle. I dreamed of dancing in the kitchen at 2AM, baking cookies and then falling asleep next to my one true love after eating every single one. I dreamed of adventures, and mischief, and sitting on rooftops at midnight talking and watching stars.
I suppose that's all you see when you've never truly loved someone before. Because if you have, then you would know it's so, so much more. Love is fighting over little things. It is making sure both of you have eaten, and it's good morning and goodnight texts. It's "call me when you get there so I know you made it safely." And "come home at a decent hour."
Love is saying I love you every time you hang up or leave each other's presence, even if for only a minute. It is making love for hours and never getting tired of being so close to someone. It is forgiving, a lot of it, and also forgetting. It is giving second chances but also setting boundaries. Love is not easy. It is hard. But it is what I feel for you, and I do not EVER want to feel it for anyone else.
You being gone has only given me more time to think about our future, and all the years I have left to love you. They say life is short and when I'm with you, I believe them. Hours feel like minutes and I could spend a million years with you but still miss you the second you leave. I never get tired of you. I can't wait for our wedding, and I never wanted kids but oh god what I would give to have a mini version that is half you and have me.
I can't wait until we live together, and fall sleep together, and I can't wait for the nights when we make love until the sun comes up, and then sleep all day. I can't wait for midnight drives, and I can't wait to surprise you with all of your favorite foods.
I can't wait for the bad times either. That sounds crazy to most people but if they understood my love for you then they'd realize bad times with you are worth more to me than good times with anyone else. I can't wait for the little arguments we have, and I can't wait to pick on each other. I crave the things most couples take for granted, because I want everything with you. I want the fights, and the yelling, because I know you must have those if you want the good too. And oh, how I want the good.
More than anything, James, i want you. I promise I will continue to write you. I hope you're staying strong. One of your buddies said as long as you keep your cool, listen to your DI's and stand tall you'll be just fine. I know how tough you are. I know what you're capable of. And I know I am so proud and happy for you to do this. I can't wait to see you in 9 weeks. And I can't wait to love on you, and spend those 10 days with you.
You are the love of my life, and I miss you more than anything right now. I love you baby, i promise Ima hold it down till you come home.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T21:28:23 | 235 | 74 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Dear old friend,
I saw something that made me think of you the other day. And sometimes I think of you for no reason at all.
I want to talk to you, but I know there’d be no point. I wonder what you’re up to, but I don’t ask.
Because we have both changed so much since then, or maybe we haven’t changed at all. But something’s changed, and we both know that things can never be as they were. We could make an attempt at a conversation, but it will only make us feel more distant from where we used to be.
So I won’t talk, and I won’t ask, but I want you to know that I keep you in my thoughts and in my heart.
Because even though it’s run its course, and even though I don’t want to rekindle it, that friendship will stay precious to me.
Love,
A stranger you once knew like the back of your hand
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-06T03:25:39 | 2017-11-05T22:26:46 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Alex,
Its been nearly 15 years since I have seen you. While we were only kids then I think about you often. We were best friends, and even when we had so little and our families argued we still found a way to hang out. Be it play wrestling games in your room, or have grass fights...it was the highlight of my youth. I miss those days.
I wonder where you are, how life ended up for you as we both grew up with very difficult lifes. I even think of your sisters, Ashley and Angelica.
Most of all I am sorry how it ended. How much I miss you even after all these years. How you handed me the empty envelopes already stamped and addressed, how someone got ahold of them and decided to tear them up so we couldn't contact each other anymore. Quite often I find myself searching for you on social media or the internet, but I have never found you.
I only hope that you are alive and doing well. That you are happy.
-GM
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:01 | 2017-11-05T22:26:46 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] An alien has kidnapped Matt Damon, not knowing what lengths humanity goes through to retrieve him whenever he goes missing.
|
"We're receiving a transmission from Earth. It's about the human specimen we harvested for examination."
"Send it to the bridge. Let's see what they have to say."
*I don't know who you are. I don't know what you want. If you are looking for ransom, I can tell you I don't have money. But what I do have are a very particular set of skills, skills I have acquired over a very long career. Skills that make me a nightmare for people like you...*
"End the transmission. Send the Earthling back, and prepare for hyperspace. We are getting the fuck outta here"
|
When will they learn?
It was the fifth time in the last decade he had be kidnapped. The lengths the entire planet have gone to in order to rescue him have been astounding, but not all together surprising.
Matt Damon was, after all, a planetary treasure. Mr Damon was targeted as a weak spot for humanity 10 years ago by the Reptilians of Centauri V. The Reptilians had been studying us for years. They thought they knew us and our lack of ability to work together. So they went with a plan that seemed foolproof: bring the planet to their knees by kidnapping Matt Damon. For a brief moment, the world was in shock. "What could we do?" After the initial shock, the governments of the world gathered and decided they had no choice: they had to save Private Ryan.
And save him they did. They sent a small contingent in to get him out. We had to use weapons that were developed in secrecy and ones all governments had decided unanimously they would never use. It was the "scorched Earth option" that overwhelmed the Reptilians; they expected this tech. They knew we had it. But they didn't expect our immediate aggression and anger. Matt Damon was saved, at the cost of many heroes that sacrificed themselves for his Sade return, and at the cost of an untold amount of Reptilians that were in the Earth's warriors way.
A few years later, the Reptilians had bounced back and decided they were going to execute their plan again. This time, they were better prepared. They also watched the toll saving Matt Damon took on humanity. Not everyone was happy with the cost of victory. Did we compromise our very own morals to save Matt Damon? Humanity couldn't immediately reconcile that level of death and destruction put forth to save one single human. So that's why, when the Reptilians struck again, many considered Matt Damon to not be worth more compromising. We had advanced rapidly in those few years since the last attack. Many government officials around the world recognized we could save Matt Damon again, but with much of humanity considering him expendable, did we put out the effort to save Jason Bourne?
Whereas the first go around, they expected humanity to crumble and become their slaves to save Mr Damon, the second time, they expected humanity to destroy itself fighting over the correct course of action to take. They were planning on discourse. What they received instead was the nightmare. After the BBC broadcasted internationally a marathon of Matt Damon's greatest movies, interviews, Jimmy Kimmel live appearances, and that awesome clip from Eurotrip, the Reptilians soon learned their plan backfired. They were more in love with Mr Damon now than ever. They were angry. And they were not going to let this happen again.
We killed them all. Every Reptilian. Humanity put into action was they've been practicing on so many species for so long. Complete and total annihilation. Genocide. Chemical, nuclear, quantum weapons, all used, with scary accuracy and even scarier results.
They thought after that, a message was sent to the universe: Leave us alone; if you value your lives, forget about Matt Damon. To ignore this warning was to invite death upon your entire race.
Two more times this happened. The Greys were wiped out entirely, being responsible for Matt Damon's third kidnapping. No one had seen one in years.
During Matt Damon's fourth rescue, he was injured, leaving a permanent scar resulting in a bald streak on the left side of his skull. The forth species had been stricken from all written language throughout the galaxy. To even whisper their name would send shudders down the bravest alien warrior. Their retribution was swift, with no mercy, and without peer.
Surely, no one would be foolish enough to do this again?
We were wrong. The highest echelons of the UN had gathered and determined there is only one way to get the Martian back and send a final warning shot to the galaxy that could not be ignored: send in one man. Our second favorite planetary treasure: Liam Neeson. God help any intergalactic species that gets in his way.
| 2018-06-06T16:07:37 | 2018-06-06T16:05:59 | 365 | 21 |
[WP] It’s a weird first date, they seem almost too into you. It’s been a while since you got some action so you go along with it, hesitant to question why they’re so eager. “Head back to mine?”, they say. When you arrive you notice that every wall is covered floor to ceiling with pictures of you.
|
She sat at a small wooden table, nervously twirling a finger in her hair. The table sat outside of the quaint little cafe, the sunset turning the sky to a beautiful amber.
He had stepped inside to settle up and returned to the table moments later. He extended a hand, saying, "Check's paid. Head back to mine?"
Her pulse quickened a bit as she smiled a coy but sultry smile and say, "It would be my pleasure."
"On that point," he said with a cheeky grin lighting up his emerald eyes, "I believe we can firmly agree."
As they started walking arm in arm to his apartment just a few blocks away, she recounted the date in her mind. The flirting, the way he seemed to get her every like, dislike, and quirk, he even ordered the after-dinner coffee for her just the way she would like it (two sugars, just a bit of milk, and an ice cube to cool it down). The date flew by so quickly, she didn't even get the server's name.
They strolled past shops with empty windows, a few passerbys here and there but no one of note. The evening air was warm and it didn't do much to cool her down inside. Was he perfect for her? Was she just desperate? I mean, she couldn't even recall the last man she saw ... you know, *socially.* It had been months, maybe longer.
They arrived at his apartment and he stopped by the door, taking her chin between his thumb and index finger and lifting it to kiss her lips. Forward, yes, but she wasn't about to complain.
"Once more for good luck."
Once more? She smiled at the kiss but wasn't sure what he meant at that. He unlocked the door to the dimly lit apartment and she stepped inside.
He closed the door behind them both and flipped on the light. Her breath caught in her chest.
On every wall, on every surface, there were photos of her. Hundreds of them, no, thousands. Her mind raced. "What... what is this? What the hell--"
She saw photos of her when she was younger, riding a bike with the world behind her a blur. Photos of her that could have been taken within weeks of today, a pretty young girl on an unremarkable street corner. And...
She approached the wall, reaching a hand out to touch a photo. It, too, was of a little girl but she was holding the hand of a much older, but so familiar woman. It was ... her? With a daughter?
"I don't understand any of this..."
"I know, sweetheart. It's been a long day. Maybe you should take a rest."
Her wrinkled skin paled against the vibrancy of the green summer day of the photo of her in her wedding dress, a handsome man with eyes to match the grass of the field where they wed standing beside her. Her eyes teared up a bit as she looked back to the man at the door, his gray hair cast against the thick frame of his bifocals which, even now, didn't hide those vibrant eyes.
"But ... I don't remember ... when we were married ..."
He walked toward her, reached out and took her hand, pale skin against pale skin. "It's okay, love. Maybe tomorrow you'll remember. They said it might get better with the new prescription."
He stood up out of the recliner beside her bed and placed one of the photo albums back on a shelf. She turned a page in the next and saw another photo that almost looked familiar. It was her as a young woman of 25 on a first date.
She sat at a small wooden table, nervously twirling a finger in her hair. The table sat outside of the quaint little cafe, the sunset turning the sky to a beautiful amber.
|
These things all start the same. I’ve always romanticized those chance encounters you see on T.v. You know the ones, strangers lock eyes across the room, a shy smile here, a playful grin there, the glances are exchanged for a minute or two to spare the embarrassment of her looking at someone else and then you make your move.
I moved through the party with all the grace I could muster while carrying two drinks. It’s the strong move, ordering something without being asked to, showed initiative, the ability to take charge. When I arrived at the piece of the living room she’d marked as her personal space I offered the drink toward her and channeling 007 hit her with my most charming opener. “Hi, I uh, this is for you. I hope I’m not bothering you, I, well it looked like, what I mean is…” While her eyebrow raised and that smile returned to her lips I cleared my throat. “Hi, I’m Alex.” She laughed, always a good sign as it seemed to be more with me than at me and introduced herself as Charlotte and for the rest of the night, we were inseparable.
We talked about all the usuals, favorite foods, favorite movies, I made lame jokes which she always laughed at and she was full of questions about me, almost too many questions, where I grew up, how many siblings, parents, grandparents, greatest fears, aspirations. I pride myself on being a skilled conversationalist but she was a master and before I knew it an hour had gone by and I had learned nothing about her while she’d deconstructed every part of my life.
That should have been the first sign, if I’d have gotten the hint then I might have avoided the whole thing entirely but I’d been drinking, she was gorgeous and I hadn’t had anything resembling sex in far too long. I went to ask all the questions she’d asked me in a fair exchange when her hand met my arm and her fingers sent that spine-tingling chill through my body. She didn’t say anything, not that she needed to, just brushed her fingernails along my skin and then made her way for the door. Of course, I followed, dumbfounded and drooling like a dog after a pork chop I shuffled along behind her. I didn’t hear the address she gave the Uber, I was too wrapped up in her perfume and the taste of her tongue.
We were locked together for the entirety of the ride even if he hadn’t been I wasn’t in the headspace to consider all the twists and turns, we just kept kissing and gripping, switching positions slamming against the roof and doors of the car and laughing against each other until we came to stop. We were still tangled up as she fumbled for her keys, laughing, she asked for a moment and reached for her phone. “I’ve got to answer this, make yourself comfortable.” Those words are funny in hindsight.
I opened the door and everything changed. There were no walls, no carpets, just me pictures of me from different distances lining the whole room, string connecting certain shorts with post-it notes attached at certain points. I should have run, should have turned and screamed for help but I was surprised and the part of my brain that controls those functions wasn’t working properly, I’m guessing that was part of the plan. I remember opening my mouth to speak and that was it.
I don’t know how long I was asleep or how long it was that I was awaker groggy, wrists hurting and a hangover mixed with pain at the base of my skull. The memories came back quickly and after a brief struggle at my restraints, steel on the wrists, cord or rope at the ankles I kept my eyes shut, I could imagine some fun scenario in which this happened, pretend it was a dream as long as I didn’t open my eyes. Something moved, feet, not in high heels either and not on photographs, concrete maybe, the echo made it hard to tell.
“You’re not dreaming Alex, I’m sorry, but I have to know which one you are before I can let you go.” Charlotte, but not the light airy ‘I’m so into you’ Charlotte, her voice was colder, almost sad if she weren’t a fucking psycho. I opened my eyes and her basement greeted me, cold stone walls meeting a cold stone floor, I was on a table laying on the hands cuffed behind my back with my ankles bound together, at least there wasn’t a gag in my mouth. I had a million questions, what did she mean? There is only one me, I thought we were having a good time. The longer I thought the faster my breaths came, I could feel my heart in my throat threatening to choke me. I tried to swallow it and after a couple of attempts managed a pitiful “Please, don’t.” The look on her face wasn’t angry, she was studying me like I was some alien thing that she needed to figure out. “Please don’t hurt me, just, just let me go, I don’t even know where we are, you, you can take my phone, just please.” The corner of her lip curled, I got the joke. She’d taken my phone already, I had nothing to bargain with.
“Alex…” She began taking a step toward my left so I didn’t have to strain my neck to look at her. “You don’t understand how funny it is that you’re begging for your life.” There was that cold demeanor again, almost accusatory and now that I could see her eyes, they were angry, angrier than I’d ever seen. “I don’t understand.” I tried before she scoffed and stomped away toward a computer that I hadn’t noticed behind me. “Of course you don’t, you’ve never understood anything you’ve done, no matter how it happens. Never understood the pain you cause, the destruction.”
Great, she thought I was someone else, I hadn’t caused any pain, had I? Well, there was Amber back in 9th grade, she’d caught me holding hands with Holly but that was years ago. “I don’t know what you’re talking…” She turned and if she could have killed me with her eyes I would have died. “I know you don’t know! That’s why I’m here, and if you want to make it out of here you’ll shut the fuck up so I can figure out which one I ended up in.” The glare continued after the shouting and it did a good job of shutting me up but I’ve always been curious, even against my better judgment. “Which what you ended up in?” I could hear her fingers running over the keyboard behind me before she exhaled. “Which timeline, I need to know if I’m early enough to stop it.” So, she was crazy, fantastic, still, I’d watched enough crime shows to know that you don’t mess with someone's delusions during a mental break, especially when you were this close to getting your feet free. “Early enough for what?” I asked, trying to keep my voice even, the knot in the rope was slipping, just a few more tugs. I stopped when she turned and those cold blue eyes met mine. “To stop you from ending the world.”
\*Formatting and grammar are never my friends but if I proofread this I'll hate it. Criticism welcomed.\*
| 2019-06-03T00:39:47 | 2019-06-02T22:10:31 | 26 | 19 |
[WP] You have the ability to see a few seconds into the future when you are in danger. You joined the army and became a captain. You are out on patrol when you notice one of your men getting a transmission you don’t receive. You then see your men shooting you in the back a few seconds later.
|
A planet covered entirely by city and you'd think you would find a job that kept a roof over your head, but life was tough for a street-urchin. Civil unrest and corrupt police meant survival by sheer luck every night from gangs of thugs or dystopically disenfranchised.
Sometimes it proved useful. You could *feel* there was an overdosing vagrant around the next corner preying on the next unfortunate wanderer to fuel his habits, so you go the other way around and nicked their stash of ill-gotten gains to trade for a bit of food.
You got around too. Hearing all sorts of talk and gossip, you try hitting up every lead for employment or apprenticeship. There was even an imposing temple nearby people in brown robes frequented, seemed worth a look. When they raised an eyebrow after a quick blood test you thought you might have a chance; might be special; might take you and train you to be a...
"Too old." they remark, silently noting your ragged clothing and confusion before promptly shuffling you back outside. Resigned to your fate, you end up in a conscription office. Hopefully you weren't too *young*.
In hindsight you quip that the streets seemed safer than the barracks. Two fellow recruits lie unconscious on the floor after you launched yourself feet first into their bewildered faces. That dream felt so real though, like being held down and strangled. Served them right for being up anyway after hours. First night too, was this going to be a recurring event?
Your platoon bewared your uncanny ability to come out from every confrontation unscathed, earning you the nickname *Oracle*. Was it still deja-vu if you could act on what you observed? Kind of hard to think philosophically with the brass spitting in your face, unsure what to do with a soldier that saved soldiers lives by sacrificing civilians. All you did was kick away a live grenade, yet it could have been aimed better. The blood, *the screams*.
When the war did arrive, you became forgotten fact in the rush to deploy. Sent off to frontier lines to support another regiment. Guys in fancy white helmets and armor with modern equipment, making you pause to wonder who sponsored them. Conflicts usually meant politics and business were butting heads. Loyalties could flip as easily as coins.
That feeling became ever so clear to you during the scouting mission. Closing your eyes for a moment revealed red hot searing pain in your back as hulking monsters attacked you from behind. Opening them again you continue on like nothing happened. Then you hear it.
*"Execute Order Sixty-Six"*
|
(First comment here and first time writing first POV)
The crackle of a distant radio is what pulls me from my reverie. The night air is cool against my face as I blink to take in the lack of men falling into step behind me. The telltale sound of boots crunching gravel and the swishing of heavy gear is absent in this eerie span of ghost town. The war had taken its toll on everyone but in times like this I especially feel pity for the poor civillian souls ripped from their homes as their lives came down in literal shreds around them. Because of the fighting mostly everything was reduced to rubble toward this end of town but the few and far inbetween concrete buildings that were still intact needed to be checked every night and morning to ward against insurgent occupation.
The patrol Command sent tonight were my men. The very men currently gone from my sight.
A quick search of the area yielded the same results. They were gone. Panic seeped into my bones as I thought about calling out for them, surely they couldn't have gone far and because of the lack of gunfire or explosions they couldn't have gotten ambushed while I was off in La-La land without me noticing. Usually they would have warned me before splitting up or at least knocked my shoulder when I drifted. Taking off in a jog I began to retrace my steps, following the path back down the street and glancing around for any sign of them. Right as I thought about using our channel for a transmission, I heard it again. The crackle of a radio. A faint conversation.
It sounded close. Like it was just around the corner of the road I was jogging on, a building obstructed my view but as I drew closer I could see an orange glow basking the asphalt in light from what I immediately assumed was a small fire in one of the leftover empty oil drums laying about. I heard shouting and recognized the voice of one of my men. Internally I slumped in relief, they were alive. I sped up my pace until I was just about to round the corner, ready to give them a lashing for splitting without a warning.
"Do I have confirmation, soldier?" It was one of the officers from command. Vin, I think he was called? It's weird. Usually they radio only me. I heard a scuffle and someone cursing. I rounded the corner just in time to see my sqaud of six men surrounding my second, Nix. His face set in a scowl as something unreadable flashed in his eyes. In fact all of my men had various disgruntled expressions.
"Yes, sir. Kill on sight." Nix met my eyes as he said those words, eyes flashing again but this time I could read it. Anger, guilt, disgust and sadness all swirled in them. I'll never forget the way my entire world froze. My chest tightening as images tinted monochrome flashed through my brain as the full extent of my gift jumped to full awareness. All of my men turning toward me one by one and without hesitation raining gunfire. Bullets ripping through the protective gear covering my body. My blood splattering almost comically against the walls of the nearest building, as I gasped my final breath. The heavy rifle falling from my hands as my body spasmed one last time.
I dove behind the concrete wall and put my arms over my head as the wall above me rained dust. My ears rang as I scrambled for my dropped gun and took off running into the nearest alley, not even looking behind me as I sprinted away from my squad. I could hear Nix shouting orders for a formation I had taught him. My lips twisted at the irony as my heart began to pound from the adrenaline coursing through my veins. To think one day it'd be used on me instead of enemy insurgents. I let my legs carry me away from the squad, ducking under metal beams and behind mounds of rubble in an effort to get away so I could regain my bearings.
I paused behind a burnt car to suck sweet air into my aching lungs, beads of sweat made my undershirt stick to the small of my back and my gear damp. I had to calm down. I had to think. I couldn't keep running like this. Nix would have called command by now. I know him. I know his thinking.
Wait-
Just as I knew the formation and how to out manuver it, I also knew these men. Just as I knew when to duck to avoid a spray of bullets that would have penetrated my skull, I know that Jay has a wife at home with two little boys aged 6 and 4 respectively. Just as I know to crawl to avoid running into Married-to-the-service Hex, I know Den has a family even bigger than Jays. I know that Nova has already served past his due but continues to fight because he sees it as his sacred duty. I know Wren has 4 dogs that stay with his sister and her kids when he's on tour. Hex, Den, Jay, Wren, Nova and Nix. I know these men. They're my men.
That's why I have to know. It's why I need to know. Who gave the order? Why did they throw away their loyalty to me and follow it? This makes the betrayal burn deeper. If I hadn't had my power of premonition then I would have died at that corner, laying dead in the street of some unknown ghost town as the men I trusted trotted off back to base in the humvee with my blood on their hands. As the country I gave my life to didn't even give me the chance to know why. I just want to know, why?
I think I lost them for now but I'm too furious to even think about running away. My skin is searing with fury, my chest is seething with rage. I'll make them pay. My squad. Command. All of them. And I'll use this goddamned gift I was given to do it.
The path ahead is cold and dark. It's filled with blood and pain. But if it answers any of my questions then who am I to deny it? After all, they didn't have any qualms about killing me.
| 2019-06-07T21:44:55 | 2019-06-07T21:15:13 | 63 | 16 |
[WP] You wake up after experiencing a vivid, heart-pounding dream. You tell your partner, only to discover they’ve had the exact same dream. Your phone vibrates with a CNN notification-“The world is panicking: millions report experiencing the same sensational dream.” The dream identical to yours.
|
[Poem]
The world thinks it was some coincidence
I think it was certainly an offbeat occurence
But in keeping with what's current
Maybe this whole isolation thing has us more
Stir-crazy than a truckload of ice cream.
I mean, how can we all subconsciously dream
About a monkey playing drums with two coconuts
At once?
Unless the collective unconcious is out of whack once more
It's where all of humanity's dreams are stored..
|
He stumbles through the city, steam rising from the sewer-vents melding into the clouds giving the world a smokey aura of mystery. Through the fog, the neon sign of the 'Heart O The City' hotel appears, piercing the night with its vibrant colors. He stops, lost. As he stands a flock of sheep wanders past, its shepherd whistling and directing the herd. He reaches out to pet one of the sheep, then jerks his hand back, electrified.
-----
Moirot started suddenly in bed before rolling around languidly, eyes closed, and bumping into Ketra, who let out a tired sigh. The two remain for some long minutes before Moirot got out of bed and wandered to the coffee machine of their studio apartment.
"I had the weirdest dream last night." Ketra said from under the covers. "Something about sheep."
"Me too!" Moirot spooned grounds into the machine.
-----
"You can't turn it off now," Ananke glared at Prof. Saturnin, "We're starting to make real progress, I mean serious progress. No group has ever done runs with this kind of detail before! We can implement more power saving measures, repeat more non-essential patterns--"
"We can't afford it, Ananke," Prof. Saturnin sighed at Ananke, "You knew at the beginning that my grant was only for three years of time, it's been five. I just don't have any more grant money to cover it. Don't worry, we can patch together a thesis with what you've got now."
-----
Ketra finally got out of bed, long tie-dye shirt falling to her knees, phone in her hand. Moirot, in plaid flannels, held a cup of coffee out to her without looking. But Ketra never took it.
"This is weird," Ketra mumbled, thumbing through her phone, "What did you dream about last night?"
"Sheep, I told you."
"No, I mean, exactly, was it night or day? Country-side or city? Color or black-and-white?"
Moirot told her about his dream. Ketra held her phone out to him with shaking hands
-----
"This is insane!" Ananke huffed, "I don't care about money or a thesis! This project is groundbreaking at so many levels, the latest snapshots are just... You wouldn't believe the kind of detail we're getting! It has to continue!"
"Welcome to Academia, Ana." The professor smiled sadly as he walked through the lab toward the terminals and took a seat at one. Ananke stood, hand on hips off to the side.
-----
"Woah," Moirot said as he slurped his coffee, "That's so weird."
Moira chuckled, "I know ri-i-i-i-i-ght!" Her voice broke into a strangely polyphonic octave and she clamped her mouth shut, eyes wide with surprise.
Moirot doubled over in a full belly laugh, but what came out was a mechanical "Ha. Ha. Ha. Ha." He froze, shocked, and craned his neck to look up Ketra's 8-bit, chromatic shirt.
Ketra looked around the room in a panic, then slapped her cubical coffee mug onto the cubical countertop, "What's happening?!" She shouted.
The world began to shift more and more quickly, the transparent floor-to-ceiling windows faded into a pure, opaque blue. The zebra-striped couch took on a complex polygonal shape and a pure grey color, then a simpler, shape, then simpler, until a grey rectangle sat where it once was
Moirot screamed.
-----
"I'm sorry Ana," Prof. Saturnin put his arm around his student's shoulder.
"It's going to take years to run another simulation that long and with that kind of resolution," Ananke griped.
The two stared down at the [terminal](https://www.reddit.com/r/jacktheritter) in the lab.
SYSTEM SHUTDOWN NOW
| 2020-05-01T16:48:34 | 2020-05-01T16:34:50 | 27 | 11 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you."
|
*If it makes a human sick, it will kill you*
Ashley glanced over the survival pamphlet for the umpteenth time. Pulled off the corpse of one of the invaders that had come from the cosmos above, it was the single piece of information that had turned the tide of the war against the Lar’khii.
Initially it seemed as though all would be lost in a matter of months. Lar’khiish technology was at least a millennium ahead of the best that earth’s governments could throw at them. The aliens were bringing a nuke to a snowball fight, capturing humans alive and beaming them up, screaming, to ships where it was only learned later what kind of horrors awaited them. The experiments, the procedures, no boundary was left uncrossed to try to make a cure-all medicine that humans simply acknowledged as their immune system.
When that fateful pamphlet was found on the body of a slain Lar’khiian and translated, and the purpose of their invasion as well as the danger that humans posed to them.... Ashley couldn’t help but chuckle as she remembered how comical it was to watch. The most modern of armies relieved their soldiers of their useless firearms and cumbersome gear in favor of creating hyper-mobile pathogen vehicles. Instead of combat fatigues and weaponry, soldiers and civilians alike were issued athletic wear, running shoes, and chili peppers. A single sneeze, cough, tear, drop of sweat or mucus, or any other bodily secretion would have a Lar’khiian screaming with both its facial and torso mouths as they scrabbled at the infected area with their limb horns.
It was too late though. They were already dead. Ashley had seen it too many times to count, and just because she hated the alien species for terrorizing her home planet didn’t make reliving the grisly scene in her nightmares any easier.
It was always the same. Fifteen seconds after infectious contact, the area would transform from its usual pale yellow to a livid fuchsia.
Thirty seconds after exposure boils would appear on their hide, bursting forth with a runny black liquid that evaporated before it hit the earth. All four sets of teeth had crumbled to dust by this point and the tentacles sprouting from the top of their heads would soon follow.
Two minutes after exposure all six of their eyes would have burst, with both of their mouths simultaneously starting to leak the same black liquid that now seeped through all pores on their hide.
Only the largest of Lar’khiians had ever survived five minutes after exposure, which gave the human that had infected them plenty of time to run before their twenty foot tall corpse toppled over on them. Autopsies on these corpses to better understand their biology was impossible, as all that remained was a hollow, empty husk of their outer hide.
Ashley replaced her standard issue copy of the pamphlet back on her table and re-tied the laces on her running shoes. She decided to grab a bottle of whiskey on her way back from the front. She couldn’t risk being alone with the day’s memories tonight.
|
“Why are we doing this again?” Glarm asked.
“I want to do a ‘human in a wormhole.’ You know, like a modern version of a ‘canary in a coal mine.’” Gleek said.
“But the whole point of the canary is that it would die easily and be a warning to surrounding life forms.” Glarm said. “And these humans are crazy resistant. Did you know that that the number of foreign cells in their body outweigh their own cells. That means this guy here is only half human.” Glarm said and pointed to the human in an examination table.
“Is that true?” Gleek asked.
“I don’t know, I just read it in the Willyolio Tribune” Glarm said.
“It’s crazy, they’re surprisingly hard to kill.” Gleek said.
“What did you say?” Glarm asked. He couldn’t believe he actually heard what he thought he heard.
“You know what, you’re completely right. That whole ‘canary in a coal mine’ thing was a bad metaphor. How about it’s for science.” Gleek said changing the subject.
“Oh, why didn’t you just say so! Of course I’ll help. What exactly is the experiment?” Glarm asked.
“I’m going to open this hatch and kick ole’ Glen here out into that wormhole to see what happens.” Gleek said. He was doing some light stretching to warm up for the kick.
Glen was strapped to an examination table under large pure white lights. We was wearing a stylish full body rubber suit that covered everything except his face. His face was wearing a full body fear suit.
“Ok, so that’s not science. I can’t be apart of this. It’s just murder.” Glarm said.
Glen let out a sigh of relief.
“I was planning on taking rigorous notes!” Gleek said.
Glarm thought about it a moment. “Ok, I’m back in. But we can’t just kick Glen out into that wormhole.”
“Yeah, you can’t just kick me out into that wormhole.” Glen echoed.
“Why not?” Gleek asked. “I’ve done it plenty of times. It’s very rewarding work.”
“Because we know from earlier scientific tests that one of the few things that can kill humans is space. More directly a lack of oxygen and the whole vacuum thing doesn’t jive well with their bodies.” Glarm said.
“Riiiiiight. I totally forgot about that. So how should we proceed?” Gleek asked.
“I say we put him in a spacesuit so he won’t die immediately. That way we can see what the wormhole does to him.” Glarm said.
“See, that’s why I reached out for your help. You’re so good at these sorta things.” Gleek said. He didn’t mention that he was forced to ask Glarm for help. His direct superior was getting annoyed by all the human specimen going missing after Gleek was around.
“Awwwww, thanks Gleek, that’s so nice of you to say.” Glarm said.
Glen was swimming in sweat inside the full body rubber suit as he watched the last moments of his life being decided by two giant green lizards.
Gleek was beginning to regret asking Glarm for assistance. He’d kicked several dozen humans off their spaceship. He thought he’d finally found his calling. And now Glarm is sucking all the fun out of it.
The two massive lizards geared up Glen with all the spacesuit equipment they could find. It’s wasn’t made for such a puny life form but it was the beat they could do under the circumstances. The arms of the space suit hung down to the floor and the legs scrunched above the boots forming a wrinkly donut around Glens knees.
“Ok, I think that’s going to do it.” Gleek said.
“Wait, the most important part!” Glarm said and grabbed a giant round fishbowl and plopped it onto glens shoulders.
“Perfect.” Gleek said.
“I don’t think this spacesuit is going to work.” Glen said.
“And what would you know about spacesuits monkey man?” Glarm asked.
“I know I shouldn’t be able to smell your breath from inside one.” Glen said. Glarm raised his hand to cover his mouth and check his breath. “Seriously guys, I can feel a slight breeze from under the helmet.
“Stop being so anti-science. You should count yourself lucky you get a space suit at all.” Gleek said.
“Do we know where the worm hole goes? So we can check to see the results of the experiment?” Glarm asked.
“Yup, it goes directly to Sirius B” Gleek said.
“That’s where the Dogons are from right?” Glarm asked.
“No, the Dogons are from Mali, but they are loosely related. Second cousins or some such.” Gleek said.
“That’s right. I was thinking the Gorgons.” Glarm said.
“No, they are form Hell and of no relation. You’re thinking the Bon-Bons.” Gleek said.
“Oh yeah! The sentient chocolate spheres. I like those guys. They’re a lot of fun.” Glarm said.
“And delicious.” Gleek added.
“You’re a lucky guy Glen.” Glarm said as he pulled a large pronged lever to open the hatch. “You might get to meet the Bon-Bons.”
“That’s funny. I’m not feeling so lucky right now.” Glen said and backed away from the open portal.
Gleek took a running start into a flying kick right to the center of Glens chest. Glen went flying into the gravitic grasp off the Sirius B Wormhole. Glarm raised the pronged lever and the hatch door closed with a hydraulic hiss.
“It’s just not the same” Gleek said.
“What’s not?” Glarm asked.
“The thump I normally get when I kick a human right square in the chest. It was all muted because Of the spacesuit.” Gleek said.
“Sorry Glarm. That’s the price we pay for science.” Glarm said.
Yeah, I guess you’re right.” Gleek said. He was already planning the next time he could kick a human into space.
“Oh no! Glarm said.
“What’s wrong?” Gleek asked.
“We completely forgot to take notes.” Glarm said.
“It’s ok, I got it all up here.” Gleek said and pointed to his temple.
| 2021-02-03T19:32:17 | 2021-02-03T16:54:38 | 102 | 28 |
[WP] Turns out hell is real. This was made known once demons and devils came to Earth. However things quickly got awkward and confusing once people heard them mutter, "If Heaven won't fix this shit hole, we might as well do it ourselves."
|
"this is bullshit." satan said from his throne. "utter and complete bullshit." he said gesturing to the portal showing the earth. countless dead from wars, plague and simple poverty. "Fuck this." he said as he stomped off to his desk and picked up the white phone.
"This is the great satan, Heir..." he stopped speaking and looked at the phone, one eyebrow raised.
"Sir?" his assistant said, her red skin glowing slightly from the heat, her wings neatly tucked in behind her as she sat at her desk.
"I got his voice mail." is said gently setting the phone back on its cradle. "I GOT HIS FUCKING VOICE MAIL!"
"umm." was all she said, unused to this kind of reaction from him. rage, yes. fury for certain. but this seemed... personal. insulting.
"ready the 1st magical battalion! we move on the earth!"
"yes!" the assistant cried, "finally the time for war has come, we shall-" he cut her off with a gesture.
"not war. peace. that bastard rigged the game. how can sin flourish if everyone is at their last meal? how can faith in god die if that all they have left? no, we shall build a utopia for the humans, make them love their life so much they will never pray again." he went back to his desk and flipped through some papers.
"Ah, yes. first up, lust. send in our most perfect of devils. no more empty beds." he let out a girlish giggle.
"this is going to be fun." he said.
the assistant just stared. never had she heard satan himself *giggle.*
|
The war had entered the third year. Thousands of lives lost on both sides. The devil sat there, watching as humans kept destroying terra.
“Fuck it. I’ll do it myself.”
A sinner being boiled nearby in oil gave him the finger guns and in between his screams of agony pointed out that he got that reference. That act added another 6 years to his sentence.
The devil along with seven demons ascended to earth, disgusted by what the humans had turned the once pristine garden into.
The devil shouted unto the heavens. “Last chance. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”
The earth was plunged into darkness as if a candle that had finally been extinguished. The demons got to work.
All over earth, people screamed in agony.
The most prideful of the humans were all given a humiliating death, shame apparent on their face as their clothes and flesh were ripped off. Their mistranslated tattoos in other languages were laid bare for everyone to see.
The most greedy of the humans had all of their wealth taken away. They had to beg to even fill their stomachs, with no one giving them even a morsel. So they died every moment of every day before their actual death.
The most lustful of the humans were disfigured and their outer appearance was changed to match their inner ugliness. The craved human contact but none was forthcoming. They died alone.
The ones most envious had their most precious possession given to their enemies, including one incident where someone’s most precious possession was a massive 6 foot duck.
The most gluttonous were cursed where anything they touched started tasting of sand. Nothing they could eat would satiate them so they ate themselves to their death except for the one human who just kept eating sand as if it was the tastiest thing in the world. The demon was weirded out and ended him early.
The most wrathful were cursed to turn their wrath inwards. The more anger they took out on themselves the angrier they got. The cycle of self destruction led to exactly that. Destruction.
The slothiest of the all were put on a cosmic treadmill and forced to run for their lives. The actual sloths cheered for their demise, angry that these humans had given them a bad name.
Along with punishing the existing sinners, everyone was warned. Any new sins would be punished just as bad.
It took 7 years but finally the devil had cleared up earth.
The demons went back to hell for a well earned rest as the devil stood looking over his domain. Punishing the sinners was what he did best and it was obvious that humans responded better to fear that love.
It was at that moment when the skies opened up and a figure descended from the heavens.
The earth was illuminated as people felt joy in their hearts.
“What the hell are you doing here?”
“You? What’re you doing here?”
“I asked you first you goddamn idiot.”
“Hey now. Don’t be taking my name in vain. It’s time for the rapture you know.”
“What!? I’ve spent the last 7 years cleaning up the earth. I’ve removed all sinners and sin from this place. Where were you then?”
“Technical difficulties. I was supposed to come here ages ago. But I fell asleep. And then I saw this bomb ass angel and you know we uh.. well let’s just say we were a match made in heaven.”
“Wow.”
“Indeed. Showed her the time of her afterlife. No one better in any realm bro. 3 years that took.”
“What happened then?”
“Then we had a massive feast. Had to get my energy up right? Took a lot of fluids. Ate a shit ton. Went on for like an year.”
“Still only 4. I’ve been here 7 years. I came exactly when the rapture was supposed to be.”
“Yes but... see then this different angel hooked up with her. Pissed me off. Like I’m the god. I was so angry. I wanted her back. At any cost. She was mine and mine alone you know. So I took another few years and destroyed that angel’s life.”
“Then she came back to you?”
“Well no. By that time I fell in love with someone else.”
“So over the last 7 years you’ve been committing all the sins I’ve been punishing humans for here on earth. Why I oughta...”
“Hey hey. Remember diplomatic immunity broski.”
The devil huffed in anger. “Well fine. Either way. Go have your rapture. I’m done with this place and I’m done with you.”
“Well I mean... this place is pretty much heaven now. I think I’ll push rapture back a few more centuries. Heavens a bit overcrowded anyways and this will be a lot of paperwork you know. I’ll let them live for now. Descend into a bit more debauchery. So I only take the best of the best you know.”
“You son of a...” The devil’s grip on his pitchfork tightened.
But god was well on his way back to heaven already. “Toodles bro. Same place in 3 centuries? It’s a date.”
| 2021-04-29T20:53:00 | 2021-04-29T19:52:47 | 279 | 119 |
[WP] "Come and sit. Drink some tea. Watch the end of the world with me."
|
“Ok. Ok. Ok. We need supplies. Check the pantry. I’m getting the cooler from downstairs.”
She sprints downstairs toward the laundry room. She’s freaking out. Understandable given the circumstances. I walk over to the pantry and grab the camomile teabags. I put a few in the teapot, which I already had half full, and turn on the stove. I hear her footsteps running up the stairs.
“What are you doing? Start packing.”
“Keep it down.” I whisper. “Don’t wake the boys.” I pointed to the couch at our two sons, passed out slumped next to each other.
“Why the fuck are they still asleep?” She questions. “We gotta get them moving and get the car packed.”
“Keep your voice down.” I repeat. “I don’t want them awake for this and neither do you.”
“Stop wasting time. We have to leave. We have t-“
“To what?” I interject. “What are we gonna do?”
“S-something! The news-“
“I’ve seen the news. It’s a comet.”
“And it’s going to hit here! Right here. Our town”
“Your point being?”
“My POINT being we need to get as far away as humanly possible. Minimum safe distance.”
“Babe, it’s a comet the size of Russia. Even if we didn’t live in the projected impact zone, where would we go? There is no minimum safe distance from this thing.”
She pauses to think for a moment. “I don’t know. Underground somewhere?”
“Underground? We’re gonna find a bomb shelter in…” I check my watch. “-13 minutes?”
“Look outside!” She points to the kitchen window. I peek through the blinds and see the street packed. All of our neighbors frantically loading up their cars and yelling at each other. “They’re going somewhere.” she says. “Someone out there has some sort of plan.”
“Babe, none of them have anywhere to go. They’re panicking. You’re panicking.” I hear the whistle of the teapot. I walk to the stove and turn off the burner. “No one out there has anything remotely resembling a plan.”
“And you do!?” I see the tears start welling up in her eyes.
“I do.” I tell her. “My plan is to not spend my last moments on earth spiking my blood pressure , scaring our children and fighting through traffic to go nowhere.”
“But.. there has to… this can’t be…” She breaks down. Time seems to stop as we stand silently in the kitchen. Embracing each other, her sobbing in my arms.
The alarm on my smartwatch goes off. “That’s five minutes.” I tell her. I pour out two cups of tea, adding cream and sugar. “Come on. I made your favorite. Let kick back on the couch, put on some music and hug our boys.”
She wipes her eyes. “I love you so much.”
“I love you too. Let’s get comfy.”
|
I stared at the woman with bloodshot eyes; my lips were cracked from weeks of exposure to the harsh, wasteland elements, my skin coarse and sand-blasted, my clothing was ragged and filled with holes. I thought I was the last one alive. I've not seen another living soul in... I don't even know anymore. The nukes killed everyone.
And yet there she was.
A woman in her 40s wearing a spotless white suit, grey streaks in her jet-black hair giving her an aura of dignity and elegance while her round sunglasses gave her an air of mystery. It almost looked like she was having a picnic - a small table with tea, two chairs, umbrella above it all for shade. I didn't even know where to begin to understand.
"Oh come now, David, I won't bite. I even have biscuits," she said warmly.
"How... how do you know-" I tried to ask, but a coughing fit interrupted me.
"Please, sit. The tea is perfect. I know you haven't drunk anything clean in quite a while."
I wanted to resist, to question, to scream, but I was too tired, too hungry, too thirsty. I fell into the comfortable, cushioned chair as if my body weighed a tonne. She handed me the tea and I desperately lapped it up; it tasted like heaven after surviving on polluted water for so long. She refilled my cup without a word.
"How do you... *akh akh*... how do you know my name? Who are you?" I finally asked, reinvigorated by the tea.
"You have questions; I understand. There will be a time for me to explain all of it in detail later," she said.
"Am I dead? Or hallucinating? You can't be here, I mean. You're... clean, normal. You have tea for fuck's sake," I said with as much gusto as I could muster.
"David! Language," she frowned momentarily. "You're not dead. But you are the last human alive. Good job on surviving, mind you. Have a biscuit," she said and I hungrily accepted.
"How bo yu-" I started but decided to swallow first, "how do you know that? *Who are you*?" I insisted.
"God. Well, *a* God. The details are complicated," she smiled gently. There was something immensely soothing about her presence.
"Oh," I said. There was a time when I'd scream and question the claim; I'd shake her, demand answers, accuse her of all the wrongs, beg forgiveness. Those times are gone. I've seen too much, did too much. I was too tired to doubt it.
"We sure fuc- I mean... messed things up, didn't we?" I said, defeated.
"Truthfully, I've seen worse outcomes. Death is a mercy compared to some fates," she said coldly.
Another coughing fit seized me; when I pulled my hand away from my mouth, it was entirely covered in blood. I looked at her; she saw it.
"Radiation, right? I suppose I don't have long," I said with a weak smile.
"You don't. I'm sorry." There was genuine grief and sorrow in her voice.
"Will it hurt?" I asked.
"I'll make sure it won't."
"Thank you," I said and looked at the dark brown horizon. We sat in silence for a moment while I chewed another biscuit. It was amazing.
"What happens next?" I said, eyes still locked at the horizon.
"That's why I am here, David," she said and sipped the tea. I looked over to her, a new wave of confusion rising through me.
"What do... what do you mean by that?"
"I know what you've done these past few years, David. You know what conclusion I came to?" she asked curiously. My heart sank.
"No," I whispered.
"You're a good man." My eyes darted up to meet hers; she took the sunglasses off. Her eyes were... it was as if they were filled with fog, white with different hues of colour, constantly shifting, moving.
"You're wrong. I don't care if you're a god. I'm not," I said sternly.
"You tried to help when possible," she said.
"I stole."
"You shared."
"I killed."
"When no other option existed."
"I KILLED MY WIFE FOR FUCKS SAKE!" I yelled and threw the cup into the desert; tears flowed from my eyes, a mixture of anger and grief filling my being to the brim, ready to burst.
"I know," she said with slightly raised eyebrows; a mixture of pity and understanding. "I also know that she was in pain and there was nothing you could do to help her. It was mercy," she said kindly and I slouched back into my chair, sobbing softly.
"Why are you telling me this? What do you want from me?" I whispered.
"I want your help."
"With what?" I looked up and wiped the tears from my eyes.
"The next one," she said. "There is much you could help me with, make the next one better, avoid all... this," she said and waved her hand towards the wasteland, the sand, the broken skyscrapers. "Because you're good. Flawed, yes, *but still good*. I need that perspective. And you deserve a break," she finished with a soft chuckle.
I pondered the offer for a moment.
"Can I even refuse?" I asked.
"Of course. You'll pass into the afterlife gently if you do. It's an offer, not a command," she smiled.
I looked back at the world. My world. Broken beyond repair. The rivers evaporated, the lush green forests burned. All that we've made, all that made us great, vanished in the nuclear blasts, and what survived withered away in the wasteland. We could do better.
"Will I see my wife again, in the afterlife?" I asked softly.
"You will. Even if you decide to help me. I'm... I understand how you value her."
"Alright. Where do we begin?" I asked with a newfound resolve.
"No need to rush, David. You've earned some respite," she smiled and put her sunglasses back on before handing me a new cup of tea.
"For now, sit with me. Drink some tea. Watch the world end with me," she smiled.
Sounds good to me, I thought and took a sip.
| 2022-02-19T12:27:31 | 2022-02-19T08:00:48 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] "Any last words before I eternally claim your soul?" snarled the demon. Terrified, you stood there silently. You haven't said anything in 20 years, yet you still see the demon constantly hovering in the shadows, waiting.
|
The demon hovered ominously as I poured milk into the cereal bowl. I pushed it out of the way to get to the freezer and pulled out the ice cube tray.
The demon snarled in frustration as I went about getting my breakfast, thoroughly angered by my stubbornness.
Years had passed since it had uttered that once terrifying threat, and it was still waiting for me to say my last words. Unfortunately for it, I was not willing to give the demon any satisfaction, nor was I physically able to speak.
If the demon had taken any time to get to know me before it chose me as its target, it would understand that I was mute.
Instead it now had to put up with this endless cycle of hovering over my shoulder, waiting for me to somehow speak my 'final words.'
Like, no thanks, not today. My soul is mine thank you.
I opened a drawer and pulled out a notepad and pen, writing on it and giving it to the demon.
*Dude, you really need to find a hobby. I mean really, it's been 20 years and I'm not about to start saying shit any time soon. You said you would break me but I think I've broken you.*
Insulted, the demon disintegrated the note in its hand, and stormed over to me. "HOW DARE YOU!," he snarled. "I WILL WAIT FOR AN ETERNITY IF I MUST TO CLAIM YOUR SOUL. IT BELONGS TO ME, IT IS MINE! AND HOW DARE YOU SPEAK TO ME- WRITE TO ME IN THAT MANNER. YOU SHOULD BE COWERING IN FEAR AFRAID TO SPEAK A SINGLE WORD."
I shrugged before sitting down at the table and eating my cereal.
Poor guy needs to get a life already.
|
The human mind has an incredible ability to adapt to almost any circumstance. It may strain under the pressure, but if it doesn’t break it will bend and adjust. Eventually, the new will become more familiar than the old to the point you could never imagine returning to the way things were. To that point - I can’t really imagine speaking again.
It was hard at first. I lost my job, my partner, most my friends. They tried sending me to the hospital, but the doctor couldn’t find anything wrong with me aside from my sudden desire never to speak again, and that was perfectly rational from my own point of view. If I said another word, I would die. Then my soul would be dragged down to hell.
The demon watching me now made it very clear that would happen. Two reptilian slits peered out from the darkness under the simple cot that was my bed. When I was tired of meditation and reading, sometimes I would stare back. It was a good way to pass the time in-between meals with my fellow monks.
In some ways, I felt I needed to thank the abyssal creature. I never thought I would abandon the city and my worldly possessions to become a monk. I never thought I would be celebrated by the small community I found for my devout adherence to a vow of silence either. Most of all, I never thought I would come to enjoy this world that I built around me. But the mind is adaptable, and after twenty years, I don’t think I’ll ever want to leave.
The joy in simplicity is mine to appreciate and I do so everyday in a beautiful silence. It is only interrupted by the occasional one-sided conservations directed at me by my peers and the entity that haunts me, but even that I’ve come to enjoy.
I sat on my bed and waited. The small window into my room let in only faint moonlight, revealing that another day had flown away. And when night fell, the demon would grow bold.
Two massive claws reached out and dug into the stone floor, carving several long furrows with a metallic scrape. He liked to do this for show, but in the morning any indication of his existence would mysteriously vanish.
“You must be tiring of this,” a low growl followed.
I smiled and shook my head.
“It’s okay, you can tell me. I’m telling you it’s not so bad down there. You can speak, for one. And there’s better food than in this joint.”
Brother Felix put raisins in the oatmeal this morning. Is there any greater joy than the mild sweetness of a raisin when you weren’t expecting one?
“You’re thinking about the raisins, aren’t you?”
I nodded. While the demon couldn’t read thoughts, twenty years spent constantly together meant he was exceptional at understanding me.
“I still can’t believe this. My first human, and this is what happens. You weren’t meant to take it literally! It was supposed to be a scary thing I said, but then you took it literally and now we’re stuck here talking about raisin oatmeal.”
I shook my head.
“I’m stuck here.”
I nodded, then shrugged. It wasn’t so bad. I, for one, enjoyed our little talks.
“You’re too content.”
I patted the empty stretch of cot beside me. It took a lot more grumbling, but eventually the demon dragged itself out and sat beside me.
The first time I had seen him in his full form, I nearly broke my vow of silence. Not out of a sense of horror, admittedly, but I almost couldn’t stop myself from laughing. He was a bipedal reptilian creature, with a too-wide mouth and rows of sharp teeth. What was so funny was that it honestly looked like he was wearing a costume from a cheesy B-movie.
It was real, which only made it more impressive. Anybody could wear a bad costume, but it took effort to just look like that.
“I just, I don’t know what to do!” He huffed a few times and growled. “You won’t do anything! You get up. You meditate. You eat. You read. You sit there with that smile and refuse to do anything else but listen to me while I rant about how quiet you are!”
I patted him on the shoulder, and the dam broke. He fell onto me, quickly burrowing his snout into my shoulder. The tears started up soon after.
“I’m a failure, aren’t I?”
I shook my head. You’re just having a rough time. Maybe you should consider a new line of work?
“What would I even do? Heaven’s not hiring, and Hell won’t want me back unless I bring you!”
Maybe you could find something on Earth? People tell me it’s like Hell.
“You think somebody would hire me?”
I nodded. I could think of a few lines of work for a demon.
“I guess I don’t need to hunt you anymore, then. You can speak again.”
I looked down, meeting his eyes. Very slowly, I opened my mouth.
I closed it again and shook my head.
“What the- you almost fell for it! DANGIT!” The demon jumped off the bed and stomped around, cursing.
You almost had me.
*Almost.*
​
(Thanks for reading, C&C always welcome!)
| 2022-07-11T12:36:14 | 2022-07-11T11:12:58 | 212 | 43 |
[WP] two Isekai trucks both miss the chosen one and hit each other instead
|
"Behold, your majesty! The hero of legends!" The thick smoke slowly cleared.
The nearby guards waited on bated breath, holding their spears tightly but seemingly leisurely. They certainly didn't want to startle the hero, but they also didn't want to be massacred by an unknown being of unimaginable power.
The king sat on his throne in his best majestic pose. First impressions were important, especially for a king.
Something was wrong. The ArchMagistrate thumbed through his grimoire. The ceremony was supposed to summon an adolescent boy. Instead, two metal contraptions were sitting in the middle of the throne room.
"Ahem. Frederick." The king's piercing glare demanded an explanation and the the wizard had none.
"Ah. Em. A moment please, your majesty." Was this metal box somehow a strange alien boy? And why were there two of them? They were rumbling slightly, perhaps they were hungry?
The guard captain looked nervously at his men. Sweat dripped down his neck. The two creatures' gleaming skins looked like steel. His men were well equipped sure, but they wouldn't stand a chance against a metal golem.
To everyone's surprise, the creature's ears opened up and a middle-aged man stepped out.
"Oi, you shithead. What the fuck is wrong with your driving?" The man directed his verbal abuse at the other creature's eyes. It made a loud and annoyed honking noise.
Another middle-aged man stepped out of the other creature's ears. The magistrate was staring slack jawed at the spectacle. The king was leaning forward in interest.
"You're the one who bloody mucked up the job. If your track record wasn't so terrible, they wouldn't have even sent me!" The second man gave the first a very colorful gesture.
"Welcome! Heroes of legend! I am King Oberon, we seek your help in defeating a demon who plagues our world." A competent king knew to hold his composure even in the face of ludicrous bewilderment.
"Look what you've done, you piss-eating bastard! The man thinks we're the damn heroes!" The two men completely ignored the king.
"It's not my fault. You closed your eyes before flooring the fucking gas pedal!"
"I can't help it! It needs to look plausible!"
"Bullshit, you're just squeamish."
"Am not!"
"If you'd just open your damn eyes when you hit pedestrians, we wouldn't even have this problem. It was an EASY JOB. EASY."
"Well it shouldn't be, running people over shouldn't be easy."
"WHY THE FUCK ARE YOU WORKING IN THIS LINE OF BUSINESS?!"
"Hey a man needs to eat."
"Ahem." The king coughed to get their attention. They continued ignoring him.
"You are in the presence of King Arranis Oberon, son of Julius Oberon and first of his name, ruler and sovereign of Kindynos!"
The two men turned to the ArchMagistrate at the same time and shouted, "Shut up!"
The king sighed and looked at the nervous guard captain, "Kill them."
 
___
A/N This could be pretty interesting...
edit: [SEQUEL!!](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/wc34km/wp_the_isekai_truck_driver_is_confused_when_he/iib6hq3/)
/r/Unexpected_Works
|
Sagmaradon the Wise sighed. Everything had gone from bad to worse over the last few years - droughts, famines, wars. It had seemed like a bout of bad luck, until at last the true malevolence behind such catastrophes was revealed - the sorcerer Archduke Baradoon The Benighted, thought dead centuries ago.
The ancient evil had been reborn, and even now his armies marched across the fair land of Caldeya, laying waste to all who opposed him. There could only be one recourse, one option left. It was time to fulfill the ancient prophecy. It was time to summon...the Outworlder.
Legend said that the Outworlder would be a mage of incredible power, a master of a thousand arcane arts and sage unlike any the world had ever seen.
\*\*\*
Jeremiah Crassus was in a bit of a bind. Today was Summoning Day, but he was in no way prepared. This day was perhaps the most important day of his life, and it was going to be a disaster.
Every mage's own power was augmented and enhanced by their bond with their familiar - a mystical beast of considerable magic. A mage who bonded with a unicorn might gain favor with healing magicks and the purity of mind to sense deceit, for example.
The entire Crassus family, being a cut above the regular mage, only ever bonded with dragons - highly intelligent, powerful mages in their own right and extremely long lived. All of those attributes were shared among the summoner after the bond.
However, summoning a dragon took considerable skill, and no small amount of power. He'd be lucky to summon a lowly copper hatchling - while his father had summoned an ancient Jade Guardian, already a hundred and fifty years into its lifespan.
Well, there was nothing for it. Hope for the best, he supposed...
\*\*\*
There was an explosion of incredibly powerful magic -
\*\*\*
There was an explosion of incredibly powerful magic -
\*\*\*
Sagmaradon looked up, where he had fallen to his knees. The drain on his magic was like nothing he'd ever experienced before - he felt like a novice, with barely a flicker of strength left in him.
The summoning chamber was gone.
In fact, most of the roof of the entire palace was gone.
In its place sat a giant silver dragon, easily thirty feet tall, looking very peeved.
Sagmaradon blinked several times. Yes, it was still there. But how? Dragons didn't exist.
\*\*\*
Jeremiah opened his eyes, hoping to see his summon...and came face to face with a young man dressed in strange clothing. He blinked several more times. This couldn't be happening...where was his dragon? Why??? Why him?
"Huh," said the...man. "I guess I ain't in Kansas anymore."
Then the young man raised a hand, fire dancing across his fingers casually. "So," he said. "Are you this 'Baradoon' fella?"
Jeremiah blinked again. "Who?"
\*\*\*
*Six Years Later*
"Your father is requesting an audience again," his valet said, bowing deeply.
"Tell him to get stuffed," said Jeremiah with a wave of his hand. "Before you see him out, remind him that he disinherited me."
"Of course, Grand Wizard," his valet murmured and turned to go.
The Outlander (he still insisted on calling himself such, even after all this time) snorted.
"He shoulda listened to me the first time, eh?" he said with a grin. "Course', I could tell he was a stubborn as a wild hog the second I saw him."
Jeremiah let out a weak chuckle. The disinheritance still hurt, and if he felt that his father genuinely wanted to reconcile their family, he would have returned in a heartbeat. But no, all Herbert Crassus wanted was Illyria world-famous 'Grand Wizard' back in the family.
Still, now as the strongest mage in Illyria and one of the most powerful in the entire world, Jeremiah could just tell him to get out.
He glanced at the Outlander, still dressed in that bizarre clothing he called 'plaid', and chewing on a strand of grass. Well, second-strongest, anyway. The knowledge and skills he'd gained from the Outlander were considerable, but merely a shadow of the real thing.
Still, life was good. He walked to the nearest window and stared out over the vast fields of golden wheat, swaying gently in the summer sun. His Wizard's tower overlooked the heartlands of Illyria, which had quickly become the breadbasket of the entire world.
Though the Outlander had initially been summoned to defeat someone named 'Baradoon' - they still didn't know who that was, even after half a decade - he'd quickly turned his mind to his true passion - farming.
Now, through both of their joint efforts, Illyria had experienced an agricultural revolution unlike any the world had seen before. The population was flourishing, people were happy and well-fed - even the meanest beggar rarely went hungry.
Life was good.
\*\*\*
*Six Years Later*
"And so that concludes the Conclave," said Sagmaradon, rubbing his temples wearily. "On the plus side, Baradoon is finally dead, for good this time -"
"And on the minus, we're now ruled by a giant lizard," said Vektitus the Wanderer sarcastically.
"Honestly, it's not the worst thing," interjected Fivlario of the Tenth Path. "He demands a lot less taxes than old King Janus did - though don't tell him that."
There was a murmur of assent from the assembled High Wizards.
"He really shouldn't have challenged the dragon to a duel for the crown," muttered Migos the Gold. He'd been particularly well-connected with the Royal Family, and their fall had hurt his pockets deeply. "A thousand-year old *mage-dragon*. What was he thinking?"
"Ah well," replied Fivlario. "That's what happens with seven generations of intermarrying..."
There was a series of uncomfortable coughs. While the Royal Family was technically gone, old habits died hard.
Sagmaradon sighed again. "Well, at least no-one is going to be invading Caldeya anytime soon. Not after the Jigmarian Empire..."
There was an uncomfortable pause, as everyone stared at the world map laid out in front of them. A vast swathe to the south, over six times the size of Caldeya, had once been the Jigmarian Empire. Now, the map had been updated to more accurately reflect their status as a giant crater.
"Less work for us, too," muttered Vektitus, still staring at the map. "I'm not surprised ol' lizard-bones likes to conduct his own diplomacy..."
Sagmaradon closed his eyes wearily. It could be worse...though the paperwork was a pain.
| 2022-07-27T12:19:04 | 2022-07-27T11:57:07 | 172 | 24 |
[WP] You're a bartender at the No Way Inn. The inn doesn't appear to have an entrance, but patrons always seem to find a way inside. The best part of your day is listening to the story of how they got in.
Inspired by [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/DnD/comments/wpjc02/oc_finally_finished_our_dd_room_after_2_years/) on r/DnD by u/Sky_Captain_Hana
|
I had an old man, probably my dad's age, stumble into my bar a couple months ago. He was covered in blood and kept saying something about a sinkhole at his ranch. Sinkholes were far and few between. I've had people go into the wrong door at a party or even people saying that the last thing they remembered was being asleep in their bed, but not many sinkhole stories. After the I treated the man's wounds, I offered him a seat and fixed him up an old fashioned.
"So, what is this place anyways?"
"Eh, not much of a place, more of an idea, I guess. Honestly, it's kind of just one big joke."
The old man chuckled and gritted his teeth after the old fashioned hit his taste buds. Turns out he made his way from Texas. It had been really dry down there then, and the ground just fell out underneath him when he was tending to his horses. I got to know him pretty good, while we chatted, then something insane happened.
In my 22 years of tending bar at the No Way Inn, I never could have imagined this. I never could have dreamed this. It was utterly inconceivable.
So anyway,
a horse walked into my bar.
|
“And then suddenly the boy was gone and when I turned around,” the large Lumberjack said, turning to the man beside him at the bar. “I was here!” The other man nodded, a look of comprehension on his old wisened face. The bar, unusually quiet for a Friday night, sat only the two men at the bar and Peter.
“Something similar happened to me too!” the frail man said, whipping over his robes to cover his lap. Peter stood at the bar, cleaning a pint glass, trying to pretend not to be listening. Having been a bartender at the No Way Inn for some years, he still never grew tired of the stories the patrons would tell, of the strange and fascinating ways they entered the pub.
“What happened to you then?” the Lumberjack enquired, his brows furrowed, looking down on the man.
“I was in this glen,” the older man began, tipping a sip from his beer. “When I heard a horrible howling noise!” The Lumberjack finished the last dregs of his pint. Peter slid up beside them and silently refilled it. “It was freezing cold. Coldest night in years by my reckoning! T’was only me and my staff since my old hound passed only a month ago or so.” The Lumberjack frowned, worried now he might have made a mistake in asking the older gentleman his tale.
“The moon was full though. Too big nearly, it seemed strange to me then and it seemed strange to me now!” the elder went on, oblivious to the boredom setting into his audience. “It lit up the grass until every blade was glistening like a knife!” Finishing his beer, he held up his empty glass for Peter to see. Gliding down, Peter replaced his empty glass with a full one and went back to cleaning where he could. Before continuing, the old man supped his beer, smiling with approval as he laid it back down on the bar.
“Now,” he began again. “Where was I?” A frown developed on his face and the towering Lumberjack tried hard not to roll his eyes. Peter could only smile as he cleaned the last of the dirty glasses, standing them up in front of the large mirror that covered the back wall of the bar. Looking around, he remembered back to his first nights working here. Every booth and every stool would be filled. Coins would litter the sides of the pool table, everyone waiting for a game. Half the people would be forced to stand though not many minded.
“Oh that's right!” the old man said, finally finding his place once more. “It was me and the glen. Rolling hills as far as the eye could see. A terrible scream rattled my eardrums. Then…” His voice quivered as Peter saw the man stare off into nothing. “I saw her. Bright white and see-through.” The Lumberjack no longer looked bored but Peter had heard a variation of the tale a hundred times before. “She screamed. Even then, I still walked towards her. The Banshee. I must have made a noise or something for she turned around, her great sad eyes, locked on me.” The Lumberjack waited, leaning forward now.
“And then what?” he asked, at last, losing patience with the elder. “Did she transport you here?” It took a minute but the older man finally spoke once more.
“I followed her,” he whispered. “I don't know what compelled me to do it. It was like a different force took over my legs and soon I found myself in a cave where no cave had ever been, I’m sure of that.” Without looking, the man reached out for his pint, slurping down half the glass in one go. “She floated then, crying all the while. She turned to me once more, her eyes. Her terrible sad eyes. The cave entrance vanished behind me then and she was gone. When I turned around I saw a door with a flashing light. What else could I do? I had no choice. Then, I found myself here, talking to you.” There was silence then. The two men didn’t touch their pints for a while, too engaged with going over the story again in their heads. Then, Peter heard a familiar sound. On the door, at the far end of the bar, there was a knock.
“Come on in!” Peter shouted, already pouring another pint. In stumbled a man. Thin and tall, he had circular glasses on with a brown briefcase under his arm. Sweat lashed from his forehead while a look of confusion and fear slowly disappeared from his face. Looking around, he took a seat at the bar. Wordlessly, Peter placed a pint in front of him.
“So,” the old man said. “How did you get here?”
| 2022-08-16T16:10:15 | 2022-08-16T12:19:12 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
|
16 years, 16 years of waiting and dreaming of the power I would get. In a million years I could never have imagined this. My class from high school has powers like flight, invisibility, ability to cure illness. What do I get? What is the pay off of all that dreaming and waiting? When I make a gun with my fingers the tip of my index finger turns into the head of a duck which then quacks once and poofs back. That's it. I am some sort of avian Fonzie. The only side effect is the duck is not stopped by objects so anything caught in his beak disappears with him. I found this out one night as I guess I did the gesture in my sleep because I woke up to a loud quack and a chunk of my hair missing.
|
Dear Journal:
I turn sixteen in 2 minutes and 27 seconds. I know because I've been awake all night counting the seconds to midnight. Tonight is special and you know why? At midnight I finally Change! I've waited forever but now I finally get a power like everyone else. What do you think it will be, Journal? Will I get x-ray vision like Jason next door? Maybe I'll have super strength like Melissa or even wings like Ethan! As long as it's not Eric's acid breath I think I'll be happy. That poor guy had bad enough breath already, that was the last thing he needed. But anyway it's midnight, it's finally here! I'll keep writing as it happens, I never want to forget this!
-It's 12:02 and I don't feel very different yet, but it has gotten colder in here. I'm wrapped up under my blanket now but so far nothing else. It's so hard to wait, Journal.
-12:10 now, I'm still just cold. Dull pain in my mouth. Might be a toothache, but I'm hoping for poison glands! I'm going to check the mirror.
-Journal, I'm confused now. I can't see myself in the mirror. At first I got really excited thinking I was invisible, but when I look down I still see myself. On top of that my teeth hurt a lot now. This is definitely part of my Change but I'm a bit worried my power is going to suck. I'll be back after I walk around a bit, maybe that will help.
-It's 12:30 and this literally bites. I stubbed my toe on my dresser and bit my to tongue HARD. Normally that's a bad thing but this time it was awful because my teeth are razor sharp. I'm not kidding, they're like a wild animal's. I was worried I bit my tongue in half! Here's the weird part though; instead of blood I spat out dust. Isn't that just stupid, Journal? I mean what am I even Changing into? I can't see myself, my teeth are needles, I bleed dust and-
oh my god, Journal. I think I'm a vampire.
-1:45. My life is over! I'll never see Melissa or Jason or even Eric again! Well I'm sure Jason will see me but that's beside the point. I can't ever see sunlight again, so I can't ever get a tan. Garlic on my hashbrowns? Not anymore! And you know what else I just thought about? I'll have to ask permission every single time I want to hang out in somebody's house. But even then a sleepover is out of the question now too. I even dared to think for a second that I might be able to turn into a bat. Well I can tell you that's not true, Journal, because nothing happened when I jumped off the stairs to test it. I'm fine because I'm guessing I got some sort of vampire strength but still! What's the point if I'm stuck inside all day? I'm not even going to think about the whole sucking blood situation, although I'm sure I could borrow some from the blood bank if I absolutely had to. No, no, no, gross. I'll have to figure something out.
-It's 3:00 and I guess I'm just going to have to live with it. I'm done Changing so that's that. Me. A vampire. Forever. I'm telling everyone I'm sick tomorrow like the rest of the kids who got crap powers. Now I know how Eric felt on his first night. On the bright side at least I didn't melt half of my bed away! Heck, maybe I should just embrace it and move to Romania. That's where the real vampires go, right Journal? They've probably got night classes and everything. Hey, that's not a bad idea. I might even meet some vampire girls over there! Well Journal I think this might be okay! Maybe the next time I write will be from a dark, musty castle overlooking a tiny village. I can't help but laugh! How funny would that be? I'll have to stop writing now, I have a lot to do to make this house vampire-friendly and I should probably find a coffin to sleep in by morning. Ha, that was a joke. Anyway I'm done now. Goodnight/good morning, Journal. ~Your new vampire writer, Victor Orlok
| 2015-01-21T23:50:44 | 2015-01-21T22:26:31 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] As a joke/Tic, an atheist always thanks the Dark Lord when good things happen. When they die, they are shocked to find out that The Dark Lord is real, and they are his favorite follower, as they never, ever asked for anything.
The Dark Lord's favor could be pleasant, or ironic, or mundane. Or maybe it's a Dark Lady, who knows?
|
I will always start my day with my Daily Praise and Thanksgiving..
"Praise the Dark Lord"
Even though Im no man of God, i would never falter to Smile and appreciate this make-believe God i knew, for myself..
"Praise the Dark Lord"
Til the day came that i would be put to an eternal slumber, I will worship..
"Praise."
Immediately like clockwork. I can see the shadowy visage, 4 slim, lanky appendages. The inhuman twisting of the body in this hellish void i was cast upon. His face was vague and can awestruck any mortal.
"Ore wa chinchin ga daisuke nandaiyo" It spake
I smile and whispered.
"..The Dark Lord"
|
Wait, what? Am I dead?
I looked around, blinking into the bright light. My eyes adjusted and I glanced around. A huge limestone sepulcher stood in front of me (a monument to something or someone, though the details and carvings were indecipherable to me), with steps crudely hewn into either side leading upward no doubt to some apex that was currently obscured by the blinding light. A modest black opening, pitifully off centre in the stone gave the whole affair a sort of slip-shod effect, negating any awesome impression the mason might have intended with such massive stonework.
"Ah, *finally!*"
I hadn't seen or heard anyone since I realized I was standing here, and I was startled by the sound. My glance darted around the room. Seeing no one, I peered into the inky opening in the tomb. Staccato footsteps scratch on the stone above me, and the voice manifests again.
"It's been an *eternity* waiting for you to arrive!"
Looking up, I see a graying figure who seems to skip down the steps with glee as my bewildered gaze tracks him to his resting place, a few paces from me.
"I'm sorry about the light! The bulbs are out, they'll change them soon!" He smiles warmly. His voice almost croons, "I must say! I half expected you to call. Right there at the end, thought you might try to cash in a chip. But you took it on the jaw. I really must shake your hand!" He stepped forward into the light and extended his hand. I squinted to get a better look. He had on a shabby though well fitted suit (it had seen better days), and a pocket watch chain swinging from his waistcoat suggested he might be a rather old-fashioned type of fellow. Sizing him up, I extended my hand.
'Just what is this place?' I asked with a frown. 'Who are you?'
The man's face fell.
"This is Abaddon! You're my guest. I'm the Dark Lord of the underworld! ...you really don't know who I am?"
I chortled, but at his stern reaction, I quickly made a pretense at clearing my throat.
'Should I have recognized you? We've never met before,' I stated simply.
"You were my favorite. *Are* my favorite. Never asked for a thing." He seemed to be holding back tears, trying to avoid exposing his hurt pride. "I thought you were just grateful." He sniffed.
'Look here mister,' I interjected. 'I don't know what this Dark Lord business is-'
"But you gave thanks all the time!" he interrupted. I jammed my hands into my pockets. I realize I'm wearing my favorite outfit. I hadn't had this on before.
'What's this?' I asked.
"I just... wanted you to be comfortable."
'Well, it's freakin' weird and definitely *uncomfortable* talking to someone who refers to themselves as the Dark Lord, not to mention I have no idea how I got here. I didn't ask to be here. I don't even believe in any of this.' I shrugged.
"I... I, look. See here now, I just wanted to give you something. Anything. Just as a thank you. I'm the one you've been thanking your whole life. I just wanted to do something nice." He looks down at the ground. I felt sorry for him. But this was bullshit. There's not supposed to be an afterlife!
'I made my peace, I was fine with dying. I had a perfectly reasonable life.'
"I just thought..."
'No! You know what?! This is ridiculous! There's no God, there's no hell, or Abbadon or whatever the crap this is. I was dead, dammit. Why won't you let me die? I was *ready!* I fucking had to accept I was going to die. And this is what the afterlife is? Some friendless, pathetic loser who didn't even realize I DIDN'T FUCKING BELIEVE IN ANY FUCKING DARK LORD? God, just kill me. This is the worst!'
His eyes narrow. "Fuck you," he said quietly.
*NOW* I'm dead.
| 2015-08-17T07:06:15 | 2015-08-16T22:52:23 | 17 | 11 |
[WP] Nothing stopped Ernest Miller from arriving at work, at 7:00 every morning. Not weather, not the commute, not illness, not death.
|
When most people tell you stories about a genie in a lamp or bottle, the tales are always so grand and fun. You get 3 wishes to abuse and the genie obliges politely, like a servant or butler, and then goes right back into the lamp and you live happily ever after.
Well, that's a load of bullshit. I found one, and first of all, it wasn't in a lamp- it was in a *can of spray paint*. Nothing romantic or fun about that, I was just touching up the paintwork on my chimney using an old can I'd found in my late father's garage and wouldn't you know it, a genie sprayed out. Sounds awesome, right?
Well, let me tell you the story of why it's not.
----------------------------------------------------------------
A thick cloud of black mist burst from my can, virtually covering me in spray paint. *I guess that's what I get for using an old can. It's not even the right color anymore...*
The mist shrank back violently and condensed into a strange looking, floating apparition. I rubbed my eyes and slapped my face, thinking I'd just lost my mind. *I think I huffed some of that spray paint.*
"*Hello, puny mortal. My name is Exos, and you have released me from my prison," it said.
I stared at it blankly, completely bewildered. "How...can spray paint talk?" I asked in my confusion.
#"I AM NOT SPRAY PAINT, FOOL!"
It was so loud I'd feared deafness would grip my eardrums. For some reason, no one else on the street even looked our way. "*No one else can hear me, this contract is only between you and I."
I looked at Exos again, mouth agape. "Um...what are you?"
"I am a Djinn, and you have released me from my prison. We must discuss the terms of our contract now."
"Wait, like a... a genie?"
"No, you blasted moron, a *DJINN*. Everyone thinks we're 'genies' because some half-deaf idiot 900 years ago couldn't tell what I was saying. I wish I could've killed him quicker."
I was starting to get nervous now. "So...do I get 3 wishes, then?"
"*NO!* Ernest Miller, you are bound to me now, flesh and spirit. We must discuss our contract: I will grant you one wish, and it will have a drawback. Let us come to an agreement."
I was still completely lost and in shock, but part of me hoped I was living the dream of every human on Earth and rolled with it. "Um...well, I'd love to ask for infinite money or something since I hate my job, but my wife is dying and I love her very much. Can you keep her alive, healthy and happy until she's 90 and we grow old together?"
"Yes, I can make that happen. I heard you say that you hate work, eh...yes, I see it within you, it causes you great misery. Very well, I will grant your wish on one condition: You will go to your job, on time at 7:00 AM, every single weekday for the rest of your life. No matter what. *No matter what.*"
I thought about it for a minute before responding. "Well, I have to go into work anyway, right? So yeah, I'll accept that for my wife's health. Sounds fair to me."
He laughed and a document poofed into his hand. He scribbled on it, had me sign it and then ate it.
"It is done."
Just like that, gone. *I'm probably hallucinating from the spray paint, but whatever. Couldn't hurt to play along.*
The next day, my wife went in for a check-up. Miraculously, her cancer was completely gone. 100% remission without even starting treatment. How amazing is that? We celebrated all night long, and loved one another profusely. In our drunken stupor, I tripped and hit my head on the corner of a table. The ER told me I had a concussion, and that I needed stitches.
"Well, the fun was worth it," I told my concerned wife. "It's wonderful to be on this side of the bed, knowing you're healthy."
The next morning, however, I was woken up at 6 AM by a screaming pain in my head. A voice started saying "WAKE UP! TIME FOR WORK!"
I recognized it as Exos. I said to myself, "Exos, please, I have a concussion and I'm in the hospital. I need to take today off."
Another voice in my head, "You will do no such thing, puny fool. This is our contract. I will kill your entire family and torture your for eternity if you do not oblige by its rules."
*Ah, fuck.*
|
It was Tuesday, the 8th, and Ernest made it to work in record time.
Well, almost record time. He stopped in for a donut, but was surprised to find that while the door to the donut shop was indeed unlocked, there was no hint of fried batter or fresh icing in the air. Instead, he found the shop *empty*.
It was rare for both Mr. and Mrs. Kim to be sick on the same day, but he remembered how poor they looked last Friday. Ernest found a napkin on the counter, and wrote a message on it: "Get well soon - Ernest." He left a few dollars, too, for good measure.
When he got back on the road, he found the traffic lighter than usual, except for that one stoplight - there must've been a hundred cars lined up, waiting to get on the highway. Ernest vaguely wondered why so many people were trying to leave the city on a Tuesday morning, but as he turned the corner, so his mind turned to work.
Ernest loved work, because Ernest loved numbers. All day, all he did was work with numbers. Move those over here, divide these by that, make sure these line up with those. It was the best kind of work, and Ernest never missed a day of it.
He even came in on a Holiday, once, though the doors had been locked.
Today, as he drove in to his parking spot, he noticed the entire parking lot was empty. This was a big deal to Ernest, because he had *never*, not *once* been the first person in the office. So, with a skip in his step, and a tune on his lips, he made his way to the front entryway.
Ernest was so pleased with himself, that he didn't even notice the giant, plastic banners, that hung in shredded yellow and black strips over the double-doored entryway.
An awful stink greeted him inside; a smell that made his eyes water. Ernest covered up his nose, and considered calling the Janitorial staff until he remembered that he was the first and only person at the office.
Ernest decided to head up to his floor, in case the smell was better up there - but, when the doors of the Elevator opened, he was nearly bowled over by the rancorous odor. So, today, for the first time in... well, ever, Ernest took the stairs.
He was not excited at the prospect of having to climb up forty-eight steps, but Ernest reminded himself of the hours and hours of work he would get to do today. All he had to do was conquer a few measly flights of stairs, and the rest of the day would be spent with perfectly simple and inoffensive numbers.
With every step, he could almost feel the stacks of papers in his hands, promising tens of thousands of numbers aching to be multiplied and sub-directed and transvertialized into neater, tighter, cleaner places. He had to stop, more than once, but at last he made it to his desk.
And that's when he saw it - there was not a *single* file on his desk.
Ernest looked under his desk. Perhaps a careless maintenance worker had knocked them from the ground? Perhaps his boss hadn't put out the papers at all, yet. Where was his boss anyway?
Ernest checked his watch. It was 8:42 am. Phones should have been ringing, fingers should have been tapping, and Ernest should have been waist-deep in the ordered manipulation of printed numbers.
He picked up his phone. Instead of the dial tone, he heard a female voice, calmly repeating this phrase, "We're sorry- We're sorry-."
"Hello? Ernest asked, "Hellooo?"
"We're sorry-"
"Hello this is Ernest. Ernest Miller from accounting."
After several more minutes of this, Ernest realized that he was not actually talking to a person. He was talking to a *machine!* Ernest slammed the telephone down.
He decided, if nobody else was going to talk to him, then he would find his *own* papers, and work on his *own* numbers. He headed towards the boss's office.
Out of the cubicle. Step over the wires. Past one hallway, beyond another cubicle. Hold breath because of the stench of the elevator shaft. Knock on the boss's door.
Then, he remembered the boss was not here yet. So, for the first time in how-many-years, Ernest opened the door.
The boss's desk sat where it always sat. There was an empty package on the desk, with a picture of bullets, stacked neatly on top of each other, stickered on it. There was also a large black case, with a velvet interior, and when Ernest rounded around the boss's desk, he noticed the vague imprint of a hand-held firearm on the velvet.
Ernest slid open one of the long filing cabinets behind the bosses desk. The cabinet shot out it's metal tongue, and out rushed not hundreds - but *thousands* of neatly-filed papers. Ernest made a sound he did not know he could make. There must have been fifty more filing drawers just like this one in the boss's office.
Ernest took a deep breath, and reminded himself to remain calm. It was important to keep oneself under control in times of excitement. Carefully, he slid his dry hands over a thick chunk of the files, and hoisted them out.
He turned around. Walked around the bosses desk. Nudged open the bosses door. And stopped.
The smell was positively *wretched*.
Ernest wandered over to the elevator shaft. He could see only dark shapes, jostling against each other. He heard distant sounds, like the sounds you hear when the wind is strong, but slow.
"Hello?" he called, "Hello?"
"Uhhhh...." a woman's face, missing more than half of its skin, looked up at him.
Ernest gasped, and dropped his papers down the elevator shaft.
"Ellen!" Ernest called, "Ellen are you all right? What's happened to your face?"
As if in response, the remaining flap of skin peeled off her face, and fell to the floor like a fresh slice of pizza.
"Ah, well," Ernest said, much the same way he might say, "Such is life."
Ellen threw back her head, and let out an ear-piercing scream that died only as the fluid in her throat choked her. Around her, the shapes of Ernest's other coworkers shuffled in the darkness, moaning and complaining about their work like they did every morning. *If they hated it so much, why did they come in at all?* Ernest always wondered.
"Well," Ernest said, "Would you mind grabbing those papers for me?"
Her hands scrabbled blindly over the papers, smearing them with what must've been several full cartridges of ink.
At this, a sound issued from Ernest's throat which can be mostly summed up with this symbol: '!' He thrust out both of his hands, and shouted, as if he could somehow undo the permanent inking of his beloved numbers by sheer force of will. There was a shattering *SNAP* from both of Ernest's knees (though, surprisingly, not an ounce of pain), and suddenly, Ernest was leaning too far forward over the elevator shaft. He fell.
Ernest fell twenty-seven and one-half of a foot. He landed, with a crunch, on top of a conveniently located pile of bodies. When he finally sat up, Ellen's neck popped out of it's socket, and her head rolled down the pile of bodies, coming to rest beneath someone's foot.
"Sorry, Ellen!" Ernest called, as he clambered over the moaning, drooling mass of limbs and gore, and yanked the papers from one of the receptionist's mouth.
They were dripping, crumpled, and half-way eaten, but Ernest could see at least half of the numbers, still. He slid down the pile of bodies, pried open the elevator doors, and made his way back up the forty-eight stairs. By the time he finished crawling up to the top, his breath was heavy, his face was red, and his lower half had fallen off some twenty stairs ago.
It was a grueling finish to an otherwise normal day, but at least now he could return to his numbers.
***
*Read more random stories at /r/PSHoffman*
| 2016-02-06T10:52:13 | 2016-02-06T09:23:31 | 45 | 26 |
[WP] The plane took off with 81 passengers, and landed with 82.
|
"You did it!" the fifteen year old son tugged at his mom's sleeves, "Twins!"
The passengers in their seats cheered as father looked down at his wife's face.
At her unblinking eyes.
Her motionless expression.
"Mom?" the son tugged at his mom's lifeless arms once again.
____________________________________________________
Short and simple. God bless. /r/avukamu
|
It was 1962, January, and I was on board a plane from London to Warsaw.The Flight started as a usual one. We left the airport in the morning, 20 minutes late, due to sudden bad weather. I sat in my seat, next to an old man, a young couple, and an obnoxiously loud middle-aged woman. As the plane took off I could not help but be worried at the horrible weather. There was a fierce downpour, rain almost horizontal because of the intense winds, and visibility was low. I sighed and sunk into my chair. The loud woman was complaining to the flight attendant about something, but my brain just could not register her words as anything as a muffled mumble. I felt my eyes closing, and I slowly fell asleep.
The loud thud woke me up, and caused quite a commotion. It took me a minute to register, but the noise scared the flight attendant and caused him to drop his drink on the obnoxious lady who then started yelling and flailing her hands, hitting the old man on the nose. I was surprised to see blood arcing off his nose, spraying tiny drops on the seat, the young couple and the window. This turned my attention to the window, and perhaps the biggest surprise that awaited everyone on the plane. A short well dressed man, with what appeared to be a parachute following him like a kite, holding unto the front of the wing with a walking cane in one hand, while holding his hat with another. The woman started yelling at the couple, the coupe starting yelling back, and just me and the old man noticed the poor man hanging unto dear life. The old man's eye twitched.
"God damn it!" he yelled to my surprise, standing up from his chair and trying to get away from the window, elbowing me and everyone else in his attempts to get out of our row of seats.
I was too shocked to say a word at first but then I noticed something from the corner of my eye. The parachute was gone, and so what the well-dressed man.
"He- Wha- He was right there.. just now!" I stuttered to myself, thinking what the hell just happened. Did I imagine this? The old man could easily be angry about his nose being bloodied like this, I thought. The flight attendant was still arguing with the couple and the obnoxious lady, and the old man was rushing towards the bathroom, probably to treat his nose. Then the bathroom door opened violently and from it,to my astonishment and bewilderment,stepped out the well-dressed man that hung from the plane's wing just this minute!
The old man stopped in his tracks, and then pulled out something from his coat pocket. He did not manage to use it before the well dressed man pointed his walking cane at him, shooting a small dart at him. it seemed to have an affect on the old man, as he held his chest, and started collapsing. Before anyone noticed, the well-dressed man put his hand around the collapsing old man, and said loudly "Is something wrong, sir? Here, have a seat.'
He put the old man on a seat, and then sat next to him. The passengers seemed not aware of anything, and neither did the crew. We landed an hour afterwards, in Paris,to the surprise of everyone, including my own, the police boarder the plane, accompanied by men in black trench-coats and hats. They took the old man, and thanked the well-dressed man for his job well done. We heard the whispers... A communist spy!
We were informed over the loudspeakers that we would have to take another flight. No doubt those agents want to search every nook and cranny in this plane, for what their 'communist spy' could have left in the plane. As we were escorted to the plane that would let us continue our flight to Warsaw, I smiled to myself. After such a daring operation, to be so close yet so far... The disappointment those western agents must have felt made even my cold, Russian heart feel joy.
| 2016-02-29T09:06:50 | 2016-02-29T09:02:03 | 88 | 14 |
[WP] Superpowers can now be torrented. You were 70% of the way through torrenting a power you've always wanted when the download stops.
|
*Wouldn't it be cool if we could control time?*
We've all asked ourselves this question before, some of us spending more time thinking about it than others. Billy had certainly entertained this idea for a while. And after much careless deliberation, his answer was YES!
It is certainly a good thing then, at least for Billy, that he grew up in a time where superpowers could simply be purchased for just nine hundred bucks. But who in their right mind would pay that exuberant fee!? It was much simpler, and cheaper, to just torrent the superpowers.
Find a torrent, click 'torrent', set upload speed to zero Mb/s, and he was on his way to acquiring the ability to control the progression of time.
The download bar raced to seventy percent then stopped. Billy waited for a while, but nothing happened. When, he went to see what the problem was, his cursor wouldn't move and his keyboard didn't seem to be functioning either.
"This piece of junk keeps freezing" Billy angrily mumbled to himself. Then he noticed it.
The clock wasn't moving. The trees outside his window were stopped mid-sway in the breeze. Time was at a standstill.
Seventy percent of the torrent seemed to have already given him the ability to stop time. The remaining thirty percent however, was the ability to resume it again.
Billy sighed. This was going to be a *long* Monday.
|
I've always wanted to have superpowers. I remember back when I was in the third grade I would run two miles home from school everyday, just so that I could watch the latest episode of the Super Man cartoon show. I was so obsessed with being a super hero that some days I would come to school wearing a red cape. Needless to say I was always made fun of. This obsession continued up until the 7th grade. By this time guys were starting to get girl friends, and just about everyone was hanging out on weekends with their friends having lots of fun, everyone except for me. I decided that it was time to grow up. I quit wearing the cape to school, stopped watching super hero shows, and even tore all my super hero posters off my bedroom walls. I swore I would never go back to my geeky ways. By the time I started high school I actually had some decent friends, and this girl I had a crush on finally began talking to me. Life was finally starting to get better. Then all of a sudden, in just 3 months time, things started to change, and when I say change I mean REALLY change. It all started during school, one of the teachers turned on the TV and switched straight to the news channel. The shocking news left everyone in disbelief. Apparently some big shot hacker had hacked straight into the US Military databases and had uncovered what some say to be the greatest piece of technology since the internet itself. This technology that he leaked all over the web was being torrented by people everywhere. And what did this technology do you ask? Well... It gave people superpowers... The US Military was doing everything that they possibly could to rid this new technology from the internet. From what i've heard you'd be lucky if your torrent got to 2% before the US Military busted down your doors. And to all the people caught trying to torrent them... the death sentence. Within a few years people quit talking about it, it seemed like bringing it up into a conversation was taboo. Cut ten years later and im living what seems to be the perfect life, I have a great job, i've married the love of my life, and I have a beautiful boy. Everything was great but something seemed like it was missing. I couldn't quite figure it out at first, but one day while I was helping my parents clean out their old house I found something remarkable in the attic. It was the cape... It was my cape... Suddenly it hit me. The news story from back in high school about the super powers started playing back in my brain. It was just like when a catchy song gets stuck in your head, and i couldn't stop thinking about it. It was getting late so I said my goodbyes to my parents and raced out the door. I just wanted to see if it was still possible. I drove like a maniac to get back home still with the news report playing back in my head. Finally, when I arrived home I ran straight to my laptop. I googled for the torrents everywhere but there was no results of it to be found. It was almost as if it was entirely erased from the internet. My search went on for a couple more hours until finally I found something strange. It was a website in German, that google couldn't translate. During my college days I had gone through three German courses, but it was still really hard for me to understand what it was saying. Suddenly a certain word caught my eye, it said "Supermacht 229 TB". I knew what supermacht translated too from back in school. It meant super power, but could it actually be a real super power torrent? What else could possibly take up 229 Terra bytes? It had to be. I clicked on a button that looked like it might be the download, and all of a sudden uTorrent pops up. It started downloading something. It reached 1% and I began to get very nervous. I paced back and forth asking myself if I should cancel it or not before it's too late. I've heard almost all the stories, and I certainly didn't want the death penalty. I raced back to my screen to see that it was already at 24%. I assured myself that if it had managed to get that far there was no way the military was tracking my download. Soon enough it was at 60%, and I started to feel something tingling inside of me. I didn't think about it until then, but I realized my hard drive couldn't hold 2 terabytes let alone 229! Every percent downloaded I could feel the power in me grow stronger, I felt like I could fly, and well... Maybe I could! I was about to fulfill my childhood dream of becoming a superhero nothing was going to stop me! Suddenly once my download hit 70% it stopped, and all that I had started to feel left my body. Next I began hearing noises outside. I couldn't believe it. I had gotten so close. I rushed outside to find something unbelievably. "DINKLEBERG!", I screamed. "Hi neighbor!", Mr. Dinkleberg responded while floating in mid air.
| 2016-07-02T21:01:01 | 2016-07-02T18:09:05 | 36 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone receives a letter when they turn 18 stating how they will die. You've just received your letter, and it's blank.
|
I dropped the piece of paper. "This is awesome" I thought, "I'm immortal! I can do anything!" and ran out the door laughing at all the things I would try. As the letter drifted to the floor it turned and landed face side up, where two words were printed clearly; "Severe stupidity".
|
To be 18 an immortal. It really wasn't all it was cracked up to be.
Eve considered not opening the damned envelope at all. The matte black bringer of doom lay on the kitchen table, a retinal scanner blinking incessantly on the front.
There was a certain sick irony to it that she thought represented to state of humanity quite well. They had conquered aging, illness and even injury, in essence no one really had to die anymore.
Yet, everyone still did. Not enough space, not enough food, not enough value to a life without ending; there was a plethora of equally unreasonable explanations for why people needed to die.
How silly it seemed to have the random the wheel of fate be replaced by a an equally random but wholly intentional lottery of death.
Then again, dying young had its perks too. She gave her empty fridge a wary glance.
She could only dream of having it stocked to the brim. Cheese and wine and perhaps even chocolate.
Better yet, if she had less than a year to go, she wouldn't have to worry about the fridge at all. She'd be set for life, al 356 days of it to be exact, in one of the inner city penthouses.
To live the remainder of her days like a queen. Fattened like a pig for slaughter.
Riding her short burst of motivation, Eve grabbed the envelope and held it up to her eyes.
A second later a cheerful beep let her know the envelope was unlocked. She ignored the trembling of her fingers as she pulled the letter out.
It was perfectly white. And blank. On both sides.
She turned the letter over a few more times just to be sure, and even titled it under the kitchen lamp, as perhaps the ink might have been faded.
Nope. The paper was just blank.
She'd seen plenty of letters on the internet to know a date and cause of death should have been printed in bold black lettering on the front.
None of them had been blanks.
Her insides felt cold and knotted, she thought she hadn't wanted to know, but somehow this was even worse.
She blinked vigorously, hoping the letters would somehow appear.
It must have been an error. And what about her allowance?
That last thought spurred her to action. She took her long green coat from the rack and stepped out into the cold January morning.
The 5 minute walk to the ATM seemed to take an eternity.
The machine was covered frost, untouched at least since last evening. Below the card slot was the much less frequently used letter slot.
The slot that everyone only needed to use once in their lifetime.
She took out her letter and fed it into the machine. She briefly wondered whether she'd put it in right side up.
Green text appeared on the scratched and battered display.
[Hello, Eve. Thank you for registering your departure form. Your daily allowance until departure will be: € 0]
[If you have any questions, please ask them now. Articulate clearly.]
She blinked, and cleared her throat.
"There must be a mistake. How, how will I die?" Her voice more scared than she had intended.
The screen stayed empty for a few seconds before printing the words she would carry with her for the rest of her immortal life.
[By your own hand and at the time of your own choosing.]
[Your death is free. Your life is not.]
With that the money slot started buzzing and clicking. After a few seconds the slot opened.
No money came out, instead a small black card with stark white lettering.
It read:
'Tomorrow, 19:08. The corner of Clifton and Pechkham. A man in black coat, long blond hair. Oakfield backpack. Death by stabbing.'
The ATM buzzed one more time.
A sleek silver knife clattered to the ground.
EDIT: spelling 'n stuff
| 2017-01-17T15:58:50 | 2017-01-17T15:47:45 | 46 | 31 |
[WP]People have powers based on their strongest emotion, and become stronger as they embrace it. Healers might draw power from love or empathy, warriors; anger or self preservation, etc. You draw power from being incredibly sassy.
Or other emotions, like being passive aggressive, or overly dramatic.
|
People who knew Jaques had a few choice words to describe him. Among them were forward, bold, audacious, and most importantly, full of spirit. It took him a bit of time to hone his powers but once he had it down to a science he would use them indiscriminately.
It wasn't a surprise that he used his "gift" for his own personal gain, and Jaques was a man of fine tastes. He took pride in his private collection, and even more proud of the fact that it was all obtained without having to shed a single drop of blood to claim it as his. He could drop men and women alike with just a handful of words.
As Jaques strolled casually through the minimum security museum pondering what to add to his collection a voice called out to him. "DON'T MOVE!" It commanded. Raising his hands slowly, Jaques turned to look at his offender. The glare of a flashlight approaching him. "Alright come with me sir." The security guard motioned towards him with the truncheon. Jaques couldn't help but notice the guards attire, a highlighter yellow reflective jacket with black and white checkered bands across the arms and torso of his coat, a stained white button up shirt, trousers pulled up past his belly button, powder blue socks, and to top it all off (literally) was his ridiculous trapper hat. "I won't ask you again!" Barked the guard, he peeked around Jaques expecting to find damage done to the exhibits but instead found his coworkers slumped on the ground, drained of color and still conscious. The guards eyes went wide, "you know," Jaques began "there are worse things in this world than being beaten into submission." And with a grin he finished "and in that outfit all of those things will happen to you." The guard pulled back to get a good swing in but stopped suddenly. He felt the heat disappear from his body, the hand gripping his truncheon becoming limp, his body following suit. The color drained from his skin, the fire in his eyes reduced to nothing but petty embers. He collapsed face up, finding he had lost the will to get back up. Jaques made his way to him and squatted down by the guard looking him in the eyes, the guards eyes lazily locked with Jaques' gaze. "Do not worry" Jaques said calmly, "by morning you will be fine, the body is fine. The spirit however, needs a bit of time to regenerate. " he lightly patted the side of the guards face and continued his shopping.
|
And so it was, that when Meister P finally burst into the throne room, he feared he was too late, for a scene of utter carnage lay before him. At the far end, the Grand Vizier, bursting with foul and bestial magic, stood atop the throne, cackling with unrestrained glee.
“No!” Meister P yelled, running to the fallen bodies of his comrades, smouldering husks upon the cold, granite floor.
“Varyan! You’re the strongest warrior this land has ever seen! Stand, stand and fight!”
Shaking, trembling, Varyan lifted his head weakly to meet Meister P’s eyes. “Forgive me, I am too… scared to fight…”
“Impossible!” Meister P yelled. “Where’s the raging bull I know? Summon your anger, your temper, unbridle it all! Against a hundred men you could stand, what is one black cruel wizard?”
“It’s no use,” wheezed Lelial, “the dark one’s curses are entwined in us. Varyan can no more brawl than I can heal even the smallest laceration now. He sees only that which he truly fears, and in the face of fear, his anger has no ground to take root...”
Meister P rushed to Lelial’s side, and caressed her head in his lap. “Not you too… Open your eyes, I beg you, I beseech! Heal us with your songs, spirit away our pain, and maybe we’ll be able to withstand…”
“You don’t understand,” whimpered Lelial, “the Grand Vizier… his woven illusions are too strong. I tried healing Varyan, but I couldn’t see his face, I only saw my enemies in his place. How then could I summon the empathy I need to heal? I am helpless too…”
A thunderclap burst through the throne room as a streak of black lightning struck not five feet from where Meister P stood.
“Fools! Imbeciles!” bellowed the Grand Vizier. “You stand before me and whine? I am the Grand Vizier, master of illusions, and I know that my powers overwhelm all that you can offer! My confidence is my overwhelming font of power! The kingdom is mine!”
Meister P calmly stood up, and turned to face the Grand Vizier. “You’re wrong. I am still here, and with these three Artifacts of Power, I will cast you down.”
“Three…. Artifacts of Power? You mean… the copper necklace around your neck? The wrinkled moth-eaten scarf on your shoulders? Your wooden… cane?”
The Grand Vizier laughed, long and hard, then, in a flash, sprang forward like a loosened bull, straight for the jugular…
… and Meister P’s voice, like a heated knife through animal fat, rang out through the hall, mustering strength, growing from a lone wolf’s howl to a cacophony, a typhoon of sonic energy. As the words spilled forth, the copper necklace shimmered with light, and radiantly burst into a giant, gaudy chain of the finest gold, with a medallion at the end, embossed with “M.P.”.
***I’m a raging rhymer, I no need no timer
To cook these tunes to pacify ya
When I’m done you be there all angry hatin’
While I’m here just sitting back and masturbatin’
And you can wait all night cause I’ll never tire***
“What, what sorcery is this!” yelled the Grand Vizier, throwing his hands up to shield against the piercing light reflecting off the Medallion of Rebellion. The rays burned clean through the Grand Vizier’s illusions, tearing away his defences.
But Meister P was not done. No, he had barely started.
His tempo, unbroken, built and raged, and the energies coursed through him like waters released from a broken dam. The unseemly textile around his shoulders twisted violently, leaping around like an angry whip, then burst into flames as the textile unwound into the pinkest, fluffiest, hundred-foot long feather boa ever seen.
***You come into my lands all direspectin’
Here’s some facts that you need be checkin’
Whoa whoa whoa did you think that you’re a big guy?
Well then let me notify, and clarify
Before your fool ass makes us all be chucklin’***
“Noooo…” was all the Grand Vizier could manage, as the Flaming Boa of Style whipped through the air, beating him into submission on the ground. Feathers filled the air, but the ancient Artifact remained as fluffy as ever.
Meister P raged on, hard.
As he raised his wooden cane in the air, the wood blackened rapidly, as if the fires of hell had leapt up to consume it. Then, almost as quickly as it had turned black, the cane whitened, and pieces of ash flaked off, trailing through the air like dandelions upon the summer winds. The cane was no simple cane no more, as its true golden nature shone through, every inch inlaid with fat, ripened jewels and rubies. At its top, where Meister P wielded it, was a diamond so large, it beggared belief that the gods could ever craft something so pure.
***Scat you rat, just pack up and go
Ain’t no room for ya when I’m in flow
Your powers are weak you’re thin and reedy
Come back maybe after your puberty
Then perhaps with me you can finally tango***
Meister P towered over the Grand Vizier, slithering on the floor, defeated, defenestrated, and Meister P resolutely plunged the Bitchin’ Cane of Cool right into the devil’s heart.
And so it was, that once again, sassy won the day.
---
[/r/rarelyfunny](https://www.reddit.com/r/rarelyfunny/)
| 2017-01-19T07:40:32 | 2017-01-19T06:05:01 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Damnit Susan..."
"I don't wanna see you either Jeff..."
"At least tell me it's something important unlike last time"
Susan blushed, remembering how Jeff had randomly appeared because her (now ex) boyfriend couldn't bring her to climax. Quickly she shook her head.
"No, nothing like last time. Follow me."
She led Jeff to the bathroom where the toilet was dangerously close to overflowing.
"Oh. My. God... I'm done, I'm not fixing this, I'm *cough* what the hell did you eat??? That is vile!!!"
Jeff looked at the toilet in disbelief knowing that he wouldn't be allowed to leave until it was fixed. He begrudgingly got to work unclogging the unholy mass in the toilet, holding his breath as long as he could.
When it was over he turned to Susan.
"I've been thinking..."
"Yeah?"
"I've never disliked you, you know? I just think most high schoolers heads are in the clouds. We're in our mid twenties now, and neither of us can hold down a significant other because of this nonsense. Maybe we should just give it another go?"
"You're willing to try to date me after this" she motioned towards the toilet.
"Oh you are never allowed to shit in my house, in fact anytime you gotta go we're going to a gas station."
She rolled her eyes dryly.
"Fine, pick me up for coffee tomorrow"
|
Garrett had a love-hate relationship with Kelly.
“Are you kidding me? I was in the middle of a job interview, Kelly. Do you have any idea how much you are ruining my life?”
After all this time, he only saw her in her moments of need. That sort of vulnerability can be endearing, even intimate. It is also horribly draining.
“Karen just called me. She has breast cancer. With dad gone, I don’t have anyone else to turn to.” She was really trying to hold back tears, but Garrett knew it would be a matter of time.
“Damn. Ok, I’m sorry, Kelly. Mint chocolate chip in the freezer?” She nodded. “All right, you grab the Kleenex, I’ll get the bowls. Let’s talk about it.” At least now they had a routine.
The first time it happened after they broke up, he was annoyed. She had a test or something that she hadn’t studied for the next day. He thought it was a cosmic mistake. The second time it happened, he was devastated. The Jaguars were one catch away from the regional championship, and instead of clutching the game-winning ball, he found himself holding her broken arm. This wasn’t a fluke. It was permanent. Some of the guys had never forgiven him. That’s where the hate came from.
When Kelly’s dad died in that wreck, Garrett was actually glad for the curse. But each ex-boyfriend recovery session made him profane the day he was born. It got easier over time, but also more intrusive, as they drifted apart socially. He still decided to go to college nearby, though, for logistics’ sake.
“So how’s her husband and kids taking it?”
“Oh, they’re upbeat about it all, like usual.” Kelly sniffed, then smiled at him. “You were always like that, too. I don’t know how you would have lived with my mess if you weren’t.”
“Believe me, there are days I’m not.” He decided it was a good thing she was a fan of mint chocolate chip. If it was peach, this relationship, such as it was, would not work. A smile grazed his lips.
“What?” She leaned forward.
“I was thinking about how absurd this is, to be honest.” Her frown made it clear that is not what she expected. “I mean, come on, Kelly. You can’t go through life relying on me. One of these days I’ll have a family. They’ll need me more than you do. Are you going to hold my attention hostage then?”
“It’s not my fault!" she yelled, "You freaking asked for it! Do you think I want to see your face every time? Do you think I want to be reminded that you rejected me? That every man in my life leaves or rejects me? That…” Whatever else she had to say was drowned in sobs.
*Well, shit. Not my best work yet.* Garrett moved over to the couch and laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. She shrugged it off angrily the first time, but not the second. He knew her better than that by now.
Garrett didn’t really hate her for all of this. Hated the cosmic poltergeist who gave this to him, sure, but not her. He saw her now more truly than he did in those hormonal teenage years. He saw what hurt her. He saw what scarred her. And in his absences, he saw what she endured, and what she pulled through. In a way, Garrett had come to admire her. It wasn’t until he had started realizing that he was regretting the infrequency of her calls that he realized something had changed.
Garrett was falling for her again. It wasn’t a graceful fall into a woman who swept him away with breathtaking beauty. It was her beauty of small things, of life lived purposefully amidst trial. It was seeing real things about her. True things. Too many girls tried to sell him a façade. Kelly only met him in her moments of greatest honesty. It was oddly alluring.
“Look, Kelly, I’m here for you because once upon a time I wanted to be. Truth be told, part of me still wants to be. I just need you to know that being needed, in the absence of any other form of relationship, is horrible for me.” She looked up at him with reddened eyes. She wasn’t that pretty in the moment, but he was sure of it – she was beautiful. And it had taken ten years for him to realize it.
He continued, “How about this? Can we start over? Let’s get to know each other as friends, since we seemed to have skipped that step entirely. And maybe, from there, you’ll be able to figure out who you can truly rely on.”
She smiled. “I’d like that. And Garrett, you’ve always been there for me, even when I hated you for it. You’ve always been my best friend.”
| 2017-03-22T13:49:02 | 2017-03-22T13:01:32 | 735 | 276 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Damnit Susan..."
"I don't wanna see you either Jeff..."
"At least tell me it's something important unlike last time"
Susan blushed, remembering how Jeff had randomly appeared because her (now ex) boyfriend couldn't bring her to climax. Quickly she shook her head.
"No, nothing like last time. Follow me."
She led Jeff to the bathroom where the toilet was dangerously close to overflowing.
"Oh. My. God... I'm done, I'm not fixing this, I'm *cough* what the hell did you eat??? That is vile!!!"
Jeff looked at the toilet in disbelief knowing that he wouldn't be allowed to leave until it was fixed. He begrudgingly got to work unclogging the unholy mass in the toilet, holding his breath as long as he could.
When it was over he turned to Susan.
"I've been thinking..."
"Yeah?"
"I've never disliked you, you know? I just think most high schoolers heads are in the clouds. We're in our mid twenties now, and neither of us can hold down a significant other because of this nonsense. Maybe we should just give it another go?"
"You're willing to try to date me after this" she motioned towards the toilet.
"Oh you are never allowed to shit in my house, in fact anytime you gotta go we're going to a gas station."
She rolled her eyes dryly.
"Fine, pick me up for coffee tomorrow"
|
It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler.
| 2017-03-22T13:49:02 | 2017-03-22T13:26:15 | 735 | 21 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Oh. My. God. Rebecca. What?"
"Steve! Thank goodness you're here. I need help."
"Yeah... I know... What is it this time? Homework? Dishes? Need something heavy moved?"
"No."
"Well, what is it then?"
"I... I can't open this jar."
"What?!? Seriou..."
"Steve! That's not the only thing. I. I'm. I'm also out of toilet paper. I need you."
"*sigh* Rebecca, do you realize I have my own life? I've got things I need to take care of myself. I can't keep popping up here anytime you are inconvenienced. This is getting ridiculous. I'll be back with some paper in a minute, let me see that jar."
"Th-Thanks."
Rebecca watched with tears welling in her eyes as Steve stormed out of her apartment, open jar in hand. "One day he'll see. One day he'll realize he still loves me. One day he won't leave. Right?" she thought as she closed the unused jar and placed it in the fridge. "He's got to know I've been calling him here because I still love him." A forceful knock at the door snapped her from her thoughts. She opened the door to a pack of toilet paper from the bodega downstairs on the welcome mat and Steve nowhere to be found. Tears now streaming down her face she bent down and picked up the package. "Maybe next time." she thought.
|
It seems like every time I ran into Amelia Fowler she was in the middle of some kind of catastrophe. Just last week she had a flat tire at two in the morning twenty miles out of town, with no one around but cows and cotton. A month ago it was in line at the grocery store with a shopping cart the contents of which almost brought a tear to my eye and a check card that couldn't cover even that. I helped. I couldn't not help. It didn't matter that we'd been done for eight months, or dated for three weeks. She was a person, and she needed someone, and I was there. That's what you do in small towns like this.
I guess that's why we started dating in the first place. The "in need" part, not the small town part, although that was probably some of it, too. When you are fifteen and everything feels like it's the most important thing in the world, that is enough. Sitting in the back of my old truck, I promised her the world and she blushed and was beautiful and we loved each other. But the Fowler clan was a train wreck. Amelia was abused, neglected, addicted, and already working on her criminal record then, at sixteen. I should never have gotten involved with her. The whole thing blew up less than a month after it started.
Eventually I realized she must have been getting herself in trouble around me on purpose, like as a way to control me or something. That was the kind of thing a girl like her would do. It's not her fault; not exactly, but I wasn't going to be manipulated like that. I started distancing myself from Amelia. Still I would run into her from time to time, and always she was in the middle of some crisis. At first I was kind with her. Then I was patient. I became firm. I became Angry. Finally I became cruel. I said mean things to her about who she was and how she lived. I still helped. You have to help people. But I wish I hadn't said those things.
As time went on, I ran into Amelia less and less often. I heard from a friend of a friend that she had gotten herself knocked up by and then married to some office worker type. Unexciting, but stable. That sounded like a good thing, and I was happy for her.
Gradually, I began to forget about Amelia Fowler.
...
It was really unusual for the bastards to take us anywhere. They mostly liked to keep us locked up in our shitty little rooms unless it was time for medicine or "food." Today they'd gotten it into their piss-for-brains heads to drag us old geezers out to the park for some "Eeh-an-richmint," as that lousy dick of a head nurse pronounces it.
Some of the geezers who have decent families are going to have a nice afternoon frolicking in the Goddamned daisy or whatever. My wife is dead. Fuck, most of my kids are dead. They don't tell you about that shit when you're growing up! Life kills people! And the ones who are still alive aren't worth two shits.
So I was looking forward to sitting alone on a hot hillside in the middle of June like the subject of some kind of shitty dollar store painting 'cause it'd make dick feel like he was doing his job.
Anyway, we'd been out there for a little over forty-five minutes, and my ass was killing me. That piece-of-crap lawn chair must have been made in Nicaragua. Why can't shit come from China anymore like in the good old days? When all of a sudden this old biddy, who was hobbling along on her walker, keels over right there on my spot of grass; pissed off the pigeons. I was trying to enjoy the view of the lake and here's this bitch, flopping on the ground clutching at her back pissing and moaning.
So I haul my aching, wrinkly old ass out of my piece-of-shit Nicaraguan chair and kneel down in the stifling heat of that mosquito-infested June morning to see what's wrong. I roll her over and damned if it isn't Amelia Fowler.
"My God it's you!" She exhaled. "I'm having a heart attack. It's my fourth one. I know what they feel like, and I know I'm not going to make it."
"Amelia what is this shit? You think I can't tell a fake heart attack? I did fifteen years with-" I started, but she cut me off.
"Shut up, Frank. I don't know where I would have wound up if I'd have never met you, but I can guess. I'm dying an old woman with a full life instead of a young girl with stupid ideas 'cause of you. I needed to tell you that. I promise I won't need you again."
I yelled for dick, and he stumbled over and bumbled though ECPR, but Amelia was right. She was done for. That was the last time I saw Amelia Fowler.
| 2017-03-22T14:45:31 | 2017-03-22T13:26:15 | 116 | 21 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Alright, next time this happens, just unplug the router, and plug it back in." Marcus said begrudgingly.
Obviously embarrassed, Katie replied "Thank you so much, I don't have any cash on me, but I'll pay you for the bus fare next time"
"Don't worry about it..."
He walked out the door, it was raining, of course. The bus stop was a 15 minute walk down the street. Not terrible considering all the times he's ended multiple states over, with no clue on how to get back.
He threw his hood up, and started his was back home.
It didn't matter to Marcus anymore. This was a weekly occurrence at this point. He had lost countless jobs, blown off friends, and missed out on a long list of relationships. All because of an empty promise he made to a girl he barely even knew.
He used to get frustrated, but at a certain point, it became a ritual.
As he boarded the bus, he felt that familiar feeling. His body was being dragged to another location.
He came to in Katie's living room. But this time she stood over a man, covered in blood.
"What the fuck..." Marcus said under his breath.
"I can explain."
|
“You know, have you ever tried being responsible for your own shit, instead of relying on some witches curse to have me do your laundry?”, Shane snarked at Sandra.
“You’re just too convenient.”, she smirked, looking Shane up and down.”Besides, it’s more important than my laundry.” Sandra had gotten into some trouble with some seniors. Sandra and her current boyfriend, Rumio, were the town’s local supply of dope, and less than lethal party drugs; like acid, shrooms, and ecstasy. It was a small town with a poor, small market, and not really many dealers to go to. Even though Sandra and Rumio kept a “code” to never sell any amount of or any type of drug that they knew would kill a particular person, they never made a code to never skimp their customers.
“What, do you need a loan or some shit? Or are you just horny and your boyfriend isn’t around again?” Shane was rather pissed at this point. A day hadn’t gone by that Aphrodite’s curse hadn’t played it’s merciless joke on him. It had been calming down recently, and he figured he might be able to start having a normal life again. Shane was supposed to be at the premiere of a big blockbuster hit, “The Comedical Advancements of Hubris the Flying Baby”, but in the middle of the previews was sucked back into the grip of Sandra’s hurricane of a life.
“No, I need somebody that can hold a gun.” Sandra handed over a .22.
“What the fuck is this peashooter gonna do?”
“It’s gonna scare off these jocks we fucked with.” Sandra and Rumio had taken it upon themselves to not only sell a football player a bag of chopped up romaine, but hadn’t even given him the proper gram to dollar ratio. Sandra and Rumio had sold oregano to this kid before, so they figured he would probably still be too stupid to tell the difference. But Kenneth, the fool, had smoked lettuce in his youth after hearing talk through his bedroom door of “smoking the devil’s lettuce.”
“And why should I give a fuck that you pissed some jocks off?”
“Because even if you leave, you’re just gonna come back when they actually show up.” They of course being the entire football team; small town sports teams are essentially packs of hyenas.
“So why don’t I go get a real weapon, like a chainsaw? Or a steak knife?”
“Because we’re not trying to kill them, we’re trying to get them to fuck off. We don’t need heat all over our shit, man.” Sandra shoved the .22 into Shane’s chest. She stormed off into another room to grab her phone and her baton. While she called Rumio, Shane looked out the window.
“You got any idea what type of car these kids might roll up in?”
“I don’t know, probably some busted up piece of shit. Pretty sure Ken’s dad own a Thunderbird.” Rumio picked up, Sandra asked, “Hey, where are you, babe?”
“Pulling up right now.” Just then a green Thunderbird swerved right into his driveway. Rumio parked quickly, reached for his bat in the back seat, and got out. Five kids exited the Thunderbird, all looking around before a couple charged towards Rumio. Sandra and Shane came leaping off the front porch towards Rumio, trying to distract a couple of the linebackers. Rumio managed to break a kneecap on of the kids, but took an uppercut from his backup. Rumio tried shoving the kid away via tip of bat. It hurt the player’s chest, but he grabbed the bat and swung it to the side.
Sandra wasn’t strong, but people didn’t think a baton swing to the ribs wasn’t gonna hurt. Shane had been in a few fights, via Sandra, but still didn’t stand a chance against the neanderthals of the frontline. It wasn’t too soon before Shane pulled out… Bang! Shane had plucked one of them in the eye, and it started to bleed. They all scattered back to the car before Shane could pull the trigger again.
“They’re just gonna come back, you know.” Shane looked at the two of them locked in arms.
“Yeah, but at least we got Slickshot Shane to back us up when the rattlesnakes show up.” Sandra smirked at Shane and giggled a bit.
Rumi told Shane, “Yeah and if you let my girlfriend die, I’ll be sure to send your ass to Aphrodite myself.” Shane rolled his eyes and shoved his way through the lovebirds, and murmured something under his breath, probably something of the usual, “this curse is bullshit, I’m not even getting laid.” The couple renounced themselves to their abode, only to find Shane in their room.
“I knew you hadn’t done your fucking laundry yet.”
| 2017-03-22T16:11:28 | 2017-03-22T14:43:57 | 65 | 47 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
"Alright, next time this happens, just unplug the router, and plug it back in." Marcus said begrudgingly.
Obviously embarrassed, Katie replied "Thank you so much, I don't have any cash on me, but I'll pay you for the bus fare next time"
"Don't worry about it..."
He walked out the door, it was raining, of course. The bus stop was a 15 minute walk down the street. Not terrible considering all the times he's ended multiple states over, with no clue on how to get back.
He threw his hood up, and started his was back home.
It didn't matter to Marcus anymore. This was a weekly occurrence at this point. He had lost countless jobs, blown off friends, and missed out on a long list of relationships. All because of an empty promise he made to a girl he barely even knew.
He used to get frustrated, but at a certain point, it became a ritual.
As he boarded the bus, he felt that familiar feeling. His body was being dragged to another location.
He came to in Katie's living room. But this time she stood over a man, covered in blood.
"What the fuck..." Marcus said under his breath.
"I can explain."
|
A young man stands in front of a crowded board room his presentation is impeccable. He's worked his way up from intern to junior exec, and it's taken years of late nights to get him to this point. His smart blue suit only slightly lighter than the others in the room, his tie a perfect accent piece to his pocket square which sets off his wire frame glasses. The young man continues his well rehearsed diatribe, "You'll see in the graph here that..." A cloud of smoke envelopes him and then dissipates leaving the rest of the attendees in awe.
Across the country on a small studio lot just outside of Los Angeles a woman sits on a curb eating a sandwich when smoke begins to materialize, the young man appears before her eyes in a brilliant shimmer of folded space which looks as if someone smeared the background.
"Oh *you're* here." The young woman remarks.
He turns around investigating his new surroundings before looking down at the girl, "Jesus Christ Keri, what the hell do you want?"
"Well I didn't want *you* ." She answers before discarding the food on the ground.
"Uh, yeah Keri, that's how this works. Remember? In perhaps the most regretful phrase I've ever uttered in my life, I pledged to always be there for you. Then a skank in pink heart print dress appeared and said 'So it shall be, always.' So now when you want me, and only me I fucking appear wherever you are. I was only fifteen how the hell is that binding?!?"
The woman shrugged and said, "Well as long as you're here, the studio says they'll give me a line if I show my breasts in the movie. Should I do it?"
"Yes, of course you should," The young man replied. As soon as Keri's back was turned he began to give her the finger with both hands.
"You really think I should? Don't you think that could hurt my career? I want to be thought of as a serious actress..." She turned around suddenly to see both of his middle fingers outstretched in an aggressive, and angry way. "Brad... god damn it, I'm serious."
"I don't give a flying red headed fuck what you do, the perpetually pink bitch made it so I have to be here, she didn't make me feel the need to be helpful. Your tits have been all over the internet for years. Remember when we broke up and you got on Girls Gone Wild? Yeah so there isn't a pervy old man in America who hasn't spanked it to your underage, and until verrrry recently undersized chest; by the way tell your doctor I love his work, and leave me the fuck alone!"
She smiled at him, "You're jealous, I'm here shooting a film with the guy who played on Renegade and you're stuck in your little cubicle back home. Why can't you just be happy for me you piece of shit?"
"I was in the middle of a meeting that would have made me a partner. I have a girl I'm crazy about, and she puts up with this popping back and forth thing for god knows why, and I'm jealous?"
The two screaming at each other drew the ire of the director who then stormed over to the pair, "Who are you?" He demanded.
Brad sighed and said, "I'm Brad her ex boyfriend."
The director threw out his hands with his palms raised, "Do you work here?"
"No."
He turned his attention to the young woman, "And you, who the hell are you?"
"um... I'm Keri. I play Sorority slasher victim 2."
"Not anymore, you're fired. Steven, get me casting, I need another big breasted bimbo to show her tits in this piece of shit. Let's go, we're moving on."
Keri stood there her mouth agape, then she turned to look at Brad who's lips had begun to curl upwards at the corners, "You... this is all your fault. Fix it, fix it now."
Brad broke out into a bright white smile as karma finally caught up with Keri. He did his best to snap his lips closed but the joy was just so overwhelming he broke into a slight laugh as he said, "Why? Remember I don't have to help, I just have to be there for you."
"Well how are you going to like it if I suddenly need a towel boy at 2:AM your time for the foreseeable future after I swipe right on every guy in LA? Fix this now."
Brad visibly gulped and said, "Excuse me Mr. Director..."
| 2017-03-22T16:11:28 | 2017-03-22T15:05:15 | 65 | 19 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
Aphrodite sat with tented fingers, leaning over her magic Pool of Viewing. She cast her gaze into the mortal realm, chuckling as her focus settled on a hapless subject. It was time for the show to begin, time for her blessings to once again fall on the lucky, lucky couple known as Craig and Lindsey. Once, when they had been deliriously in love they had been recognized by the encompassing title of "Craigsley", but that had been a decade past. Things certainly were different now.
Craig was oblivious to the fact he was being watched. Somewhere, deep down, perhaps he acknowledged the fact that he was always in the Goddess's view, even if he wasn't always the center of her attention. Most of the time, though, it seemed as if he had forgotten the sacred vow whispered in Lindsey's ear during that summer they had both spent a vacation in Rome. The corner of Aphrodite's perfect pouty mouth twitched in disapproval as he wiped a booger on the leg of his jeans. It was one of his more annoying habits. No wonder Lindsey had dumped him.
Craig walked around the corner of a brick building and suddenly realized he was no longer in his own city, or even in his own state. The look on his face was priceless, just like always. Aphrodite clapped her hands and sniffed back a tear of laughter. With a gusty release of breath she continued watching as Lindsey exited a storefront, talking on her phone and unaware of Craig standing but a few feet from her.
The crash as they came together was satisfying. Aphrodite did not hold back her laughter as the two mortals fell to the ground in a tangle of awkward limbs and Lindsey's enormous purse. Many items were scattered, the two humans scrambling to contain the spill until the inevitable moment their eyes met and recognition was achieved.
Lindsey spent quite a few moments trying to contain her rage and frustration. She had been through this before. Craig had suddenly shown up in her life, with no explanation, on so many occasions. They had been through years of these meetings and at one point she had taken out restraining orders on him, fearing he was actually stalking her.
"Did you say the words?" Craig's attitude was icy. Getting home would be inconvenient at best and expensive at worst.
Lindsey thought for a moment, about her phone conversation. Had she said them? Those almost forbidden words that triggered the appearance of Craig?
"I just said...was saying that I...oh. I guess I did say I needed an...aspirin." Lindsey withered under Craig's hostile stare, knowing she had slipped up over something trivial.
Aphrodite waved a perfectly manicured fingernail and an aspirin bottle appeared in Craig's coat pocket. He pulled the bottle forth and offered her the medication without surprise. These small miracles had become part of the encounters, both humans had chosen long ago to simply stop questioning or rationalizing them.
"Well, thanks." Lindsey shook the aspirin bottle and gave Craig an ingratiating smile. She began shuffling on the pavement, an embarrassed attempt to end the encounter as quickly as possible. "Sorry. About all of this." Waving her hand to encompass everything, Lindsey began backing away. "Sorry," she repeated, then turned and quickly strode up the sidewalk, into a stream of pedestrians and out of Craig's sight.
Craig stood stewing in his misfortune. There was no point in calling after her, no point in asking for her help. It was not her part to be a helper, it was his. The little miracles that ensured Lindsey would always have what was needed never applied to Craig. Summoning the exercises for inner peace taught to him by his therapist, Craig tried to deal with his simmering anger, turning the negative thoughts into constructive ones. As constructive as possible, anyway, given his circumstances. He went over his emergency plan, the one carefully developed over the years of his sudden appearances to answer Lindsey's need. He knew what to do, just resented having to do it.
Grinding his teeth, Craig did his best to concentrate on getting home. The anger was difficult to push away, the unfairness of it all bubbling up. He hated Lindsey now, her lifestyle choices had ruined the beauty that had once entranced him, had once caused him to romantically declare that she, among mortal women, could rival the beauty of Aphrodite. Fool that he was, he had sworn to be at her side should she need him. Fool that he was, his life was now linked to her beck and call.
Aphrodite tented her fingers once again, leaning back in her sumptuous throne to savor the man's pain. This was what she had waited for. The bittersweet regret, the true remorse. How dare he speak those words of comparison? No one could rival her beauty, she would make sure of that.
|
Theme Music: to U by Jack U
The phone clicked dead; Amy’s final words echoed in Sebastian’s mind like the ripples from a water drop. She had every right to want to end things – his disappearances, while random were a constant sore spot between them. What was he up to? Why couldn’t he talk about it? And why did it always happen when his ex was having trouble in her relationship? It drove Sebastian to frustration each time. Even now, he struggled to maintain his composure. Why the fuck did it have to happen to him?
It was a fucking curse. It had to be. When Sebastian was 15, he had promised his then girlfriend Lucy that he would always be there for her if she needed him which she reciprocated. It was a stupid promise, but then it felt right. They were young and in love in the only way that young lovers could be, promising each other the world. But it didn’t last, it never could at that age. But somehow, someone had heard them and noted.
The first time it happened was when he was 21. They had both long since moved on, Sebastian to a string of casual lovers and Lucy to her first serious boyfriend. They had apparently been dating for two years when Lucy was contacted by a stranger. Apparently her boyfriend had broken up with her out of the blue via text, leaving Lucy heartbroken. He had been cooking dinner at the time when there was a flash and suddenly he was standing before Lucy who was laying on her bed crying. He had held her hand all night then slipped out in the morning when she finally feel asleep and walked two hours to get back home.
He thought it was weird but considered it a one off, some bizarre phenomenon. But it happened again, almost two years later, this time to him. He had been going through a rough time, getting strung alone by a girl who he thought felt the same about him. When he finally worked up the nerve to confront her about it she laughed him off then disappeared the next day. After half a bottle of scotch he finally broke down, tears erupting from eyes like a fountain. Yet before they had managed to reach his chin she was there, bringing him into her arms and whispering sympathy in his ear. She was gone by morning too, a ghost from a past he wasn’t sure he wanted to be a part of. From there it went downhill, the occurrences happening more and more frequently, appearing in front of the other during moments of sadness or need.
It took a toll on the both of them, each time a highly charged emotional moment where the other was a sudden intruder. Almost a year ago Lucy had enough. She started screaming when he appeared; that her grief was her own and not for him, and if he could just please leave her alone. He had left the house in a black cloud; it wasn’t his choice, he didn’t want this, this burden. He had heard later that she had moved across the States to LA, as if somehow the distance could prevent the occurrences from happening.
And for a while he thought it did. He met Amy and felt the pull that finally, he had met someone he could love. The visitations to Lucy no longer happened and he let his guard down. For almost three years, he felt like he was free. But little over a month ago, it started happening again. One moment he was jogging with his dog then flash and he’s suddenly standing in front of Lucy in the middle of what looked like her living room. She was teary-eyed and upon meeting his eyes only shook her head and looked out the window. Wrapping her arms around herself, she said she was ok. She was married now, and just had an argument with her husband so if Sebastian could please leave before he got back. He practically ran out of the house, catching a taxi to the nearest airport. He managed to get back home two days later. Amy was frantic, but he pleaded a work emergency and she let it go.
But the curse couldn’t, wouldn’t let go. Within the next two months he was back there at least once every two weeks. Each time it was the same but as time went on, he started to notice differences. She would be more wary, her eyes more pained each time. Then the bruises started appearing; minor ones at first but when one appeared on the left side of her face he knew. He pleaded with her, begged her to get some help. When he finally left it seemed like she might actually do it.
But when Sebastian got home, he found Amy waiting in his apartment. She demanded to know where he had been – they were supposed to have dinner together. She called him at work and when they didn’t know where he was she called him on his phone at least a dozen times. He tried his best to calm her down but she was hysterical. Was he cheating on her? Was he unhappy? A lump appeared in Sebastian’s throat; he fought to hold back tears. How could he explain what was happening to him? He showed her the ticket, explained Lucy’s situation – how her husband was beating her, how he had been flying up there to try to get her to leave him. He had totally forgot to call but no he wasn’t still interested in her, they were just kids when they dated. She didn’t totally believe him, but she could feel his sincerity. When her tone changed, all he could feel was relief. Relief and gratitude. His promise was out of his lips before the question had even formed in hers.
And that night, he prayed to whatever god was out there, that this was the final time.
Sebastian was in the bathroom when it happened; he had gone for two weeks without incident and Amy was finally starting to forgive him. It made him ecstatic that she was starting to trust him again and he felt like celebrating. Dinner had gone well and he was washing his hands when white light suddenly blinded him. He found himself outside of Lucy’s house facing a slightly ajar front door. He panicked right away; he had taken to leaving his phone in plain view to show he wasn’t hiding anything. Now it sat on the table, along with Amy waiting for him to return from the bathroom. A wave of despair hit him and he bleakly wondered how he was going to explain this to Amy. When he glanced at Lucy’s front door wondering why he would appear on the street, he noticed the door frame was cracked.
He came through the broken front door in a stiff walk and found Lucy on her knees in the living room, a handful of her hair in his husband’s fist. The husband was shouting at her, his voice raised in fury along with his other hand. Sebastian didn’t even hear what he was saying as the last three months coalesced into that moment. All the frustration and anger flooded his mind like a tidal wave and snapped his willpower like a twig. Sebastian grabbed the husband by his raised arm and spun him around. Looking surprised, Sebastian obliged him by knocking him clean over with a punch to the face. Releasing Lucy’s hair the husband when down, blood pouring from his nose. What happened next was a blur – he remembered watching himself like he was a stranger standing in the room. He climbed on top of the husband and began raining blows down on him, screaming why could the husband just leave Lucy alone, why could he keep his fists to himself, and why did he fucking have to always drag Sebastian into this.
At this point, Lucy hauled him off, Sebastian still spitting curses and profanities at the barely conscious figure on the ground. Lucy dragged him outside and calmed him down. Yes, she was ok; yes she would call the police.
A cab ride later and the rage was gone. It was midnight at the airport and he tried for the tenth time to call Amy’s cellphone from a payphone in the waiting area. When she finally picked up, he almost broke down. He started stammering, simultaneously thanking, pleading and begging but she silenced him with a single word. She spoke calmly but it was obvious that she had been crying. It was over.
When she hung up, the tears he had been struggling to hold back finally came to life. Turning around, he found Lucy, her face slightly swollen with tears and bruises as he knew she would be. She looked tired and scared, but she took one look at his face and without a word stepped forward and embraced him. Tears started streaming down his cheek as he hugged her back. At least this was something that they both knew would never change.
| 2017-03-22T17:59:57 | 2017-03-22T17:17:28 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
|
Aphrodite sat with tented fingers, leaning over her magic Pool of Viewing. She cast her gaze into the mortal realm, chuckling as her focus settled on a hapless subject. It was time for the show to begin, time for her blessings to once again fall on the lucky, lucky couple known as Craig and Lindsey. Once, when they had been deliriously in love they had been recognized by the encompassing title of "Craigsley", but that had been a decade past. Things certainly were different now.
Craig was oblivious to the fact he was being watched. Somewhere, deep down, perhaps he acknowledged the fact that he was always in the Goddess's view, even if he wasn't always the center of her attention. Most of the time, though, it seemed as if he had forgotten the sacred vow whispered in Lindsey's ear during that summer they had both spent a vacation in Rome. The corner of Aphrodite's perfect pouty mouth twitched in disapproval as he wiped a booger on the leg of his jeans. It was one of his more annoying habits. No wonder Lindsey had dumped him.
Craig walked around the corner of a brick building and suddenly realized he was no longer in his own city, or even in his own state. The look on his face was priceless, just like always. Aphrodite clapped her hands and sniffed back a tear of laughter. With a gusty release of breath she continued watching as Lindsey exited a storefront, talking on her phone and unaware of Craig standing but a few feet from her.
The crash as they came together was satisfying. Aphrodite did not hold back her laughter as the two mortals fell to the ground in a tangle of awkward limbs and Lindsey's enormous purse. Many items were scattered, the two humans scrambling to contain the spill until the inevitable moment their eyes met and recognition was achieved.
Lindsey spent quite a few moments trying to contain her rage and frustration. She had been through this before. Craig had suddenly shown up in her life, with no explanation, on so many occasions. They had been through years of these meetings and at one point she had taken out restraining orders on him, fearing he was actually stalking her.
"Did you say the words?" Craig's attitude was icy. Getting home would be inconvenient at best and expensive at worst.
Lindsey thought for a moment, about her phone conversation. Had she said them? Those almost forbidden words that triggered the appearance of Craig?
"I just said...was saying that I...oh. I guess I did say I needed an...aspirin." Lindsey withered under Craig's hostile stare, knowing she had slipped up over something trivial.
Aphrodite waved a perfectly manicured fingernail and an aspirin bottle appeared in Craig's coat pocket. He pulled the bottle forth and offered her the medication without surprise. These small miracles had become part of the encounters, both humans had chosen long ago to simply stop questioning or rationalizing them.
"Well, thanks." Lindsey shook the aspirin bottle and gave Craig an ingratiating smile. She began shuffling on the pavement, an embarrassed attempt to end the encounter as quickly as possible. "Sorry. About all of this." Waving her hand to encompass everything, Lindsey began backing away. "Sorry," she repeated, then turned and quickly strode up the sidewalk, into a stream of pedestrians and out of Craig's sight.
Craig stood stewing in his misfortune. There was no point in calling after her, no point in asking for her help. It was not her part to be a helper, it was his. The little miracles that ensured Lindsey would always have what was needed never applied to Craig. Summoning the exercises for inner peace taught to him by his therapist, Craig tried to deal with his simmering anger, turning the negative thoughts into constructive ones. As constructive as possible, anyway, given his circumstances. He went over his emergency plan, the one carefully developed over the years of his sudden appearances to answer Lindsey's need. He knew what to do, just resented having to do it.
Grinding his teeth, Craig did his best to concentrate on getting home. The anger was difficult to push away, the unfairness of it all bubbling up. He hated Lindsey now, her lifestyle choices had ruined the beauty that had once entranced him, had once caused him to romantically declare that she, among mortal women, could rival the beauty of Aphrodite. Fool that he was, he had sworn to be at her side should she need him. Fool that he was, his life was now linked to her beck and call.
Aphrodite tented her fingers once again, leaning back in her sumptuous throne to savor the man's pain. This was what she had waited for. The bittersweet regret, the true remorse. How dare he speak those words of comparison? No one could rival her beauty, she would make sure of that.
|
There were coke packets on shelves. I'd materialized again. The coke warehouse was filled with Colombian guards. The warehouse was in a rain forest, and the sound of tropical insects was deafening.
I saw Anna, and wondered how the hell she got here. She was trapped right at the back of the warehouse, and was about to be discovered. She had golden hair, and freckled skin. She had been in the sun, and the sun damage didn't take from her beauty. I scuttled past a head-high pallet of coke, and arrived at the side of Anna.
"I'm in danger again, aren't I?" I said. "How on Earth did you get here?"
"We need to get out of here," she said, "then I will explain."
"I say we bonk one of those guards," I said, "and steal his machine gun."
She agreed with my plan, because I was very good at materializing escapes after all the practice I had been given over the years. In fact, it was almost like I was incredibly lucky... like some guardian angel was watching over Anna and I. I felt a surge of adrenaline, and bonked a guard's head with my clenched fist.
It made hardly any noise as he dropped to the floor. I extricated the guard's gun from his heavy, limp form, pulling and straining to get the arm strap from his armpit.
Over the years of these dangerous situations, I'd learned what had happened to make me arrive at Anna's side when she was in danger. I made a promise to her when I was fifteen, but I never knew Anna would be such a thrill-seeker and adventurer.
I knelt down trying to calm my breathing after the excitement of appropriating the gun. I closed my eyes and faded back to Anna's room when I was 15 years old, and she was 16, because of being held back in Mrs. Marion's grade 3. We sat there, on the floor in a room full of feminine, pink ballet stuff and gemstones, and stopped tongue kissing.
I remember it well. I was disappointed when she disentangled herself from our embrace. She went to a bookshelf. She took a textbook on magic down. I just wanted to kiss; I didn't want to read, and do magic.
"I was suggesting," said Anna, "we do a spell to prove we are serious."
"Aw gee, Anna," I said, "couldn't we just have faith about each other."
However, she was quickly leading me outdoors. She took me to the path outside her house. She had a backpack. From it, she took chalk, candles, stones.
"Blimey, what are you doing?" I asked.
She was silent, and drew a little circle on the concrete path.
"OK," she said, "sit down in this circle. We are going to caste a spell."
She caste a spell. She read the magic textbook, which had amazing old-time, colorful language a bit like the Bible. What I gathered from it was she was telling Aphrodite that I would appear whenever she was in trouble.
She then handed the text book to me, and said if I agree read the little paragraph at the bottom of the page.
I read, "I promiseth, by Aphrodite's power, by the sun, sky and wind's four directions, on this day proceeding the half moon, to be at Anna's side whenever she beeth in turmoil, until I find the valuable black-ocean stone to cancel the spell."
I read the words, and then, unsettling me, there was a solar eclipse. I was a little disconcerted about the solar eclipse, but I remembered the night before, on the news, they had spoken of it. I looked at Anna. She was a small sex dynamo those days, with porcelain face framed by exquisite, golden-blonde hair.
I looked up at her as we hid behind the pallets of coke. I remembered the time we did the ritual not so fondly. I formulated a route out of the warehouse.
"Hey Anna," I said, "I plan to make a run for it covering us from fire with the spray of bullets from this here machine gun. Run straight behind me, Anna. Let's hope we make it."
"I'll explain why I'm here," said Anna, "when, I mean if, we get out of here."
I started the machine gun spray, and run with all my speed towards the exit. I killed two soldiers having smoko. I ran quickly. As I ran, I let the spray of machine gun fire spray towards the guards, hoping the element of surprise would work. If I scared them enough, they might be bamboozled enough to not even return fire.
I kept the deafening roar of the machine gun up, as we ran. I looked back seeing if Anna was on my tail. She wasn't. She'd disappeared. I thought on my feet. Should I go back for her, or should I keep going? I thought of how I wouldn't make it if I ran back, and dying wasn't going to save anyone, so I kept going. I just hope she's alright.
I ran out of the large warehouse door. The guards left a spray of bullets, as I ran into the rain forest, but I made it. I found a little brook, and waited there, while I tried to figure out what to do about Anna still being in there. I was sitting there, almost having caught my breath, when Anna appeared. Infuriatingly, she smiled. Then, she pulled a kilo packet of coke from behind her back.
"What the fuck?" I said angrily.
"Don't worry, I'll explain," she said.
We started trekking through the forest, knowing the guards might send out a search party. I saw Anna carrying the coke.
"Give me that," I said.
She gave it to me, and I put in in my cargo pockets.
"What the hell were you thinking?" I said. "You always do stuff like this. I can't live with risking my life, every time you decide to go thrill seeking."
"This is the last time," she said.
I severely doubted it. Unless we broke Aphrodite's spell, she'd get in danger again. You see, we broke up the day after we made to spell out on the footpath near Anna's house. I'd told her I wanted to concentrate more on my indoor cricket team, and she didn't take it well. The next day she had a big, muscly boyfriend twice as good looking as me.
"What are you going to do? Break the spell?" I snickered.
"Yes," she exclaimed.
I looked at her. I was dumbstruck.
"You see," she said, sitting on a rock to talk. "I broke into that coke warehouse to acquire this bag of coke. Do you remember the wording of that spell?"
"No, not exactly," I said.
"The wording of the spell said if we could acquire a black-ocean stone, we could do a new spell to counter the spell that makes you appear when I'm in danger, which is often because I seek thrill, and am a adventurer."
"Go on," I said, realizing this might actually work.
"I Googled black-ocean stones," she said, laying back on the rock, "and they are darn expensive... about $20 000."
"Aw damn," I said, disappointed.
"No wait," she smiled. "This is a kilo of coke," she said, raising the white bag, "Do you know how much this is worth?"
"Lots," I said.
"It's got a street value of, exactly that, $20 000."
I looked at her thankfully. She planned to free me from the magic spell. We got into Rio, and bought a black-ocean rock from a jeweler. We did quick spell, with chalk and candles, much like the first, and there was a solar eclipse.
"I'm sorry we didn't work out," I said.
"Don't be sorry," Anna smiled, "We were young. Nothing holds a teenager's attention for long."
"How'd that indoor cricket go?"
"I still play," I said. "But now girlfriends take precedent."
"Bye," she said.
"Bye," I said.
This time I knew it was goodbye for good. I felt sad, as I faded away back from Brazil to home. Just as I had faded from home to the Brazilian warehouse for the last time.
THE END.
| 2017-03-22T17:59:57 | 2017-03-22T16:16:19 | 24 | 13 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
“So, what do you want to try this time?”
I got the distinct idea that St Peter was bored of having to ask me this question. This was the… 27th time, or the 28th. I can’t quite keep track anymore. “Any recommendations?” I asked, exasperated.
“Like I said before, uniting the human race is still at the top of the big man’s wish list.”
I’d heard that one before and to that end I’d so far caused multiple wars, conquered damn near every inch of the planet and apparently, my methods were “too harsh”.
“No I think I’m just going try being a normal guy this time, just keep my head down and not embark on any grand endeavours. Think you could throw me into the middle of the bell curve in an average American family or something?”
I saw him think it over, raise his eyebrows and respond; “That might work actually. You know the drill, close your eyes, next stop Washington, USA.”
I came to in that unconscious part of the brain where I had to exist until my host body got old enough to start making decisions. I was looking up at a chubby father who looked kind and was clearly overjoyed at my existence.
“Congratulations Mr. Bone, it’s a boy. Got any ideas for a name?” the nurse enquired kindly.
I heard my new dad reply in a gruff Seattle accent “Kenneth, we’re going to call him Ken.”...
|
"Patience. Restraint."
This man looks at me from under his glasses. I see the slight nodding of his head. He thinks he understands me. What I need, what I want. How he can fix me.
"So those are the qualities you feel you can improve on?" he asks me. The tone of his voice is condescending, egregiously self-secure. He knows so little. Every time it is the same. Some stuck up academist, drawing their conclusions before they've even heard me speak. Because what sane persons goes to a psychiatrist, right? This exercise bores me.
"Right". I control my voice, I need to. I would sound aggressive, instigative, but I can't. It's all about the outside, the perception. And as long as I entertain this hack he won't notice the brewing deep inside. The one I need to contain.
"That's good". He nods again. "Self-reflection and a desire for self-improvement are the keystones of improving your quality of life. Many people don't get there". He rambles on but I phase out. His entire demeanor, his entire existence is petty, and thinking about his irrelevancy...I feel the pressure building from within.
It always starts like that. I feel the nerves being pushed into my skin, as if the insides of my body expand and my skin is just a hull to contain it all. The beat of my heart becomes louder, it's like I can feel my eardrums vibrate along with the increasing volume. It silences everything else.
So I breathe. I've been doing fine for 20 years now. Under the radar. To say my sheet is clean is an overstatement. I don't regret any of it, it had to be done. But so far I'm just a man with some issues, nothing serious. And that's all I need. Just be...*normal*...until the end. And then finally I will arrive where I belong.
"Are you still with me?" His trained, supposedly calming voice disturbs my train of thought. "I..." I mumble, but I feel the pressure again. I close my eyes. It's as if a fist of pure rage punches the inside of my head, trying to break out of its containment. But I try to push it back, inside the prison I've built. If you can't see it, it's not there. That's all I need.
I exhale through my nose, and try to fix the rhythm of my breathing. My nostrils flare, and as I rub my temples with my fingertips I open my eyes again. "Yes. I was..." I don't need to explain myself. But then I remember. This is what it depends on. That people don't know.
"I...chased a thought. Could you repeat the last sentences?" I still won't say sorry. I owe this man nothing. I'm being tested, and I will pass.
"Of course."
---
I smile. I can't feel anything other than happiness as I feel the tension leave the room. The slowly building pressure in my head is gone. It will be calm for a few weeks. The thought of the ease, the peaceful silence. I audibly laugh. "Are you concealing something from me?" That stern look. Ridiculous.
One man practices. Every man's dream. All I needed was some cleaning product, some acid, a functioning drain, and the *patience*. For some tasks I had all the patience I needed. It was just the things beneath me that I would not grant my attention to.
The room was tidy again. I grab my coat from the coat rack and inspect the room one more time. His notepad is still on the floor. I pick it up and browse through it. Expectedly, it's filled with typical mumbo-jumbo that seemed to try and pass for technical medical terms. I arrive at the last page.
"Containment. Signs of narcissistic behavior. Personality disorder (?)"
Amusing. But still, the fact that he thought he had the authority to write this down...I feel something twitch in my head. As if someone is gently pressing the insides of my head. I try and laugh, but the feeling won't subside.
The last sentence draws my attention. "Crumbling of the mind".
An animalistic roar escapes my body. *Who*...*who* dares...
A few minutes later I come to consciousness again. I'm sitting on *his* chair, the piece of paper fumbled up in my closed fist. It's all good now. I put on my coat, inhale deeply, and exhale as I close the door behind me. As I walk home I smile to a stranger, another meaningless passenger in this pretentious existence. As I try to ignore the pressure building, the pressure that is building too soon, all I can think is: *stay calm to succeed. You know what you're doing this for.* I start to whistle.
It's all about appearances.
| 2017-03-31T06:42:01 | 2017-03-31T05:57:51 | 460 | 14 |
[WP] If, when you die, you don't get into heaven, there is an option to try again, and get in the next time. There is a man who has been trying for millennia; he has been Ghengis Khan, Hitler, and many other brutal leaders. That man is you, and this time, you're determined to get it right.
|
"What am I doing wrong?"
I said it out loud, but I knew he wouldn't answer. He just sat there and asked again,
"Give up? Or try again?".
His question echoed as if we were in a cave, but the room was about the size of a elevator. It would have terrified me if this was my first time. That was long ago, from Cain, to Ghengis, to Nero, to... I can't remember.
But I swear, I tried everything. I fought for myself. I fought for others. I fought for God, all of them. I fought for king and country. Yet, I still come here.
Did I fight hard enough? Was it the wrong target? Was I not strong enough? Was I not smart enough? Could I have fough-...
...Fought...
"Fighting. Was that it? Was I to focused on fighting? Should I have been doing something else?"
"Give up? Or try again?" He bellowed.
What else is there? Fighting wasn't getting me anywhere. I have to try something new.
But what?
Well, what's the opposite of war?
Peace?
Yeah, yeah that might be it. Peace.
"Give up? Or try again?" He bellowed.
"Try again." I answered.
"What will your name be?" He inquired.
"Hmm, let's go with...
Mahatma Gandhi."
|
"Patience. Restraint."
This man looks at me from under his glasses. I see the slight nodding of his head. He thinks he understands me. What I need, what I want. How he can fix me.
"So those are the qualities you feel you can improve on?" he asks me. The tone of his voice is condescending, egregiously self-secure. He knows so little. Every time it is the same. Some stuck up academist, drawing their conclusions before they've even heard me speak. Because what sane persons goes to a psychiatrist, right? This exercise bores me.
"Right". I control my voice, I need to. I would sound aggressive, instigative, but I can't. It's all about the outside, the perception. And as long as I entertain this hack he won't notice the brewing deep inside. The one I need to contain.
"That's good". He nods again. "Self-reflection and a desire for self-improvement are the keystones of improving your quality of life. Many people don't get there". He rambles on but I phase out. His entire demeanor, his entire existence is petty, and thinking about his irrelevancy...I feel the pressure building from within.
It always starts like that. I feel the nerves being pushed into my skin, as if the insides of my body expand and my skin is just a hull to contain it all. The beat of my heart becomes louder, it's like I can feel my eardrums vibrate along with the increasing volume. It silences everything else.
So I breathe. I've been doing fine for 20 years now. Under the radar. To say my sheet is clean is an overstatement. I don't regret any of it, it had to be done. But so far I'm just a man with some issues, nothing serious. And that's all I need. Just be...*normal*...until the end. And then finally I will arrive where I belong.
"Are you still with me?" His trained, supposedly calming voice disturbs my train of thought. "I..." I mumble, but I feel the pressure again. I close my eyes. It's as if a fist of pure rage punches the inside of my head, trying to break out of its containment. But I try to push it back, inside the prison I've built. If you can't see it, it's not there. That's all I need.
I exhale through my nose, and try to fix the rhythm of my breathing. My nostrils flare, and as I rub my temples with my fingertips I open my eyes again. "Yes. I was..." I don't need to explain myself. But then I remember. This is what it depends on. That people don't know.
"I...chased a thought. Could you repeat the last sentences?" I still won't say sorry. I owe this man nothing. I'm being tested, and I will pass.
"Of course."
---
I smile. I can't feel anything other than happiness as I feel the tension leave the room. The slowly building pressure in my head is gone. It will be calm for a few weeks. The thought of the ease, the peaceful silence. I audibly laugh. "Are you concealing something from me?" That stern look. Ridiculous.
One man practices. Every man's dream. All I needed was some cleaning product, some acid, a functioning drain, and the *patience*. For some tasks I had all the patience I needed. It was just the things beneath me that I would not grant my attention to.
The room was tidy again. I grab my coat from the coat rack and inspect the room one more time. His notepad is still on the floor. I pick it up and browse through it. Expectedly, it's filled with typical mumbo-jumbo that seemed to try and pass for technical medical terms. I arrive at the last page.
"Containment. Signs of narcissistic behavior. Personality disorder (?)"
Amusing. But still, the fact that he thought he had the authority to write this down...I feel something twitch in my head. As if someone is gently pressing the insides of my head. I try and laugh, but the feeling won't subside.
The last sentence draws my attention. "Crumbling of the mind".
An animalistic roar escapes my body. *Who*...*who* dares...
A few minutes later I come to consciousness again. I'm sitting on *his* chair, the piece of paper fumbled up in my closed fist. It's all good now. I put on my coat, inhale deeply, and exhale as I close the door behind me. As I walk home I smile to a stranger, another meaningless passenger in this pretentious existence. As I try to ignore the pressure building, the pressure that is building too soon, all I can think is: *stay calm to succeed. You know what you're doing this for.* I start to whistle.
It's all about appearances.
| 2017-03-31T12:40:36 | 2017-03-31T05:57:51 | 71 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone is allowed to recall a specific memory 10 times before it gets wiped from their mind.
|
Was it eight or nine? He tried to remember how many times he'd recalled his first kiss before it disappeared. The touch of their lips--neither of them knew what they were doing. A sunrise over the beach and an innocent summer romance, about to end amid the bustle of returning to school.
Her hair was long and dark and swayed in the breeze, strands of it getting caught in her mouth as they sat in the damp sand, fingers intertwined. Her head rested on his shoulder until she tipped her face to his.
Leaning over, unsteady, he closed his eyes, pressed his mouth to hers and then pulled back, watching to see her reaction. Dark eyelashes lifted and they stared at each other for a moment. She smiled, flashing her crooked front tooth.
Furiously, he scribbled down the memory before it vanished.
His wife appeared in the doorway. "What are you writing?"
"A memory. I need to keep it," he muttered, not looking up. "Do you remember your first kiss?"
"No. Not anymore. That memory went away less than a year after it happened." Her mouth curved into a smile, revealing the crooked front tooth. "It must have been good."
"It was," he whispered, nodding.
|
Atlas clicked the memory chips between his fingers, thinking hard. He kept his anxiety pinned firmly behind his eyes, where no one at the table could see them.
He was one of three left at the poker table, and he seemed to be racing them to third place. With one finger he itched under his T-shirt collar, casually, as if he was not drenched in sweat underneath, as if his mind was not reeling, calculating.
There was no quitting now. No one left Florence Night's poker table without their wallet empty or their pockets bursting. There was no option of cutting one's losses and fading quietly into the night.
For half a second, he considered running and screaming when he hit the kitchen. This particular session of illegal memory gambling unfolded in a Chinese restaurant's storage closet with a false wall, behind which Florence Night let anyone stupid enough to trust luck to make their memory just a little bit longer. But the restaurant sounded quiet; perhaps no one was even there to hear.
Atlas pinned his eyes on the old card table, its top pocked scarred with fallen cigarette ashes. He swallowed the panic in his throat. Five chips. Five times to see her again. Or really no times, since he had only enough to wager on one hand and a goddamn pair of queens hiding under his tapping thumb.
One of the two men at the table eyed him and said, "You can leave with what you got, boy."
"I'm not a boy," Atlas replied immediately, confirming that he was. He tried to slow his racing thoughts. Tried to remember what he was so panicked not to forget. Why was he doing this at all? He could not remember. He felt only the insistent forward tug of a decision he couldn't recall making. But he always figured past-Atlas had a good reason for doing what he did.
Atlas ran his fingers along the smooth groove of a slot at the base of his skull, where he could insert a little memory token. He could slip the warm heat of the past into his spine and relive it just one last time.
He was not *really* human, his brain more metal and mica than grey matter, and Atlas supposed he should be grateful his creators deemed him to processing power even for fleeting memories. After all, workers do not have the luxury of afterthought.
But still. But still.
Neither of the men across from him were worker-class. They kept their memories floating around in their cerebral fluid or whatever (Atlas was not programmed to be a neuroscientist, after all), unreliable, but there. No, men like these haunted Florence's games like vultures, picking memories off desperate worker bees like Atlas who only wanted to relive the dead and revive the lost as infinitely as a real human could.
The second man at the table, the dealer this turn, snarled at Atlas, "Call or fold."
Atlas raised his eyes to the man's and for a second their dark stares held, the air between them boiling, until Atlas answered, "All-in."
The first man sighed between his teeth, as if he'd tossed Atlas a bone and the boy had been too proud to accept his pity.
"Real heavy pot you got there." The second man grabbed a handful off his tiny mountain of bronze memories and tossed them onto the middle of the table; the first man did the same with his hill of tokens.
The second man began laying down the flop. He set the cards down slowly and carefully, as if to prove he weren't up to any tricks. Atlas would have hidden his eyes until it was over if he wasn't worried about the men switching a card on him.
The first four cards were duds for Atlas's hand. But at the last moment, on the river, the third queen appeared. Atlas's heart buoyed and buckled. He swallowed his ravaging joy, tried to remind himself it was only one hand. That there was a whole game to win.
All three showed their hands at once.
Atlas surveyed his competitor's cards and did not realize he had won until the second man shoved fifteen gorgeous clinking memory tokens toward him. His tongue fumbled drily for something to say.
There was something he had to remember. Some*one*. He hadn't turned ten coins into a hundred like he had imagined, but fifteen was better than none. And if he did not take these now, he would never remember, at the torment of it would echo through his mind like a forgotten word eternally perched on the tip of his tongue.
So Atlas grabbed his tokens in both fists and ran out the door, the men yelling behind him. He kept sprinting out the kitchen, through the backdoor to his right, and down the alleyway. He ran and ran until the night swallowed up the shouts of his pursuers, and Atlas was alone on the dim-lit city streets.
The memories burned in his fingers like a promise.
***
/r/shoringupfragments
| 2017-08-04T07:37:17 | 2017-08-04T06:30:33 | 72 | 10 |
[WP] You have just used Pink hair dye without reading the fine print, "May cause Main Character Syndrome." Your day is becoming... interesting.
|
###**Diagnostic Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria with Manic Episodes**^1
DSM-IV Criteria for Protagonist Dysphoria
· Hallucinations prototypically of grandiose nature^2
· Schizotypal responses highlighted by delusional thinking^3
· Periodic states of mania often leading to injury or arrest^4
· Specific symptoms, at least 3 of these 5, present nearly every day:
1. Significant change in activity; extreme restlessness, inability to stay still
2. Change in sleep; staying up all night, usually in conjunction with delusional thoughts.^5
3. Recklessness & extreme behavior; taking actions, outside of normal occurrence, that lead an increase chance of bodily harm.^6
4. Constant and noticeable change of appearance; day by day changes such as clothing, weight, costume, makeup, etc.^7
5. Increased irritability; marked by an inability to allow for common actions to play out in normal time. Demanding rapidity where not possible.^8
**Screen for conditions that may mimic or coexist^9 with Protagonist Dysphoria**:
· Substance abuse (eg. drugs, alcohol, medication)
· Family history of schizophrenia
· Borderline personality disorder
· Bipolar disorder
· Bereavement; notably the recent loss of both parents
__________________________
1. Eliot woke the morning of September 26th 2017 with the resolute knowledge that he was bound for something more. Something greater. There was nothing particularly notable about this morning, besides the fact that the curtain wasn’t completely closed so it allowed a ray of sunshine to illuminate his face. A spotlight for the rest of the day.
2. As he sat at the edge of the bed noted that he always seemed to put his left sock on first, despite being right handed. Wondering if this was abnormal. He never had a chance to put on the right one as he was interrupted by a large bang outside. Initially wrote it off as construction and headed downstairs. Stepped onto the cold tile only now realizing his bare foot.
3. He sat down to drink his morning coffee and opened up the blinds to an inferno in his midst. Realized the bang was the result of an asteroid plummeting through his neighbor’s roof. The street riddled with debris and dead bodies. People running down the street screaming. Aha! He thought to himself. Time to jump into action! Ran outside, the one socked hero he always knew he could be.
4. By the time he reached the wreckage became enraged at the fact that no one else seemed to be compelled to help. Banged his fists on a nearby police cruiser. Chewed out the cop who refused to be a willing participant, refused to be a true hero in a true time of crisis. As the heat singed his back, Eliot was thrown into the back seat of the car, pleading against this injustice.
5. Eliot sat in the cell awaiting a pretrial hearing for assaulting a police officer. Could not possibly imagine a scenario where this was a bigger issue than what seemed to be the impending apocalypse. He decided to take action. Had spent the last several years teaching himself to be alert even with minimal sleep. Lassoed the keys from a sleeping officer overseeing his cell.
6. Free from the cell, in the midst of prying the gun from the officer's belt found himself flat on his back, bullet in his thigh. Blood pouring over the ground. The officer, startled himself, called for an ambulance. Leaving Eliot enough time to hobble out the front door. Worse for wear, sure, but with a renewed resilience. Fighting against an obviously corrupt system. A system hell-bent on destroying the planet.
7. Realizing that they all knew his face now, shaved off his hair, sewing himself a contour fitting disguise, well except for his leg, still wrapped up in a tourniquet. But true heroes don’t feel pain. And he knew that. Traversed the streets dressed as the Ray of Light Hawk. Some combination of Big Bird and the Cool-Aid Man. Headed straight for City Hall, ready to demand some answers.
8. Eliot slowly realized that in the ensuing fiasco, and in readying the disguise, time was running out. Blood crusted Big Bird heading for the final showdown. Forgot exactly how far City Hall was, commandeered a small girl’s bike, tassels waving in the wind. Pedaling as fast as his bullet ridden thigh would take him.
9. About 5 minutes into this excursion found himself surrounded by police cars, and felt impending doom as the sky turned red, asteroids flying in every direction. Realizing that it would take a true master to escape this. And in a blaze of glory, was immediately subdued and returned to the medical wing of the Morningstar Psychiatric Hospital.
__________________
^[^More ^at ^/r/SquidCritic]
|
You would think people would notice a 40 year old guy with pink fucking hair.
As I sit here in bed, ready to write in my journal, I don't know how to describe my day. It just doesn't make sense. I woke up just like any other day, walked the dog, took a shower, died my hair pink... Well, maybe the dying my hair pink was odd, but I don't see how it caused ANY of this. Let me explain.
First, was breakfast. Normally, I skip breakfast, relying on a granola bar or a coffee on my way out the door. Today, for some reason, I had an unbelievable urge to have a sit down breakfast at some well lit cafe in the trendy part of town. So, I did just that, calling my friend Cindy to see if she wanted to meet me along the way. I know most people don't make 6AM phone calls looking for someone to grab breakfast with on a work day, but I just couldn't help myself.
Despite being on my way out the door when I called Cindy, I arrived at the cafe only about 30 seconds before she did. Given that, I don't know why Cindy apologized for "running behind", but she said that anyway. Now, normally Cindy isn't someone who would be considered "conventionally" hot. She's an amazing human being, a great friend, and one of the most technically competent business analysts I know. But, she's not going to be appearing on any magazine covers anytime soon. However, today, for some reason, she walked in looking like she would be a supermodel if she took off her glasses and chose a different shirt. I shouldn't have even recognized her but somehow I did. Also, for the life of me I couldn't figure out why her glasses didn't have any lenses. The engineer in me would say that they shouldn't work without lenses, but she just kept on insisting that she needed them, and squinted horribly when I asked her to take them off.
That wasn't even the weirdest thing about breakfast. I mentioned I had died my hair pink right? Well, not one person at the cafe seemed to notice. I would have expected people to look over their shoulder, kind of laugh at me, something. All everyone around me seemed to do was look at each other, smiling, and laughing visibly without making any distracting sounds. There wasn't even anybody on looking at their phones. Can you imagine that? It's 6:45AM on a Wednesday morning at a coffee shop/cafe and not one person is looking at their phone catching up on the news. There was one person on a laptop typing his ass off, he must have been deep into whatever he was doing because he didn't look away from his screen once. I ordered a coffee and a water. The water came in a bottle that clearly looked like a Dasani bottle, but upon closer look apparently this was "Water" brand water. As the waitress brought me my coffee, she said, "be careful, this is hot". News flash: It wasn't, it was room temperature. I should have returned it but I felt the tremendous urge to put it up to my lips every 10 seconds without actually drinking any of it.
Cindy and I then proceeded to have, what must have been the most efficient conversation in human history. Every single damn sentence we said seemed to carry significance. She talked about her husband "not getting her", I talked about my sister being diagnosed with breast cancer (hence me wearing the pink hair to begin with), literally, we could not speak without it being significant. At one point, she even said "Well, that will never happen", in such a way that seemed to ensure that it would. Hell, the background music in the cafe seemed to change tone when she said that.
It was all good, but I realized I needed to close out to make it to work on time. My timeline was all screwed up today. I don't know how, but this 45 excursion for breakfast made it where I still had some legitamate, but remote, chance of making it to work on time (in some sort of time warp, I'm usually routinely only 5-10 minutes early for work). I only need everything to go right on my way to work. Ok, maybe that and some "minor" speeding.
I should mention 1 more thing about the cafe. There was 1 minority in there, exactly 1. Everywhere I went today it was the same.
So, I drive to work, driving 72 in a 50, and make it all the way to the very end without getting caught (honking way more than I usually would), and what I stupidly do? I roll the last stop sign turning into my company parking lot. The cop comes up to my car, I roll my window down, and the cop says "License and Registration Please." This wouldn't normally be interesting, but I live in a state where they usually ask for proof of insurance too. So, I ask the cop, "Do you want to see my proof of insurance?". Oddly, he replies "No, because not every state in our market has that law." I don't know how that applies, but ok.
So, I lied earlier. One person noticed my pink hair. My boss, Corey.
Normally, he's a few years older than me, but is otherwise very similar to me. Today, all of a sudden he's 22 years old and talking about how things are going to change now that his dad died and he's in charge of the company. Which is strange considering I thought I had worked for a publicly traded corporation. Anyway, he proceeds to yell at me because I used to babysit him when we were younger and because I didn't let him watch Cable TV soft porn late at night. In that tirade he says I need to change my hair back "immediately" or else he will fire me. Cindy tries to stand up for me (despite leaving the coffee shop after me, she appeared to be comfortably at work before I got there).
So, I frantically leave work and go to the hair store looking for a more natural dye or dye removal formula. There is NOTHING on the shelves but pink. I ask the cashier, a cute white girl who looks like she could be either 16 or 28, and she says "We're not getting another shipment until Monday". Which is odd, considering every other time I've asked a cashier anything regarding logistics the answer is usually some form of "I don't know" or "You'll have to ask my manager".
So, I show up to work and following 10 seconds of me being in a meeting with a cowboy hat on hiding my pink hair, it becomes quitting time. Normally, I leave somewhere between 4:30 and 5:00PM, Today, I left exactly at 5:00PM and was staring at the clock as it timed down (which was immediately after I attended that 10 second meeting where the boss was showing a flip chart with both axis unlabeled).
I leave work and head to happy hour with my friends. My 3 friends; Tom, Rick, Jamaal, and I all sit on one half of a round table kinda-sorta looking at each other. Unlike the "Water" brand water from earlier, when I order "a round of Bud Lights" for my friends, actual beer comes out. I appreciate the Bud Light over "Beer" brand beer, but for the life of me I can't figure out why I'm pointing the label always at the empty half of the table. For that matter, I'm not sure why the waitress came from behind us to take our order when half of the table is unoccupied and she could quite easily come from the front and see us all (also, why is every single service industry employee I'm dealing with today an attractive female?).
Anyway, after a few beers we leave the bar. At this point I kinda wish we were drinking "Beer" band beer instead of Bud Light, because at least then I could have gotten irresponsibly drunk after the day I've had. But no, something about drinking a name brand beer meant I can only have two.
Anyway, I'm home now. I've been debating on if the pink hair had anything to do with my day. Sure enough, I just looked at the bottle of pink dye conveniently on my night stand (didn't I dye my hair in the kitchen sink?). Sure enough...
"May Cause Main Character Syndrome"
| 2017-12-09T09:07:22 | 2017-10-18T12:11:20 | 377 | 155 |
[WP] Your wife wakes you up. “It’s your turn to feed the baby.” You groan, get up, slaughter a lamb, and toss it into the darkened pit below.
Inspired by [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/TwoSentenceHorror/comments/agyghh/my_wife_rolled_over_and_sighed_its_your_turn_to/?st=JR15QW9S&sh=56b75b5f)
|
The concern has gradually turned to, not when the child will eat, but if it will choose to feed at all. This was the third lamb in a week's time put to slaughter. The child would crawl on all fours to see what had been tossed down but it barely showed interest in the meat. Inevitably it would start crying again. Yes, the pit was dark but it's kept warm by small piles of burning coal. Everything the delicate creature needed was available. A pile of fleece blankets, a bowl of fresh rain water, and several toys, a rattle among them. At night, the child falls asleep under the blankets, which is good, as the coal fires extinguish after several hours and no one wants to get out of bed to relight them. The clumsy thing knocked the water bowl over several times so it's unclear if it has drank or not but we dutifully refill it every morning.
Our main concern is this; The cries are not as loud as when the child was first placed in the pit and it appears lethargic. We told our little one she could have a pet in our new home, one the natives called Earth. But to the misfortune of this creature, we are not schooled in the ways of properly caring for it and I'm afraid nature will soon take its course. Our own child lost interest in playing with it rather quickly, leaving us to see to its needs. I'm saddened to say it simply hasn't worked out. In the morning we will feed it to our sckrunko and warn our neighbors to not buy the juveniles until they are fully weaned.
|
Shepherd awoke to the gentle ruffles of his wife shoving a tired hand in his hand. Irritated and red touched, he grabbed her wrist and nodded groggily. He knew what needed to be done.
He went to the kitchen first. If it’d been morning he may have started a cup of coffee, but for now, water would have to do. He drank hungrily, not realizing how much thirst buried itself in sleep, and he carried himself around the house like a ghost, checking in closets and bedrooms, to ensure the children were asleep as they were instructed.
It was the middle of the summer, and the middle of summer was the best time to do this. In the outside shed he dug through his tools, ensuring he wasn’t loud enough to disturb their neighbors. He didn’t think they had problem likes theirs - understandable, he supposed, and he wasn’t willing to drag them into their lifestyle. This life wasn’t for everyone.
After procuring the correct tools - no need for a mess, this needed to be clean and quick, he found the lever near the back window and pulled it just an inch. The center of the floor shook and split in two, revealing an entrance to a deeper compartment. Shepherd grabbed his tool box, and quickly started his descent, relieved to see the LED installations worked adequately. He stepped deeper and deeper, and with every step the distant growls and howls strengthened in volume. They weren’t monstrous in the least, or at least, not to Shepherd. He theorized he’d gotten used to the horrors.
This was normal.
At the bottom of the staircase numerous containment units surrounded him. Some large. Some small. Each with a number and a code. Some held remains. Others held excrement. He’d have to tell Dolly to buy more Fabuloso; the odor was pungent. To the back of the spacious room was a containment unit far larger, more elaborate than the rest, and unlike the vacant ones, what was inside was alive and well. For the time being.
What inside was a child no older than four years old. An alarmingly beautiful child whose frost pale skin revealed transparent blue veins and hidden secrets, but she still smiled for him. Her palms flattened on the titanium glass (or plastic, he always forget what Dolly said), and he reached into his tool box while her eyes darted restlessly.
“Is that for me?”
“Yep.”
“Good,” she pouted. “I’ve been waiting all day for my meal.”
“Your mom said to chew your food. You don’t need to rush.” He pulled items out of his tool box, and revealed her evening meal. She jumped up and down, clapping excitedly.
“Oh, goodie! And if I keep eating,” she said in between jumps, “I’ll get stronger?”
“Very much,” he said. “You’ll be stronger and healthier, just like Mom wanted you to.”
“Thank you, Daddy,” she smiled, stepping away for him to open the food tray entrance compartment. “I can’t wait to get strong and big like Mommy,” she said, sitting on her bed as she began to tear into her meal.
Shepherd smiled, heart full. “You will be strong like Mommy. I’m sure she’d be proud to see you too, my darling.” He stayed for another hour more, until she finished her meal and returned to bed. Rest was required. She wasn’t at full strength, but she would be one day. Stabilized. Realized. Taking his tools and the finished tray, Shepherd climbed upstairs and returned to his home.
In the kitchen, fully awake, he cleaned the tray and dishes and utensils. “Well, honey, she ate everything,” he said, picking at dried blood until it popped off down the drank, “and she’s getting healthier. You were right.” He chuckled sadly, “You were right about everything.” He was ready to return to bed, but first, his dry throat craved ice water. He chugged water into his favorite glass and opened the freezer for some ice.
“Oh,” he said. “It’s you.”
An angry, frozen stare blinked at him.
“We do need more Fabuloso,” he reminded her. “And the kids are getting on better. I think they’ll learn to accept the new addition to the family, like you said. She isn’t stable, yet, but she will be. She has your genes. She has your everything, actually.”
He sighed. He missed this.
A soft stirring upstairs grabbed his attention, and he stared at the ceiling, groaning softly.
“Well, dear, a parent’s job is never truly over,” he puckered his lips. “I love you, sleep well.” Going upstairs, he heard a four year old cries, “Now, now, Bellewether, what’s the matter?”
“You were with her,” she mumbled. “Weren’t you?”
“Yes,” he admitted. He didn’t think keeping the truth from them was healthy. “But don’t you worry,” he tucked her back in, pressing a sweet kiss on her forehead. “She’s your sister. She’ll never hurt you.”
| 2019-01-17T19:13:42 | 2019-01-17T18:09:55 | 83 | 28 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
We wanted the planet, we wanted its resources.
The only way would be to remove the human population. This would be a ground battle, as we couldn't risk destroying the planet.
As a race that had no home to call its home, we've lived in space for the last 8,000 years, pulling resources from anywhere we could find. Earth would now be our home. We haven't had a planet since a civil war that destroyed our home planet. As part of the warrior caste, we've mastered space warfare.
Upon landing, we arrived in our augmentation suits which gave us our own atmosphere and allowed us to move faster and stronger than our organic bodies would normally allow.
Our mistake was simple, we had observed these humans and saw they were a pacifist society. They showed no signs of weaponry or aggression.
What we didn't know, is that humans were territorial and defensive. Our first wave of soldiers landed and upon the first signs of our aggression, we were met with resistance. Their weaponry would never be used in a space faring species, projectile weapons had not been used in millennia and we had only protection for laser and long range atomic based weaponry.
Their projectile weapons passed through our shielding, even our ships were completely vulnerable. Our point defense systems could not handle the size and sheer volume of their weaponry.
Our biggest losses came within minutes of landing when our entire force was annihilated. We should have known better to land in the area they call Texas.
|
I should have known. They had it all there, available to view on their version of the Hypernet. So much information, the sum of all of their human knowledge all sitting their in that database they called Wikipedia. Their science, their religions, their philosophies, but most importantly their history.
​
If only I'd had the automats download and search the database, it could all have been averted. I'd have avoided that Pale Blue Dot. That's what one of their scientists called it, What was his name? Peasant Kettle? Or something like that. The auto-translator has trouble with some of their names, despite having now scanned the whole of their Hypernet.
​
I should have given the planet a wide birth, and I would not now be looking through the holoscope at the remnants of our armies. I would not now be watching as the humans use mechanical shovels to scope my brothers and sisters into waste processors, turning them into fuel to heat their
primitive homes.
​
Had I not been so impatient for conquest, and to once again breath air that was not laden with toxins and microbes, I would have taken my time, read through the major events in their history, learned why no living being should ever threaten that backward little planet and it's insane inhabitants. I left it too late to learn the truth.
​
I would have learned about their first great war, when men had stood in holes and hurled lead and toxic gas at each other across coils of wire. I'd have learned about the piles of dead, the starvation, the disease. I'd have learned that they swore it would never happen again, and how that promise did not even last a human lifetime.
​
I would have learned about the second great war, when flight had been perfected and they could rain fire upon the homes of their enemies. I would have learned of the camps where humans forced other humans to breath poison and they pilled the dead into ovens to burn their corpses. I'd have learned of the weapon, the one they thought was the most powerful that could be created, and how they used it not once but twice. I'd have learned how they swore it would never happen again, until it did.
​
Their third war was the deadliest, for it left one in five of them dead. Death by microbe, unchecked and uncontrollable. A fifth of all humans were dead within seven rotations of their planet, and a further two fifths died as their societies collapsed. They swore it would never happen again, and it probably would have, had it not been for one human.
​
Big Tree Smelly Animal Rectum was the human that solved the problem. A simple mutation in their already weird and mutated genetic code was all it took. That human released a new virus on the planet, but this did not bring death, but the power of death.
​
Can you imagine living in such a society? Where anyone around you can kill with a thought. Where you have to consciously make the decision not to kill every living thing you ever meet?
​
There were problems of course. An entire island of people were wiped out within a few days of contracting the virus. An argument over a queue in an establishment that served boiling water filled with the extract of dried leaves was where it started. One human was unhappy about another human pushing in front of him, and thought him dead. That was the first mind-murder. Others panicked and thought those around them dead. Soon an entire nation was gone, but a lesson had been learned.
​
It worked for them. They were forced to be civil to each other, to keep the peace, to forgive and forget. For when everyone has the power of life and death over everyone else, you tread lightly and make sure to never offend. There can be no arguments, no threats, no anger, envy or greed. When mutually assured distruction, is actually assured, peace is the easy option.
​
My soldiers did not know this of course, for I have learned it all just now. My soldiers landed in their millions, the best trained, the best armed and the most ferocious warriors in the galaxy. They were dead the moment they met their first human.
​
I can see their little ship approaching. It burst from their atmosphere and is heading for my battleship right now. I could blast them from space, but they would just send more. I could run, but they would follow. I think I'll just let them board. I'll see a human in the flesh for my first and last time, and let the little thing kill me with it's mind. Better that then let them try to follow me, for I can not imagine a worse plague to release on the Universe than that of humankind.
| 2019-02-26T11:56:18 | 2019-02-26T10:58:57 | 36 | 25 |
[WP] You’re an OSHA inspector and you’ve been recently assigned to Willy Wonka’s chocolate factory.
|
"Sir, your factory is a death-trap to workers and visitors a like. You allow employees and non-employees to touch factory goods like unwrapped candies and sweet oozes of all kinds with their barehands then you directly wrap and sell them with no sanitation, there was hair and boat motor oil, other human traces in your chocolate, hair nets, gloves and masks were used infrequently or not at all in many parts of the facility. "
"Yes, Where do I sign?"
"Hold on, a few more grievances. Your chocolate is more dye than chocolate and therefore must be labeled as a "Candy Bar" not a "chocolate bar", your worker's conditions are dangerous, the pay is substandard, and the medical, retirement, and other benefits are pitiful..."
"All true, yes...and your point is?"
"No point, sir, that's about it on the report, I'll send a copy to your lawyers as soon as I can. You get a full 5 star OSHA rating and approval, as usual. I wanted to personally thank you for your personal contributions every year to our organization, sir. It has been a pleasure, now, Mr. Hershey can you please sign here? I just came from a golf game with Mr. Nestle, and now I am late to my next appointment at Mr. Wonka's personal estate."
|
“Welcome!” The eccentric man outstretched his hand.
“You must be Mr. Wonka, correct?”
“Certainly so, come on in.”
Standing off to the side, I watched Mr. Wonka greet the other five lucky children blessed to be given a tour of the amazing Willy Wonka Chocolate Factory.
The last bits of normalcy were left at that entrance.
\~\~\~
It was a wondrous sight I tell you. The chocolate river that encompassed the first part of our tour was quite the show. However, as much as I desired to just admire the beauty, my eyes were trained on something else.
“Mr. Wonka, may I ask you a question about all this chocolate?”
“Why, go ahead.”
“Shouldn’t this chocolate be contained? If you’re using it in the food you produce, it must be kept in a clean environment to prevent contamination? Surely having us and the Oompa Loompas- I mean your workers walk so close to the food be a risk.”
He eyed me with suspicion.
From nearby, shouts filled the room. Turning towards the sound, there we saw him. Augustus was his name if I recall it properly; the poor boy had tumbled straight into the river. The boy’s mother turned frantic and began shouting and causing quite a ruckus.
Wonka hurried off to where she stood. I took the window of opportunity to jot down my observations. The boss was going to have a field day when I returned. Just then, a loud thud came from one of the clear pipes off to the side.
I’d rather not recall the horrid sight, but the image of Augustus calling for help while trapped up in there was enough to haunt my sleep for a week.
After the chaos subsided, we headed off to another space to test some of Wonka’s other candy creations. The candies he gave us were called Everlasting Gobstoppers. They tasted like any old candy from the local sweets shop.
“Mr Wonka,” I called out, “have you tested these candies beforehand? Also, you’re not handling the food creation properly-” my inspections cut off by another commotion. This time, a girl was the victim of Wonka's creations. Violet looked different. But, that was the least of my worries. By the time I had finished my notes, the girl was no longer with us. She had simply exploded was what the others said.
A break was needed after the two events. Thankfully, when Mr. Wonka came to fetch me, the three remaining children were all still intact. I would hope that at least three children would make it out, but sometimes it’s better to keep your hopes low.
The next room was full of scales and geese. The geese were special no doubt with this being Willy Wonka’s factory of OSHA violations.
Veruca Salt was prancing around, singing a song about how she craved to have one of these geese that could lay golden eggs.
“Uh, sorry to interrupt but shouldn’t-'' Veruca raised her voice, practically drowning out my concerns.
As she ran about, I ticked more boxes down on my sheet for violations.
Veruca’s voice raised to a crescendo, “I want it now!” The platform beneath her opened sending her to tumble down the chute.
“No!” my cries drawing the attention of the remaining guests.
\~\~\~
Mr. Wonka brought me over to the side, “I think you might need a little break.” A little break? The only thing I wanted was to leave this place of violations. Leading me over to a side room, he told me he’d be back to fetch me once I had gathered myself. With the new alone time, my eyes glossed over my sheet of observations. Needless to say, this factory would cease operations rather quickly.
Mr. Wonka came back soon after, with no more children in tow. My mind didn’t dare think of what could’ve happened to the other two little boys.
“Why do you really need to present all of those notes to your boss?” Mr. Wonka had taken a good look at my writings.
“It's part of my job, I was tasked-”
He cut in, “You’ve certainly heard the rumors haven’t you?”
“Which ones if I may ask?”
“No one comes in..” he turned to me.
“And no one comes out.” My voice trailed off at the realization. Utter excitement came across Willy Wonka’s face as he heaved a nearby lever. The floor beneath me gave way as the chasm below swallowed me whole.
His voice echoed through the space as the bottom of the chamber edged ever closer, “Don’t worry, there’s plenty of cushions down there, I hope. Say hi to that Veruca Salt for me!”
r/CasualScribblings
| 2020-11-20T21:58:59 | 2020-11-20T21:36:42 | 29 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone is assigned a guardian angel since birth, yours has always protected you albeit in violent and menacing ways. Until one day on your 18th birthday he reveals himself as a demon who was wrongly assigned as a guardian angel and became attached to you.
|
"So you're a demon."
"Uh, yeah," came the voice, no longer high and etheric, "apparently there was a mix-up."
"So the fight-club in second grade?"
"Yeah, that was-"
"The minor addiction to glue in the eighth?"
"So-"
"The breakup over the water-mattress?"
"That one may've hurt, but you've *no* idea the bullet you dodged there, Mikey. She's doing time downstairs for a murder-suicide."
"Okay, even if I give you that one, there's still about a dozen or so *pages* I have to get through here."
"I really think that this isn't really the time-"
"Well I think- hold on a second-"
*CRUNCH.*
*"*I don't think there's anything else but 'inopportune' times to find out that your guardian angel, who has been your guide and protector for your entirely life, is actually a cast off from hell."
"Not even a cast-off, just a mix-up, a sorta 'can you cover m'shift' kinda deal. I just kinda... glommed on after a while, I guess."
"Uh-huh, and did you stop, even once, to think about-"
*SPLAT.*
"-to think about the repercussions of what your were about to do?"
"Nope."
"That shouldn't suprise me, but it still does."
A horrible screaming fills the air around Micheal Trapeadon. He ignores it.
"So is the name 'Methusezalel' fake as well, something your stole from the angels?"
"Only the 'lel' at the end. Our names come from the same lingo."
"Right. So you're a hack as well as shameless."
"I resent that."
"Oh, you want to talk about *resentment?* Do you even want to get into *that* list?"
"Fair enough, I take your point. Now how 'bout we focus on the-"
ZRRRRRCH.
BOOM.
"-task on hand. Or hands as it were. Scattered across the plains."
"Your jokes were never funny."
"What?! You always laughed at them before."
"Because you told me that I 'would go to hell' if I didn't."
"That was a joke."
"I was six! How the hell was I supposed to know that- get off!"
PFFFFFFTH. CRACK. THUD.
"-was I supposed to know that it was a joke."
"...context?"
"Oh fuck you. Wait! Shit! Wait..."
"His first swears. My little boy's grown so much."
"You always encouraged to dress conservatively, said god cried when I swore. You were taking the piss out of me. For eighteen goddamn years."
"Yup!"
"Oh *fuck* you."
"Right-o, Mikey."
"I swear to god, when we get out of here you and I are going to have *words*. You hear me?"
"Loud and clear."
"Now, one more question," said Micheal, gesturing to the ashy fields, now strewn with demon guts and severed limbs, "why'd you make me hunt your own kind?"
The slight pause in the air suggested a ephemeral smile.
"Oh that's easy," came the snide voice of his 'guardian', "my siblings are right cunts."
​
*I write all sorts of things, both silly and serious, over at* /r/The_Alloqium.
|
Avery entered adulthood with a knife in her hand, slicing through icing and layers of chocolate cake, surrounded by banners and balloon and boxes of presents, and all the people who loved her most. She hadn’t expected her angel to be holding one too.
Ariel hung, translucent, on the edges of her sight, her body not yet made manifest. The knife in her hand wasn’t either, though the runes that scored its polished steel showed that it could be. Its blade was black, the runes standing out in an impossibly vibrant scarlet, its handle was quite clearly made of a human leg bone.
The cake was good, but not good enough to distract from that.
“Happy birthday honey!” her mom said, hugging her tightly. A few of the closest relatives echoed it, like the call and responses they always sang in church. Avery wondered if their angel’s had carried blades like that at their eighteenth birthdays.
Ariel did not move as the day wore on and the relatives filed out. Their own angels would be trailing them, invisible to all save for their charges. They would be following close behind as angels were meant to, as Ariel herself normally did, a shadow and a best friend wrapped up in one, encased in a thin white dress and porcelain skin, dark hair like the finest silk and eyes that defied jet for its title.
She didn’t move at all until everyone had left, until even Avery’s parents had kissed her good night and left the living room behind to stagger wearily up the stairs to their bedroom. The two girls, human and angel, stared at each other until finally Avery grabbed the last piece of cake, walked straight up to her best friend, and said “Hey stranger, want one?”
Her only answer was a long, shaking breath as Ariel willed herself corporeal. “I don’t deserve it,” she said.
Avery smacked her on the forehead with an open palm, the dull thwack of its impact made her want to laugh despite the strangeness of the situation. “Sure you do. Now what the hell is up with the knife?”
Ariel’s laughed bitterly. She hefted the blade once, staring at the knife as if she’d forgotten she held it. “I didn’t want to ruin your birthday, but it turns out that I can’t just put this thing down. And I can’t get too far away from you either. Avery, the better question is what the hell isn’t up with this knife.”
“OK, then I’ll cut straight to the most important one. Can you cut cake with it or do you need a fork?”
The sound Ariel made wasn’t quite a laugh. It wasn’t quite crying either, though it was something akin to both, as if someone had distilled the most fragile elements of each and mated them to a shriek. Ariel took the cake but did not move to eat it.
“Woah, woah, Ariel, what’s up?” Avery asked. “You’re gonna freak mom and dad out, hell you’re freaking me out!”
“They cannot hear,” Ariel whispered, “I bewitched their last drinks. They’ll sleep deeper than they ever have.”
“You what?”
“Avery, I’ve lied to you.”
The knife rose and the cake fell, and Avery’s heart was somewhere in between, still trying to figure out how to parse her friend’s words as the plate shattered against the ground.
Avery felt a sharp impact jar through her body from behind and suddenly she was falling, falling towards Avery who caught and discarded her in a single motion to leap past on unfurled wings and stab the knife forward, sinking it deep into flesh.
A man’s guttural scream tore through the room, no, not a man’s, Avery thought, but a demon’s.
The creature tore at Avery’s skin and dress with its long, viciously curved claws, striping her pale skin with lines blood. But the knife rose and fell, rose and fell, the action partially obscured by four sets of scaly wings that writhed and shook and pounded against each other.
Four sets. It was the first time Avery had ever seen Ariel’s wings.
She’d asked to see them of course, many times, in many places, with all the pleading and sad dog eyes a child could muster. None of it had ever done her any good, and now that she had seen them, Avery wished nothing more than that she hadn’t.
The fight ended as swiftly began, with a death rattle carried on a forked tongue. Ariel stood without her knife, she’d left implanted it in the dead demon’s chest. The bone handle vibrated, emitting a strange sucking noise as all the blood on the body and floor began slowly pulling back towards it.
Avery couldn’t help herself. She reached out, trailing a finger across the rough scales and leathery membranes of Ariel’s wings. Her best friend shivered, pulling her wings tighter around herself to conceal tatters of her ruined dress.
“I lied to you,” Ariel said.
“I can see that,” Avery said. “Hell of a long time to keep it up.”
“Demon’s are patient creatures, we lie as easily as breathing.”
Avery nodded, turning away. “And who was he?” she asked.
“I don’t know his name, but I recognize his tattoos. He’s an assassin, like me.”
“If you’re an assassin, I think you’re pretty bad at it.”
“How are you taking this—”
Ariel turned, her voice rising into a shout, and was stunned to silence. Avery held the remains of the cake in her bare hands, a piece stretched out to her. There was a hair on top of the icing, perhaps Avery’s own, perhaps one of the cats’, and the piece was lopsided, a whole layer missing, ruined beyond a shadow of doubt.
Avery pressed it to her friend’s stony lips all the same. “Was he here for me?”
Ariel nodded, smearing the icing across her lips. “Then you saved my life, that deserves cake.”
“How are you—”
Avery shoved the piece into her friend’s open mouth. Ariel gagged, the mental urge to spit out warring with bodies desperate desire for calories, any calories, as her wounds closed on their own. Avery stared her down until she swallowed, and then readied another cake fragment in her hand.
“Are we in immediate danger?” Avery asked.
“No.”
“Are my parents?”
“No.”
“Were you sent here to kill me?”
“Yes.”
“Shit.”
The moment stretched out awkwardly. The demonic assassin’s body caught fire, dissolving and leaving a dark smudge on the hardwood floor.
“Are you still my best friend?” Avery whispered.
“Always.”
“OK,” Avery muttered, “OK! Then you’re gonna finish this goddamn cake, I’m gonna steel a few dad’s beers because he’s gonna stay asleep, right? And then you’re gonna tell me all about it. Deal?”
“Dea—”
Ariel’s words were drowned in another forced morsel of cake.
“Oh shit!” Avery said as she scurried off, “hell with the beer, Dad has whiskey!”
r/TurningtoWords
| 2021-05-23T15:12:30 | 2021-05-23T15:05:16 | 1,052 | 201 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts.
|
“Okay, you’re going to have to back up.” Hemitilda said while trying to keep her brain from melting. “First off, I have no idea what Pokémon are. Secondly,”
“P-Pokémon are -“ a little boy named Russel says as he shoots up his hand.
“Russel,” the goddess interjects “we talked about this. You raise your hand AND THEN you can talk AFTER you have been called on.”
“Now where was I?” the goddess rubbed her temples trying to regain her train of thought. Less of a train and more of a speeding rail car bound for a cliff at this point. “Right. Secondly, I cannot summon anything that doesn’t belong in this world.”
“Can you sumim an punkin?” Lisa asked with hopeful eyes. Her little hands folded together in a prayerful manner.
Hemitalda rolled her eyes and waved her hand. A large pumpkin rapidly sprouted into the full cycle of maturity under her fingers.
The goddess’ eyes shot open as wide as the vegetable when they all rushed up to her seat. She was nearly bowled over when half of them wrapped her in hugs while the other half admired the orange thing.
Hemitalda, the goddess of growth and fertility, winced as little people swarmed her. She groaned as little fingers touched her fine garments. She was about ready to snap! She used to be prayed to by hundreds upon thousands of people.
Now, she was a glorified baby sitter. Her eyes welled up as the gravity of her current state of affairs settled into her heart. However, that’s not what brought tears to her eyes. Instead, it was just a simple phrase that opened the flood gates.
“We wuv you, Hemilala.” The children repeated the phrase one by one until each one had given her praise.
The goddess couldn’t hold it back any longer. Tears fell down her raised cheeks as her smile broke across her face. She assured them that her tears were not if sadness, but they still had many questions concerning her emotions.
Hemitalda, the goddess of growth and fertility, had only just grown a pumpkin, but the hope and love she was receiving cultivated something in her heart she had never felt before.
“I love you all too.” she choked. She squeezed as many as she could hold in her arms. “I love you too.”
|
"Wh- huh? Where am I? Am I... awake?" I whisper, suddenly finding myself standing at the foot of my shrine. I look around, so much has changed since I was last here. There is forest where there was once sprawling metropolis. All the buildings made of wood and stone and clay have decayed, leaving only mossy pebbles in their place. Even my shrine is dilapidated, covered in vines and crumbling. I look down and see a small, brightly-wrapped offering. I pick it up and examine it. Its golden yellow coating emblazoned with the word "Butterfinger" gleams pleasingly in the mid-afternoon sunlight. Since when does butter have fingers? I carefully unwrap the strange trinket and sniff it. It smells of sweet cacao and nuts. I put it in my mouth. A smile spreads from ear to ear as I savor the delicious taste of this peculiar treat!
That is when I first sense the nearby presence of a little girl watching me. The centuries must have dulled my senses, for I usually would not have been so easily snuck up upon.
"Come, child. Do not be afraid," I call to her.
She steps nervously closer, and in the light I can now see her. She is five or six winters old, with pretty red locks tied into two pigtails and freckly pale skin. She has light brown eyes the color of honey, almost gold in color.
"What is your name, child?"
"Ummm, I'm Melissa."
"Melissa, is it? Thank you for the offering, Melissa. It was delicious. I never knew buttered fingers could taste so good."
She giggles, "You talk funny! Um, but those aren't real human fingers! That's just what they're called. My mama said so. It's actually candy!"
"Candy? Is it a form of khanda? Hmm, well either way it is very sweet. Thank you."
"You're welcome! But, um, who are you?"
"I am- er, **was** the goddess of a tribe of people whose name has no doubt been lost to time. They lived on this land and worshipped me and I, in return, protected them and blessed their crops. I also blessed their babies and marriages. In time, however, my followers dwindled. Magic and myth gave way to reason and rationality, and they no longer needed me. Then missionaries came and converted or killed what remaining followers I still had. As the number of my followers waned so, too, did my powers. A god needs worshippers in order to have any power. Even my loyalist, most devout worshippers left me in the end when I no longer had the power to answer their prayers. When my last follower stopped believing, that is when I fell into a deep, centuries-long slumber. I lost the ability to materialize within this world. But you- you awakened me! That must mean that you believe! You do believe, don't you?"
The girl called Melissa stares at me blankly, "Erm, that's all kinda confusing. I didn't really understand, but basically you lost all your friends? The people who prayed to you and believed in you?"
"More or less."
"I see..." the girl looks at her feet for a minute or two with a thoughtful expression. "Well, that's okay, I'll be your friend!"
She beams at me with her adorable freckled cheeks.
"Truly? You will follow me? Thank you, you are a very kind-hearted little girl."
"Tee hee! No problem! But, um, what should I call you? What's your name?"
I sigh. I try to think back, to remember, but I could no longer recall my name.
"I do not remember. It, too, has been lost to the ages. Perhaps you could give me a new one?"
"Ooh, okay! Umm..." Melissa looks me up and down. "How about... Geneva!"
"Geneva? Why Geneva?"
"That's my older sister in heaven's name! I never met her, but mama and papa say she's always watching over us!"
"Very well then, you may call me Geneva. Well then, Melissa, what tribe are you from?"
"Tribe? Umm, I dunno about tribes but I'm in kindergarten. I'm in Miss Kristi's class!"
"Kindergarten, you say? Very well then, since I have lost my previous role, I will now be the Goddess of Kindergarteners!"
"Okay! Um, Geneva is kinda hard to say, so is it okay if I just call you Jenny for short?"
I stare in disbelief. What sort of blasphemy is this?! In my time, no worshipper of mine would dare call me by such a pet name! But, I suppose this isn't my time anymore, is it? I must move forward, if I wish to survive and not fall back into a centuries long sleep. And she is only a little girl, after all, I mustn't expect too much of my high priestess yet.
"As you wish. Come, Melissa, show me to your dwelling. I wish to make my acquaintance with your tribe."
"Tee hee, you still talk funny. Okay, let's go home Jenny!"
Without asking permission she grabs my hand and tugs me along, through the woods, down the hill, towards her house.
\- - - -
This was a lot of fun lol, thanks so much for sharing! If you don't mind, do you think I could run with your idea a bit? I'm inspired to make an RPG Maker game with it! I will credit you of course, and the game will be non-commercial (so it's free and anyone can play it). I'll also be sure to message you with a link to it when I'm done, assuming I don't stop halfway which I have a terrible habit of doing in both writing and game-making. XD
| 2021-09-02T11:05:56 | 2021-09-02T10:26:34 | 22 | 14 |
[WP] You used to be stuck in a 3 year time loop, but you escaped it by building a time machine. However, as you land the machine in the past, you realize that you landed on the exact day you became stuck in it. You realize what you have to do.
|
I checked my watch nervously. 20:58 and 46 seconds. The hand flicked to 47 seconds. I had 15 seconds left. It was now or never. I pulled the lever and... nothing happened.
'Damn it!'.
If this didn't work, it would never work. I had spent what felt like several lifetimes putting this together. Each time I got closer, but I would always run out of time.
*You died*
The irony suddenly hit me. Before the loop, I was obsessed with speed running games. Edging off those seconds, and after a lot of training, miniseconds. Perfecting the perfect jump. Exploiting the game mechanics. Watching my own replays, taking notes. Sometimes, on the best days, you would discover how to take off entire minutes.
If anything, gaming trained me for the incident. Groundhog day. Except this wasn't a Hollywood movie, and it wasn't a game. It was hell. Maybe in the 200th loop I started counting how many loops I had been in already. I gave up somewhere in the eight thousands. A *three year loop*. Long enough to almost forget. Almost.
So at some point, long ago, I started studying quantum physics. First it was reading online articles on the Internet, YouTube videos and stuff like that. Then I took a degree. Then the masters... at that point I had to figure out how to trick universities of my credentials. Doctorate. Lab assistant. Senior researcher. My breakthroughs would seemingly come out of nowhere. For me, it was just the onward grind of accumulating knowledge and the vigorous scientific method. Three years at a time.
I only tried to kill myself once. I fell in love with another scientist. When I woke up at the start of the loop, I went straight to the m42 motorway and walked in front of a lorry.
I am souless.
Eventually I understood time travel. It sounds obsurd until you realise it already exists in three year loops.
The struggle was building the time machine in three years. When I wake up on day 1, I'm lying in the street after a mugging. I have nothing.
Thus the ultimate speed running started. Build a time machine in three years. The naked Dark Souls run. And now I was at the final boss. Unlike my many previously failed attempts, I had finally figured out how to finish building it in time. Except - it didn't work.
I pulled the lever back up, and checked my watch. Eight seconds to go.
With the most force I could muster and the frustration of a powerless god, I hit the thing as hard as I could. Five seconds. There was a sound outside. Three seconds. I turned and saw the man outside with a gun. It was pointing right at me.
"Don't -' he warned, but I didn't let him finish. One second. I pulled the lever down once more. Then everything went white.
---
I was still inside. The man had vanished. The machine, quiet. With shaking hands, I pulled my phone form my pocket and checked the date.
I had landed on the exact day I became stuck in.
This made no sense.... I was meant to have travelled forward, after the final day. I had failed... stuck in an unbreakable loop.
Except I hadn't failed. The time machine had worked. I wasn't starting from scratch this time, I... had won.
I realised what I had to do.
|
The first few loops were enjoyable enough, even a bit therapeutic. I looked at it as a forced vacation, A nice rest bit, on a beautiful and mostly uninhabited planet surrounded by nature and scenery, from the typical hustle, bustle, and danger that seems to have a death grip on my life.
And the great thing about a vacation in a time loop is that the fun never has to end! You can live the same days and make small little adjustments to enjoy unique adventures thanks to the near-infinite number of possibilities, all without aging. Theoretically, that is!
But as all temporal physicists know, The Web of Time isn't so simple, it has a way of nickeling and diming you. Either you pay now or all at once later.
I began to feel the weight of living so long in a loop as the tachyon-filled time winds beat against the rudimentary bespoke shielding I’d cobbled together.
A covered my eyes with the sleeve of my jacket as sparks flew from the active heart of the control console.
“Hold yourself together, old thing!” I yelled to the machine, “Just a little further we’re nearly through the barrier!”
The time rotors wobbled and screamed as the rush of temporal energies hissed and surged through the system. Even for a time loop of this size, you wouldn't expect to see so much resistance. The barrier was far too thick to be naturally occurring as I assumed!
I spent the better part of five minutes which, temporarily speaking is close to a lifetime, chipping away at the time-space barrier in a brute force attempt to breakthrough.
But, every time I thought I’d made a bit of progress the localized temporal energy would condense pushing down against the ship’s shielding, repelling me back deeper into the time loop.
It was as if a metal dome had been purposely erected around the time vector. With the engines threatening to over heart and no progress in sight, I did my best to touch down as close to the beginning of my personal time stream on this planet as possible. Where, logically, the barrier should be at its weakest.
I fought against the controls and tried to keep my footing as the temporal flux dissipated and local time reasserted itself outside the capsule.
Schrodinger's cat was out of the box but where?
Piloting such a small ship, your can navigational error rate is in the double digits. I was displeased more than fifty miles from the coordinates I’d been aiming for.
A bellow of smoke rose from the counsel filling filled the room as the overworked engines sputtered to a halt. Stepping outside I checked my temporal pocket watch and did some quick maths in my head.
“Let's see!” I said to myself, “If my calculations are correct, which they usually are… this is… day ‘R’… so... The first day I got here...”
As good news goes this wasn't the greatest. Sure I’d made progress, I was now in possession of a functional time capsule, but I didn’t know how I had gotten here in the first place. Perhaps this was how I’d arrived here in the first place. This same time capsule, this same time loop. Or maybe this was just another part of the loop or a fractured loop within the loop.
My spinning thoughts were interrupted by the soft voice of a woman standing behind me.
“Did you say it was your first day here?” She asked,
I turned around to face the woman, or female humanoid at the very least, who was standing on a small mound not far from a field of crops.
In all my travels I’d never come across a race quite like the Tamzin’s. On average they are slightly smaller than humans, they have four arms, pale purplish skin, and small horn-like appendages that grow from their foreheads. But what makes them special are their minds.
Their empaths you see. Nothing like those nosey telepaths that are always trying to get a peek at what’s under the hood, Tamzins feel the emotions of those around them, and express their own emotions through the color of their bio-chromatic hair.
Red hair is a sign of anger, yellow of happiness, dark blues or blacks can be a sign of fear or sadness and their hair turns white upon death.
The color of the Tamzin standing in front of me was a dirty blonde. So… confused, a bit stressed but still a tad happy to see me.
“Sorry!” I said, realizing I’d been blankly staring at her lost in thought, “I’m Professor John Smith, and yes, this is my first time in this particular region, I was testing out my transport over there, and… it appears, I was knocked off course and ended up your lovely field here!”—I gesture apologetically towards the eyesore I call a ship—“sorry for the intrusion! Once I’ve done some repairs I’ll be back on my way!”
“No apologies are in order! Professor Smith,” she said, “My name I Kor’el Zapherin, and that field has not been in use for some time.”
“The Tamzin welcome all outsiders and even off-worlders like yourself, to our humble planet”—Her hair turned a powdery pink, the traditional color of peace in this part of the galaxy—“Please, I can sense you are tired, won't you come to take some refreshments in the village?”
“That sounds absolutely lovely!” I said, stretching my back, “It will be some time before the engine is cool enough for me to work on safely. And, as you say I could do with a break!”
I followed her lead down a dirt path towards a decent-sized village that was not too far in the distance. But as we got closer to the village I felt an eerie feeling deep inside my mind like, something terrible was just about to happen.
“What’s troubling you!?” Kor’el asked, sensing my uneasiness.
“That’s the question isn't it!” I said, “I can't quite put my finger on this feeling... But I know I’ve experienced it before.”
A grabbed my head as something sharpy pierced through my psyche.
Overhead dark cracks appeared, dotting the horizon above the village. Black and purple mist spewed from the cracks as they widened allowing the massive wings of those all too familiar and terrible creatures to smash their way through temporal space like rotting butterflies emerging from rancid cacoons
“Time Wraiths!!” I said looking up at the four-winged inky black creatures
| 2022-04-19T12:39:15 | 2022-04-19T09:05:02 | 108 | 18 |
[WP] You're a retired villain who now runs a 24-7 grocery store. One day a new hero decides to ambush you in your own store.
|
(I’ve split this story into four parts through four different writing prompts! They are technically standalone, but they tell a more complete story together. This is part four of four, and you can find the previous (third) part here: [https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x&context=3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/zqs5dl/comment/j10vtqo/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3))
“Bryyyyy!” Dominic yelled loudly, mostly in surprise at the falling axe coming towards his horned head but also in warning to alert his husband. The axe missed him, the skill of the hero wielding it well below that of even their grandchildren. It didn’t help that the young hero looked to be about their age, too.
“Domiii?” Bryan’s shout came from upstairs and then the thundering of his heavy footfall made it obvious that he was on his way down. Not that Dominic needed his help to stop the silly flailing of the attacker. When Bryan jumped and nearly fell down the last few steps it was with a sign of relief.
“Oh thank the gods you’re alright. I was worried it was another one of those--- Oh. Oh no.” His eyes caught sight of the young lady at Dominic’s feet. Her body covered in shining armor, a thick well-worn axe by her side. The symbol of the Holy Order engraved on her breastplate.
“Another one. It’s been years though!” Bryan exclaimed with an exasperated sigh before moving to grab a blanket. Dominic’s magic was potent, but so well tuned that he knew it’d only be moments before she awoke. But it always helped to have a blanket so they didn’t wake up on the hard cold stone floor of their little shop.
The shadow of Mount Harold had already started to fall across the little town. Truly near the border between nowhere and even more distant, it was rare to see any travelers for weeks on end. Which is exactly why Bryan and Dominic lived out here. Far enough away that they were able to enjoy their retirement together. The chosen hero summoned from another world, and his demon lord husband.
Many decades spent together working behind the scenes to truly bring peace to the world of humans and demons was only their second most perfect memory compared to how, on the day that they finally united the kingdoms, they were also united and wed. Not a holy matrimony, neither of them caring much for the temple given the way the Holy Order refused to accept things as they were. A little event lead by one of their best friends, the metallic dwarven row-baught Aee Eye. The words were still rough in Dominic’s mouth, but the story of Bryan’s past was truly unbelievable. To call a hero from another world was unthinkable!
The young lady stirred, and then tried to shoot up but was stopped by Bryan’s massive hands.
“Miss, please calm down,” he started as Dominic made his way into the kitchen, thinking about Bryan’s way with words as he started to make tea for the three of them. These types of things always worked themselves out for them in *the end*.
|
“Sir, this is totally inappropriate.” I point to the smoking door now impaled in my produce section. “And I hope you know you’re buying me a new door.”
Poor Tom is still staring at the piece of 7 foot metal quivering near his head and the dent my fist made in it when I had to punch it aside to make it miss him.
The kid who Spartan kicked my store’s double doors across the building puffs up his chest. That’s what he really is. A kid. Couldn’t be more than 19 and wearing the form fitting body armor costume that’s come back in fashion for the newer generation of heroes.
He’s a big one though. Nearly fills up the now empty doorframe. I can just see the empty parking lot behind him slowly filling up with dawn’s light.
“I will do no such thing. It is YOU who will be paying!”
“You serious? You literally blew my store’s doors off the hinges! For no reason!”
He puffs up even more, if that’s possible. The symbol on his chest, an ‘S’, or some kind of swirl, begins to glow. I look away. It makes my eyes itch.
“No reason? Pah! I know who you were, or rather ARE. For evil cannot change its nature! It merely hides, lurks, waits for a chance to be true to itself once again at the expense of the innocent! You can hide no longer, BLACK STAR!”
Jesus Christ. The nerve of these guys. No respect nowadays. No class. I look around the store with brief panic but then remember the time, not even 6AM. Only the morning guy is here.
Tom is staring at us though, mouth open, blinking slowly. I’m not sure if he’s stoned and in shock or he recognized the name. Probably the former. He reeked of some good shit when he came in and I was before his time. The people’s’ memories are about as long as the latest TikTok video, especially when it came to heroes and villains.
I make patting motions, as if trying to tamp down his voice. “Easy, easy, easy, dude. Goddamn. Come into my office.”
I turn to Tom. “Hey buddy, how about you take an early break?”
He nods mutely and wanders off, glancing over his shoulder every now and again until he disappears behind the back.
I walk away without waiting for the hero’s reply. I hear a pause and then his footsteps behind me.
My office is even more cramped with him in it. He’s gotta be almost 250. They make them bigger and bigger nowadays. I wonder if it’s compensation for the lack of originality.
I close the blinds and sit behind my desk and motion him to do the same on the chair in front of my desk.
He looks uncomfortable when he sits after some hesitation. The chair groans under him.
I fold my hands, mustering patience. “Look, you got the wrong guy, okay? I don’t do that anymore.”
He sneers. “Oh really?”
“Yes, that’s what I’m telling you. I’ve turned over a new leaf. I have a regular job now. This job. This 24/7 QikAisle is mine. I manage it and that’s all I do. Manage it and make sure poor Tom over there doesn’t get so stoned he falls into the trash compactor when breaking down his produce boxes.”
“Save your story of redemption for someone who cares, Black Star. Someone like you can never be redeemed. I know what you’ve done. What you had planned to do.” He pauses then leans in, voice hard. He suddenly looks older. “I found the ship.”
Well then.
I lean back, feeling a familiar calm settle onto my shoulders like an old mantle. “Hm.”
“Hm? HM? Is that really all you have to say?”
I shrug. “What else is there to say?”
He looks shocked for a moment, then righteous fury replaces everything else. Can’t blame him. I flash back to the ship. To the altar of dark metal and cold lights. To the abyss pierced by stars. And what I worship.
Worshipped.
“I don’t suppose we can come to some sort of arrangement?”
“No, no, evil triumphs when good men do nothing. It thrives on ill-timed mercy.”
“I am not that man anymore. I’ve-I’ve retired. Those days are behind me.”
“Retired?!” He sputters. “As if you can put down your sword after all you’ve done. You do not just get to rest and repose when you have the blood of *children* on your hands!”
I purse my lips, sorting through my memory. It’s a long one. What is this asshole talking about? I nev- Oh wait. There was that time in Sacramento. And then New York at that children’s hospital.
“Okay, that’s fair. But think about the positive environmental impact that had.”
“…what?”
“If it makes you feel better, those children would have grown up to be adults, who are, you might agree, aren’t the best.”
“You’re an animal.”
“I quite like it here. What if I pinky promise not to do anything bad?”
I’m talking loosely now. The jig had been up the second he mentioned the ship. No going back once that’s out.
He stands. The chair tips over with a crash. He composes himself and then motions to the door. “I am The Templar. And I will cleanse the world of your darkness. Come. So that at least you can die in the light.”
A smile tugs my lips. The newer generation looked corny but they had a steel to them my peers had always lacked. The prison industry had loved them for it though.
The Templar. Never heard of him. But the symbol now makes sense. It’s not an S, but an ancient holy symbol.
Some do-gooder Saint or celestial must be taking this lad for a ride. I can see it now. Some scrawny kid with good morals and a decent spine dreams of a wise man or angels offering him the strength of gods. Enough dreams and he says yes.
And becomes a Vessel. I squint. Yup. I can see the faint outline of fiery wings projecting from his back.
Shadows peel themselves from their natural homes and slither towards me as I follow the hero out of my office. Something foul inside a deep band of darkness by my feet growls. A set of leering yellow eyes blinks from within a strip of black in the corners.
I feel poor Tom collapse in the backroom as I use his shadow and soul to fuel my workings. I pull a sword of night from a sheathe of shadows, the blade specked by dying stars.
This can only go one way. A shame. I had started to like it here.
| 2022-12-20T10:47:30 | 2022-12-20T06:55:50 | 25 | 10 |
[WP] You are the god of dice. Steve plays a lot of dice games. You hate Steve.
|
Another wisp of papyrus floated in front of Fortuna Iulia's face. He batted it away, irritated. This was the fifth time within the last ten minutes. After the first two came in within a minute of each other, both signed *Steve,* the god of dice decided to ignore the requests.
These humans, now, played their trivial dice games for round, colored chits, that they then traded in for flimsy looking paper. Where were the gold, the jewels, the slaves? His job had been so much more exciting. Now Iulia was constantly bored, watching the same white cube with black dots roll around. Sometimes he'd nudge it to the same number again and again. The looks of disbelief and wild elation, followed by looks of despair were usually amusing.
Steve, though, was the first time anyone had prayed to him outside of the smoke filled casinos. Steve's first prayer brought the God of Dice down to not an opulent palace of greed and lavish wealth, but to a rather small, rather plain apartment. He was surrounded not by women and other men of wealth like many of his past patrons, but by three other men, and only one woman who looked rather plain. Iulia had wrinkled his nose in disgust, but a prayer was a prayer.
"YES, NAT TWENTY." It had been amusing to watch Steve get up and dance around. Iulia had nodded, satisfied, and returned home.
He had not been amused when the next request had also been from Steve. Something about needing a 16 to succeed in dodging some great enemy. Iulia saw no enemy in that small cramped space. He ignored the request.
But they had continue to come, persistently, at a pace Iulia could not ignore. And no matter how many times he tipped the dice towards the opposite of what Steve had wanted, no matter how many times Steve howled up at him that he had died (Iulia saw no change in the human's state of being, though he had always hoped that Steve would stop once he 'died'), Steve would come back the next week with another prayer.
Iulia hated Steve. He hated his stupid dice that required more than a quick thought to figure out which way to tip to what number. In his day, dice had six sides, not ten, or twenty. Stupid Steve.
|
I let out a sharp expiratory breath.
"I need to get loose, feel it." I shook out my fingers and hands spastically, sitting on the edge of my splendiferous throne. Sliding back into my perch, I closed my eyes inhaled and exhaled rhythmically as I had done countless times throughout the millennia. My tension relaxed and I felt the trance overcome me, pulling me into the aether. I inhaled one more time, feeling my soul expand with the breath and fill the void. I am sure my body smiled.
Fluorescent lights, dank, old cigarette smoke. Bad bourbon. Oh god, no.
"Yo Steve. You going to throw or what?" a voice said.
"I'm fuckin praying here. Show some respect." Steve replied. A fat, bald man in a dilapidated velvet suit looked around with a sneer. He took the dice from his chubby fist and rubbed them quickly, blowing on them. I didn't need to see his greasy face, or his rank breath blowing on my talismans.
"Pray for a quick death, you fat fuck. Your cheapass bet isn't worth the space." Someone doesn't like Steve. Hmm. I usually don't like Jersey. Today it's got that going for it, though.
"Here we go, you bunch of fuckin assholes." said Steve, with his usually overdone Brooklyn slur. Tiny plastic pieces splash and knock over cheap felt. On the ethereal plane, the numbers on the dice swirl and merge, spooling out of the thousands of possibilities, spindling from my eyes. I brandish my scepter and the dice clatter to a halt.
"Seven. Lucky piece of shit." I grin out of habit, and let it fill a small space in my chest. It lights a bit of this dim hole. I move my gaze to Steve's antagonist, a skinny dyed-blonde with the name label simply stating "Estelle".
"Stella, you always been a mean bird. What I ever done to you?" Steve asks, hands spread wide, eyes open and eyebrows high.
"Drop dead, Steve. Pit boss is watchin'. You try to grope me or throw the dice in my bra again and you're gone." Stella tugged the hopelessly plunging neckline of her top to emphasize her point. Steve piled on the chips.
"Fine. Fine. I just hadda bit to drink. Chill." said Steve, gently pushing his hands out in front of him.
"Bullshit, Steve. Francine quit, and Ashley won't even work over here anymore. I only put up with your 1-man craps table because my belly doesn't let me do a lot of reachin'. After the baby comes, I'm going right back." Estelle clipped her words at the end and clicked her heel on the ground to emphasize her point. Without looking over, I could sense the power hum in his hands as he prepared to throw the dice. Steve looked almost petulant. I lifted my scepter again.
"Seven. Two in a row. How much did you just bet, you ass?" Estelle's eyes boggled a little, then narrowed to slits. "You movin' the chips on me? Why did you bet so much?" Estelle put an hand on her hip and glared at Steve, who was grinning widely.
"Cause I wanted to give you a tip, and if I won I was going to give you 10%! Lady Luck musta known." Steve grinned broadly and handed her a $5 chip. I smiled lightly. I didn't know. "Let's quit fuckin' around. Get serious. Let's go for it." Steve shoved all his chips on the table. Estelle gasped.
"You serious? That's like a week's worth of pay." was all she could squeak. Shifting her feet, she casually turned to her pit boss, dropped her mock surprise and made a masturbating motion. Steve's familiar, grating voice came through the ether to me again, as he prayed for my blessing through vulgar epithets.
"Do it, bitch!" was his only muttered words as he hocked the fetishes through the air at the rickety table. Through the spiral of numbers, I aligned the pair just so, and lifted my scepter of command. The dice obeyed.
"Seven again, Steve! Fuckin' fantastic. Good for you. Lissen, this is Bill. My shift is over. Don't spend your $700 in one place." said Estelle. "G'bye!" she said, as she turned and pulled out her cell phone.
"Yeah, fine. I made plenty! I don't need ya! Me and this sausage fest are going over to Rosie's Cantina." said Steve, calling after her. He grabbed his chips and took the walk to the cashier, down the rickety steps in front of the moldy fountain. I lifted my scepter.
"Holy fu--" was all Steve could manage before he tumbled end over end down the stairs, chips spraying in every conceivable direction. "M-my muh-money..." was all he could get out, as patrons scrambled all over to pick up the departed chips. Security began milling about, trying to sort the frenzy. Steve put his face down on the curly orange carpet and expired softly. "Why..."
I smiled. "Because fuck you, Steve." was my last thought before the Zephyr carried me to my next disciple.
| 2015-07-27T11:54:59 | 2015-07-27T10:38:38 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] A supervillain takes over the world. Inexplicably, the quality of life improves.
|
"...thanks to you. We can all be grateful our world is now a better place. You've helped us make it a better place."
I knew better.
Hunger is a thing of the past. War is all but eradicated. People have jobs if they want them. That happens when you mobilize multiple countries and put armies to work rebuilding villages and cities. In fact, I wouldn't have done any different.
He had started small, and gathered a following because of his charisma. But soon people all over the world were smitten. People lost their minds over him. He had some kind of power over the weak-willed. The hope-starved everyman. He "set an example" through showy displays of charity, sacrifice and heroism (which all made for great PR, of course) that set the world understandably in awe of him. To them, he was more than human. To me, he was a threat.
I had been working on a major scientific breakthrough that would have changed things forever. People would have seen the possibilities in their own strength, instead of waiting for someone to tell them how to live. I all but abandoned my work, and have since begun trying to decipher his hidden agenda. A few other admittedly brilliant minds tried to persuade me that I was wasting my time, but they don't have the instincts I do. They don't have that gut that tells you when something's wrong. My feelings are what sets me apart from the rest. I have been called a genius by some, and hailed undeservedly (though, sometimes *very* deservedly) for some of my contributions, but it has always been my ability to trust my intuition after I've gathered the facts, that makes me who I am. Logic and intelligence are inexorably the most powerful tools one can have at one's disposal, but knowing *when* to push, to fight, or abandon one's pursuits is what makes those assets crackle with what other's call "inspiration."
So I quietly continue my research, and build my resources. People have mostly stopped listening to my warnings, though I used to be one of the most powerful and respected people on the planet... before he arrived. But I have a theory, and I'm getting closer to proving it.
I'm becoming more and more convinced that this *ALIEN* wants to take us back to his home planet. He's molding willing slaves who will BEG to be take back with him... back to Krypton.
|
Six months. That's how long it took Jeremy to get the world back on it's feet. Six months and the homeless disappeared. Six months and poverty was gone. Six months and war and disease and famine and everything that made Earth so *bad* was gone.
I never took him seriously when he first started, when we lived together in that tiny apartment in downtown D.C. And I took him even less seriously when we moved for him to extend his "laboratory of destruction" in New York. I usually never went down there, but there were times where I needed to. I never understood what he was creating, but he always had *evil* names for things. I mean the man may have been preaching supervillain, but to the people of his new world, he was their hero. To some, even greater than that. Jeremy, or Doctor Redding as he went by, was a God.
Once he defeated Knightflyer, yeah, he was right about Richard being a superhero, I found it as a surprise too, he moved on to defeat the "heroes" of the world. I don't know who he viewed as a hero, but the people he went after were far from it. Yes, Doctor Redding enlisted organized crime organizations and big science corporations to further his cause, but the man made progress faster than anyone I had ever met. He came into so much power and wealth from the victory, all of which he *poured* into the world. I remember when he first approached me about it, him ranting about how he would be able to power his creations for lifetimes and the world would be under his fist.
His first, as it turned out, was more of a warm blanket for the people of Earth. A week after he took down Knightflyer, New York City converted entirely to solar power. A city of ten million running on the sun. Two days after that, he had every major city on the East Coast turning to solar. And a month after that, he had the world. Doctor Redding, my childhood friend from Minnesota, had solved the energy consumption issue in a little less than a month. And the influx of installations created jobs, which flipped the economy, which as Redding began to end the need for big companies, began to decrease the poverty line. Six months and he changed the world.
Jere--Doctor Redding never forgot his friends either. Sure, there were times that I doubted him, even more times that I wanted him to leave the "evil" behind and move on. But Redding always got back on his feet, always strove for more, always wanted to fight. Once he fought, and defeated, the hero; he had better things to do. And he helped me, his childhood friend, so much in those six months.
Doctor Redding had an interesting beginning, an even more interesting life. And if there's one thing I've learned from him, it's that you can always do more. You can always be more. He may have been a smalltown kid, but now, he's the leader in every known subject in the world.
This is his story.
____
"What do you think?" I asked Jeremy as he read the beginnings to his biography. He had commissioned me to write it about three days ago and I was eager to get feedback on the first chapter.
"What do you think I am?"
I raised an eyebrow, "Excuse me? I don't understand."
"What am I Nick?"
"Well, uhm, you're a Doctor, a man whose changed the world for the better."
"You won't say it will you?"
I sighed, "Because you're not a goddamned supervillain Jeremy! Look what you've done to the world," I threw my arms open, "Look what you helped create!"
He shook his head and dropped the pages on the table in front of me. He had come to visit me in my home, the penthouse suite in one of New York's finest new buildings. "I won't let you print something that doesn't tell the people the truth."
"See!" I pointed at him, "That right there, that proves my point. A supervillain would hide things! He would try to block the truth from his 'underlings.'" I put up bunny ears when I spoke.
"Be that as it may, it's a cliche. Not all supervillains have to follow the trope, you should know that."
I sighed and we stared at each other. I owed Jeremy a lot, but he had to see it my way, at least some of it. "You've got to give me some credit."
"The Minnesota touch was nice," he nodded, "shows where I'm from. But I want more." He searched for the word as he punched his hand, "Oomph. More spectacle."
"More villainry?"
"Exactly!" He stood from his chair, "I'm glad you can see it my way." He straightened his cufflinks, an image of his first raygun design, as he stood. Now that his days of fighting "superheroes" were over, he didn't wear battle armor everywhere he went. "I want a better copy ready to read in six months?"
I nodded.
He began to walk away, patting my shoulder as he left. "Oh," he stopped before he left the room, "I forgot to mention. The first inhabitants to Moon 1 just arrived and everything went perfectly. I'd like you to add that in there." Then he left.
I threw my head backwards, "You've got to be kidding me."
____
*Loved the prompt! If you'd like to read more, check out /r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs!*
*Also, I wrote this in mind with a story I wrote a long time ago. Here's the [original.](https://www.reddit.com/r/BlankPagesEmptyMugs/comments/3h7zxn/doctor_redding_evil_crimelord_extraordinaire/)*
| 2015-12-14T07:56:07 | 2015-12-14T07:00:50 | 20 | 15 |
[WP]When you die you find out heaven is real. Well actually all versions of heaven are real and you apply for them like colleges, you get denial letters and can transfer. You may not get into Catholic heaven, Mormon heaven, or Muslim heaven, but you may be a shoe in for Valhalla.
Friends and I were talking about this last night and thought it would be an interesting afterlife.
|
“Heavens gates won’t up for me.”
He chuckled mirthlessly. Of all the things to linger in his head at a time like this, a line from Nickelback was what stuck. He didn’t even like them. But the line fit. He looked down at the letter in his hands with disgust and despair. He’d been rejected by Heaven. Not just rejected, but universally rejected, by Roman Catholic Heaven, Episcopal, Southern Baptist… all of the denominations he had applied to. He wondered when the fire and brimstone would kick in, but apparently Hell was just sitting around here for eternity.
He thought about his options and found them severely lacking. He wasn’t a Jew, he wasn’t a Mormon, he’d rather sit here for eternity than apply to Muslim heaven, he couldn’t understand, nor did he want to understand, the application to Hindu heaven, and the thought of being reincarnated to Earth after all the shit he had put up with, up to and including having his leg blown off by an IED and bleeding out, had absolutely no fucking appeal. He crumpled up the rejection letter, bitter tears forming in his eyes.
“So, you were rejected by Heaven?”
Jacob stiffened, then leapt to his feet and turned as one action. The woman remained still, standing stiffly at attention, her hand on a sword. She was tall, thin, had long, wispy white hair and looked at him with burning blue eyes. He shivered under her gaze, “Who the fuck are you?”
“I am a servant. You are Jacob Frams?” It was a question, but at the same time not. He swallowed, and then nodded. She gave the barest of nods, and held out a piece of paper wrapped in string, “I am here to retrieve you if you so desire.”
He blinked and looked down, mulling the situation over for a moment before snatching the scroll from her hand. Her hand dropped, but she remained still as he glanced between her and the letter. “Jacob Frams, private first class, you are hereby invited to Valhalla.”
That was it. It was as short and sweet as he wished some briefings had been. He glanced up, the coin dropping, “You’re one of those Valkyrie things, aren’t you?”
She nodded, “I am here to await your response. If you desire to go to Valhalla I will bring you there.”
He paused, then swallowed, “But I was never a follower of the Norse gods. I grew up in Virginia for Christ’s sake.”
“That did not stop Odin from watching you.” She said simply, “You fought in battles, you dragged two wounded comrades away from battle and you killed seven people who were trying to kill you or those with you. You have been deemed worthy.”
Jacob paused for a moment, “You guys have beer, right?”
The Valkyrie smirked and began to lead the way.
|
Molly scratched her head in confusion as she looked around. The last thing she remembered was screaming in horror as her car lost control on the slick rainy road. How the hell had she ended up in this place? And perhaps more importantly, where the hell was she?
There seemed to be an endless number of desks lined up in a neat grid formation. Some had a computer on them, while others only had pen and paper. Most of the desks were occupied, but the people at them were of all different ages and cultures, giving her no clue as to why they were there. They all seemed to be working intently though, leading Molly to wonder if she'd been transported to some kind of factory.
"Hello, Molly."
She jumped in surprise and turned around toward the voice behind her. A kindly-looking old man in plain grey robes was looking at her with twinkling eyes. He bore a remarkable resemblance to the movie version of Gandalf, even down to the gnarled wooden staff.
"Don't worry, you haven't landed in some foreign sweatshop. Though I do have the unfortunate task of telling you that you didn't survive that car crash."
Molly blinked. And then she blinked again.
"...Wait a second, are you saying I'm DEAD?"
Gandalf (for that was what she was calling him in her head now) nodded solemnly. He gave her a gentle pat on the shoulder with a bony hand.
"Yes, my dear. I am very sorry. You are now here with us in purgatory until we figure out where you go next."
Seeing that Molly was too shocked to reply, Gandalf gestured with his staff towards the sea of desks.
"There you see your fellow souls, filling out their applications. You can apply to any afterlife you choose, although we do encourage a limit of three applications to start. Why don't you come with me, and we'll find you a vacant spot?"
Gandalf was surprisingly nimble as he guided her along the row of desks, and his grip on her hand surprisingly steady and strong. It was oddly comforting, Molly thought, and reminded her of how grandpa used to walk her school in the mornings.
They stopped at an empty desk with a laptop on it. Gandalf gallantly pulled the computer chair out and smiled benevolently.
"There you are. I thought that you would prefer a computer since you're so young, but if you would rather paper applications we can certainly move you over."
Molly tried to return the old man's smile, but found that she couldn't conjure one up. She sat down obediently though, and the laptop screen lit up as if aware of her presence. A large blue button appeared with the words "CLICK TO START YOUR APPLICATION"
Gandalf nodded, and gave her another pat on the shoulder.
"I'll leave you to it, then. Call if you need any help. And take your time and think carefully. We have all eternity, after all."
Molly chuckled weakly even though she was still too shell-shocked to appreciate the joke. With a wave of his hand Gandalf vanished into the ether, leaving her to stare forlornly at the computer screen. Seeing no other option, she tentatively clicked on the big button.
"Which afterlife are you interested in?"
She frowned as she clicked on the drop-down menu. There were so many options! Islamic? No. Ancient Egyptian? Definitely not. Wiccan? Hmm, maybe. Norse? Well both sides of her family were Scandinavian, so that one kinda made sense...
Molly clicked on NEXT.
"Did you die in battle? Are you kidding me?!"
She clicked NO. Did you die of old age or disease? NO again. Then a text box popped up. "Please describe the manner of your death in 250 words or less."
This felt like being back in high school. Muttering under her breath, Molly started typing.
"I was driving home after a night shift and it was pouring rain. A car tried to make a left turn through the intersection I was headed for and I was going to hit him. I couldn't stop in time. I swerved, and because the road was wet, I spun. I think I smashed into something, and that is the last thing I remember."
It was only 73 words, but she didn't know what else to say. Back in high school she would have padded the piece with extra words just to make it look longer, but that didn't seem right here. She clicked NEXT.
Do you feel you have accomplished anything extraordinarily good in life? NO. Has your life been exceptional in any way? Nope, solid middle-class upbringing. She clicked NEXT again.
Have you ever been arrested? NO. Have you ever knowingly committed a crime? YES. Please describe your crimes in 250 words or less.
"1. I used to speed all the time when driving. 2. I drank a lot underage and used fake ID's. 3. I smoked marijuana. 4. I once tried magic mushrooms and ecstasy. 5. I illegally downloaded TV shows and music"
Would you consider yourself a warrior? Hmm, maybe. Yes. Please explain in 250 words or less? Dammit.
"I was a microbiologist by training and worked on vaccine development. I fought against both viruses and anti-vaccine idiots for years."
It seemed a little pathetic, but that answer was the best she could do. Molly clicked NEXT again and the screen read "Congratulations! You have completed your application. You may make changes using the BACK button, or if you are ready to submit your application, please click the SEND button."
Molly shrugged and hit SEND. It didn't seem like she would be a great fit there, really. Time for a new application; maybe the Wiccans would take her? They didn't seem like they would be too picky.
Just as she was starting the process again, however, the mail icon in the bottom right corner lit up. When Molly clicked it, a message popped up on her screen.
"Dear Molly,
We in Valhalla would be happy to welcome a warrior such as yourself to our great hall. Should you choose to accept our offer, please reply YES to this message, and a valkyrie will come to escort you shortly.
Yours,
Admission Officer"
Molly read the letter again, just for good measure. That turnaround seemed suspiciously quick. Perhaps Valhalla's standards were lower than she thought.
| 2016-07-22T17:14:49 | 2016-07-22T17:13:37 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write.
|
I'm gasping for breath.
This is the two-hundred seventy-third time I've had to live through someone's life. Growing up in a small town in Poland, seeing this person's love and hatred, wins and losses, and everything that made them who they were. And inevitably, like all the others, watching through their eyes as the soldiers in brown came through the city and took everyone away one by one.
Being starved. Being worked to death. Newborns and their mothers dying together. It was hell. Every single time, it was hell, and it'll be hell again next time.
I made a lot of promises in my first life; bringing Germany to the greatness it once had, fixing the economy, sending out those who would ruin our nation... and now I had to see through the eyes of everyone we'd killed.
Just like last time, we're told we're going to finally have a chance to get clean. The soldiers lead us out of the cramped housing unit to the showers, and they turn on the gas.
As fits of coughing fill the room, my vision starts to fade. I've got a lot of lives to live.
|
By the time the knife made its final plunge into my heart, I was weak from the struggle and had embraced my inevitable death. It was a traumatic experience, despite my expecting it to occur in precisely the manner I remembered it—albeit, my memory was from the other side of the stabbing. But, I did not anticipate experiencing the conflicting emotions: fear mixed with impatience; excitement underlying intense pain; and, most confusing, a feeling of arrogant superiority, while simultaneously feeling self-hatred.
The conflicting emotions were unavoidable. After all, I was still me. Deep down, I knew that I was not really this pathetic, groveling, mess of a man being stabbed in his dingy basement suite. I was really the calculating, confident, and charismatic man in control of the situation. Overpowering the lesser man. Relieving him of his miserable existence.
My (really his) heart stopped pumping, since there was little left to pump.
I, myself again, awoke in the sterile hospital bed. The restraints felt tighter than they had prior to the run. Likely, my body had struggled against the restraints while I was “under,” experiencing my third victim struggling against… me.
“How does it feel to know what you did to Kevin?” shrieked his sister, Kelly, from the observation section of the room.
The warden placed his hand on her shoulder and softly told her, “we discourage people from communicating with the inmates. It’s for your own safety.”
Kelly’s eyes remained fixed on me. She added, “… I hope you rot in hell, you sick fuck!”
“Hell,” I smirked.
Hell is an interesting topic to bring up. Several theologians postulate that hell is just reliving your worst experiences over and over for all of eternity. I suppose that was the intended effect of the new “incorporeal punishment.” I was sentenced to relive the experiences of those whom I had killed, every Friday for the rest of my life. It was intended to be my own personal hell.
Hell doesn’t frighten me. It ought not to be frightening to anyone smart enough to think it through. No matter how bad things get, people are resilient and eventually come to terms with it. My father was an ex-Olympian turned blind paraplegic, the unfortunate effect of untreated type-1 diabetes. He was suicidal for the first 16 months or so, but he eventually found new purpose in his life and refound happiness here and there before he died. So too, no matter how horrible and tortuous hell is, eventually I will get used to it. Eventually, I will come to expect the torture and it will become bearable. Maybe not for the first hundred years, but if I truly have an eternity to experience hell, then I am certain I’ll adapt and endure.
Only someone wholly inhuman would be incapable of so adapting. Even Kevin was able to accept his shitty life and find joy in it. I would have wanted to end that life, just as I indeed did. So long as it is me who is experiencing hell, and not some other conscious being, then I will do as I have always done (as all humans have done) and I will adapt to hell.
And that is why incorporeal punishment fails to be punishment at all. I know that it is me who is experiencing Kevin’s life. It is not some abstract “other”. I am not Kevin. So when I am experiencing Kevin’s experiences, I am filled with self-hatred—or, more accurately, “Kevin-hatred.” I don’t feel bad that Kevin is killed, even though I experience what he felt in death. If anything, in that moment, I am even more determined to have him die. It has provided me with new insight and new justification for my alleged misdeeds.
Another thing that the incorporeal punishers never anticipated was that it would give someone like me a lot of new knowledge. And, after all, “knowledge is power.” So, I know exactly who Kelly is and who their mother and father are. I know what Kevin truly thought about them. I know how to forever taint their loving memories. This is why the warden tries to discourage communication.
“Hell, Kelly? Hell was Kevin’s life. He loathed you so very much, even if he never told you. And for the weirdest reasons. He thought your father loved you more, because he had accidentally witnessed him in your bed, when you were both still young. What a sick and twisted mind Kevin had. He actually wished that daddy would rape him instead of you,” I laughed, "Hi dad!"
The look on Kelly and her parents’ faces was the greatest gift. I can’t wait for the next run. My fourth victim was especially pathetic.
| 2016-11-13T14:15:44 | 2016-11-13T12:24:14 | 186 | 131 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write.
|
I'm gasping for breath.
This is the two-hundred seventy-third time I've had to live through someone's life. Growing up in a small town in Poland, seeing this person's love and hatred, wins and losses, and everything that made them who they were. And inevitably, like all the others, watching through their eyes as the soldiers in brown came through the city and took everyone away one by one.
Being starved. Being worked to death. Newborns and their mothers dying together. It was hell. Every single time, it was hell, and it'll be hell again next time.
I made a lot of promises in my first life; bringing Germany to the greatness it once had, fixing the economy, sending out those who would ruin our nation... and now I had to see through the eyes of everyone we'd killed.
Just like last time, we're told we're going to finally have a chance to get clean. The soldiers lead us out of the cramped housing unit to the showers, and they turn on the gas.
As fits of coughing fill the room, my vision starts to fade. I've got a lot of lives to live.
|
Memory transference was the “new humane” form of punishment. It allowed you to force someone to experience memories, an entire lifetime, that wasn’t their own. Some professors even pushed the idea that it could lead to developing a higher level of empathy in these killers.
The man across from me wasn’t going to develop any greater sense of empathy from what he was experiencing. According to the doctors and techs he was about halfway through the experience. 15 minutes in this room staring at him as he lay on the table and he had already gone through eight lifetimes.
His entire case was controversial. About twenty years ago a streak or murders started occurring. The community was divided over the vigilante that was targeting drunk drivers. People that drank themselves silly, killed someone and yet managed to get off the hook, usually involving money. Online and in the streets the people cheered for Alcohol’s Reaper. Police had a hard time getting solid leads, some even believed that it was due to a conflict of interest.
For twenty years it continued, sometimes a few murders within a year and sometimes there would be no activity for years. He’d strike anywhere in the country. The only reason copycat murders were ruled out is because the man on the table confessed in detail to every single murder.
All I knew about the man was everything else there was to know about his life. His name was John Patch. His mother Andrea was killed by a drunk driver when he was only 18 months old, when I was seven. Afterwords his father lost his entire will to live, it was like he just wasted away.
My father had worked with John’s mother for twenty years. He was the one that hired her and together they held the longest record of work time in the history of the store. and took him in after his father passed. John was my little brother.
No one talked to me at the ceremony. All the cries of John being a justified killer went out the window in the eyes of the public when he turned himself in after killing my father. I was wearing sunglasses in the room because I didn’t want them to see my eyes anyway. I hadn’t cried yet. No, not yet. John was on victim ten now.
To think that he had been in so much pain for so long. When he confessed to his first kill at the age of fifteen and his final kill at 36. We thought that we had provided such a good life for him but it wasn’t enough. He hated the idea that he had lost his whole family due to someone’s stupidity.
When he came to us that night after we called him about my father’s brain cancer he was barely keeping it together in the hospital room. Sobbing to my father about how sorry he was that he had done such terrible things. It wasn’t something I had wanted my father to hear as he was on his deathbed. Not when he had just received news a few days before that he had two months to live.
Two months to live and then finding out that your youngest son is one of the most notorious serial killers in the country. I was so angry but before I could scream at John my father held up his hand to silence me. He took John in his arms and held him close.
We already knew what the punishment would be for John when the case came up. He said he had enough evidence, enough physical proof. It would be the fastest trial in history.
Now he was on number 14, an eighteen wheeler trucker that had mowed down a family of five. Notorious for drinking amongst his coworkers but had managed to blame the company for overworking him instead. He actually got a payout for pain and suffering numbering in the millions.
It had been my father’s idea, he didn’t want to suffer. Brain cancer terrified him, he’d seen a lot of reports but assisted suicide wasn’t allowed. Mom was already in the grave he said, and he just wanted to be with her but more than that he’d spent twenty years working retail with
John’s mother. 60 hour weeks sometimes. More time than even John’s father had spent with her.
When they announced the start of my father’s life tears came to my eyes. John would know my father better than I ever could. Still all my memories were there, we were happy and I never regretted having John as a brother.
Once it was over they had him sit up from the table. Tears were streaming down my face and I could see the tears running down his as well.
Thanks for reading, I'll be the first to admit this could use some heavy editing. Just felt like writing something quick today though.
| 2016-11-13T14:15:44 | 2016-11-13T13:07:18 | 186 | 11 |
[WP] Upon dying, you, a serial killer, are sentenced to experience the lives of all those that you killed.
Edit: Thanks, all, for chiming in and upvoting. Or downvoting, since this is apparently something of a common concept. Sorry about that. Would you believe me if I said I didn't mean to be a reposting karma whore? Either way, it inspired the responders to write. Call me a fool, but I'm happy that so many have taken the time to read and write.
|
He knew what was happening. Of course he did. It was the universe either attempting to punish him for what he did to these girls, or a just and merciful devil who fucking finally got him and was presenting the ultimate reward. He didn't know or care which, because all that mattered was that, in the end, it would end up the latter. A chance to live it all again, even after goddamn Officer Friendly put a bullet through his skull... there was no greater heaven.
Suicide by cop was turning out to be the greatest choice he had ever made.
And so, despite his revulsion for being in the spectator's chair in the mind of a little girl, he waited. Waited for the chance to see it from the other end. This girl was his first, and his favorite. He remembered it so clear: pinning her down, telling her what she did to deserve this, watching the brilliant moment when innocence died and the dawning realization that there was no escape from her own mortality...
He practically salivated thinking of it.
So, he waited. Even as she grew. Even as she met her future husband. Even as she birthed her first child. Even as she grew old. And it was only as she lay on her deathbed surrounded by friends and family that he finally broke and accepted the truth.
All in all, he had taken eight, before his own death. All eight, he would have to sit back and watch the future he had taken from each of them. He would live his worst nightmare, his true hell - he would watch them be happy.
It was a very long time before he stopped screaming.
|
Thwap. Thwap. Thwap.
Something was broken inside Rand's train car this morning. A small piece of metal had broken off near the heavy doors. Every :02 seconds it made contact, caroming off it's former home as far as the separation allowed.
Separation was something Rand knew all about. In his first life. Now. Always.
He felt the train slow down as it approached one of the several stops before New York City. This suit lived on Long Island. Within shouting distance of his high pressure Wall Street job, but just far enough from the city not to deal with the riff raff.
Rand closed is eyes as buildings flew past. 27 minutes until he'd step off the train. 42 minutes until he'd arrive at work. 43 minutes until some dickhead in a $3,000 suit screamed at him for not already having done X, Y or Z. Some bullshit Rand likely wouldn't have understood even if he bothered to care. He knew this ride well by now. He'd be living this life for almost 8 months. In a different context that might sound melodramatic, but this was not your typical day to day.
Rand had once lived a simple life. Compared to this shit anyway. Grew up in Queens. Family meant everything. Jobs got squeezed at some point so he had to pick up alternative talents. His first hit was to keep the lights on for the family. To put food on the table. That's what he told himself anyway. He had blown some of the 2 grand at the strip club, but he'd earned that part for himself. Everything else was for his Family.
Rand took a deep breath as he heard the conductor drawing nearer, clicking tickets & chattering with the passengers. He wished this jolly old fuck would be quieter this morning. He was beginning to grow tired of this vics grind. He couldn't understand it. The finance job paid a ton, but it was long hours & terrible business. The Family was constantly nagging him. Fuck. Rand had to remind himself that this poor son of a bitch probably loved the three daughters & two sons. Loved the dogs & his homely wife. The wife was hot enough naked at least. One of the few perks of this shitty vig.
Settling back into his seat after paying the morning small talk toll was a relief. He had about 15 minutes left on the ride, maybe 4 songs.. depending if Stairway came on. He had to give the poor shmuck credit for good music taste at least. Rand had always liked to listen to music after his original Family had gone to sleep. That seemed like a distant memory now. So many lives ago. So many deaths ago. First, the deaths were waves & waves of victims. Rand became the go to hit man in the Tri-State area, then the East Coast. Before long he was making international trips to kill Ambassadors & CEOs for 7 figure sums. Wife & kids thought he was consulting, that made it clean. He barely registered as the kills stacked up. Eventually he passed into the hundreds, then neared the 1000s. He had become an assassin of the highest order, rich beyond belief, but still he took clients. Looking back, this was the mistake. Should've just enjoyed his life. Fucking his wife. His kids. Found some hobby. Football. Video Games. Chess. Anything. But, no. Killing was the vice of choice, or it became it. The money was one thing, but he had money. He could admit it now, all these years later, all these lives later. He had wanted to keep killing because it felt good.
That thirst had become blurry in the recent years. He was 8 years removed from his original life. His real life. As if that mental distinction made any difference. The train descended into the tunnels before Penn Station now, just a few minutes from arrival. The car filled with black & Rand's music cut out as his phone lost service. The silence reminded him of that first time waking up in someone else's skin. It was pretty similar to just waking up, except that almost immediately he felt *different.* It wasn't clear how at first, he was somewhere knew, he felt..bigger, his face now clean shaven. A curse of some kind he guessed. Sounds stupid thinking it. What the fuck else could it be?
To wake up in a different body, a different life? It took a few days to remember. Was so disorienting off the bat, but why not. Why wouldn't the body he was in be a guy he'd shot. Why wouldn't he have to live the pain he caused. It was now an 8th different body. A new one each year. A new life taken. A new schedule to learn. A new life to try and fill a void in. What happens to those folks when he leaves he didn't want to know. He had stopped debating long ago if this was real or not real. Heaven or hell. Was he repenting or was he being punished? Was this cathartic or torture.
| 2016-11-13T14:42:36 | 2016-11-13T12:12:03 | 25 | 17 |
[WP] Thousands of years from now when humans are extinct and dolphins are the dominant species they discover a mosquito in amber with perfectly preserved human DNA. Dolphin scientists are able to recreate humans and decide to make a giant theme park where dolphins come to see real live humans.
|
A few miles down, near the Galapagos, just past one of my favorite kelp forests if you take the South Equatorial Current, is where they are building the land-sea-monkey exhibits. Air-carriers (my buddy Lorenzo is one; he's a whale) have been contracted from all around to supply the caves there with enough air - at just the right mix and pressure, which will undoubtedly take some trial and error - to make suitable habitats.
Here's where I think this could go wrong: humans left the sea once before, so who's to say they can't make it happen again.
Remember back if you lived through it, or listen to any old raconteur whale (if you have the time or patience) sing about how devastating humans to this planet, blue-parts included. If you had two feet, or access to some of our land vehicles or one of our satellites, then you would see the remains of their evil experiments gouged into the paradise they chose to take for granted. And now we're unpackaging humans, as if they're just some innocent presents lying in wait for us underneath the anubias on Poseidon day.
I would say fin, but a) this story keeps on going and B) I hate sounding cliché.
|
Keglo dashed over the reef and soared through the water towards the entrance of his favorite theme park; Meltdown Park. It was there that an entire zoo full of creatures from the meltdown period had been resurrected and displayed in artificial captivities of what was once their natural atmosphere.
'Whoa, slow down young Kegster' Gurgle, Keglo's father said as Keglo soared ahead of him.
'But dad, we have to get there before the lines get long' Keglo said as he kicked his fin as hard as he could.
A school of young, colorful tropical fish swam by and giggled. Gurgle caught the eye of a colorful, young cichlid which made his coiled rope unravel.
'Whoa dad, speaking of long lines' Keglo said in a Bart Simpson voice.
The school of fish laughed as they all had their attention drawn to Gurgle's dolphin penis.
'Why you little son of a bitch!' Gurgle shouted in anger as he swam at Keglo as fast as he could.
'Ahh! Dad I was just kidding' Keglo said as he furiously swam away from the wrath of his dad.
'When I get my fins on you, I am going to literally kill you!' Gurgle shouted as he zigged and zagged through the ocean trying to catch his son.
'Tickets here! Everyone, if you are trying to enter Meltdown Park, I'm going to need to take your tickets here' a teenage octopus said through long drags of his cigarette.
*Whoosh! Bam! Clash!* Keglo crashed through the ticket kiosk and sent the young octopus flying out of his way. The boy swam off while cursing under his breath 'I knew I should have worked at Aeropostle'. Gurgle came shooting past the broken kiosk after his son, fueled by a violent rage and a lust for his son's blood.
'Dad, stop! You're going mad' Keglo shouted back as he made his way through the maze of exhibits. Giant domes encased tribes of humans and animals that had all come from the time when the world was covered with land masses.
Keglo had an idea. He shot straight for one of the exhibits head on. His dad swam in his direct line behind him. He swam full speed straight towards the glass dome and right before he hit it, he lunged upwards dodged the glass dome. Gurgle, having been right behind Keglo, hadn't seen the dome coming and went crashing head first through the glass and into the exhibit of the humans. The open hole sent water gushing in the exhibit, the humans that were out of their homes went running away.
Outside the dome, three giant crabs came scuttling over toward the hole. They took out large strips of thick seaweed and then pasted the seaweed to the hole using their own saliva. The saliva hardened into a substance that was harder than concrete.
Keglo swam back towards the exhibit but was stopped by the crabs. 'Hey, whoa, no, no one goes past this line' the crab said as he drew a line in the ground with his claw. 'What are you, stupid? Can't you see that we just had a spill here?'
'My father's in there. I need to get to him' Keglo said as he tried to push past the crab. The crab snapped his claws in front of Keglo's face sending a hissing snap. 'Whoa, so it's your father who was the nutcase that decided to ram his mellon into our exhibit, huh?' the crab said with a sarcastic tone.
Inside the exhibit, Gurgle gasped for water. He floundered around aimlessly until he was so exhausted he could barely move. Then he noticed that his lungs weren't exploding at all. He could breath air, and not only that, his fins were starting to morph into arms. The ends of fins were turning into hands. His tail fin was splitting into two, and on the bottom of each fin was morphing feet.
'Ha ha, look at me! I'm a land creature now' Gurgle cried out to his son on the other side of the glass. 'I'm going to get all these other land creatures to revolt, and when we get out of here, I'm going to come and find you and then I'm going to force you to have anal sex with me!' Gurgle shouted as he waved his fist back and forth in the air.
Overhead a couple of mod sharks loomed and gave Gurgle a cautious eye.
'Uh, I mean... I was just kidding' Gurgle said as he looked towards the mod sharks apologetically.
| 2017-06-27T06:25:37 | 2017-06-27T04:28:32 | 63 | 13 |
[WP] In this dystopian society, citizens are only allowed to say words that are on the 'approved common words' list. All other word lists must be purchased before you are allowed to say a word from them. The rich have a distinct advantage.
|
"Care for a drink?"
He is grinning at me with a cocky smile, one hand leaning on my table, one pointing towards the bar in the back of the cafe.
I smile at him but shake my head, motioning to the engagement ring on my finger. It's a cheap one- all me and John could afford after we had splurged on the 'Marriage' package ('Marry me', 'I do')- and it's made with a plastic stone, but it should be enough to explain what I'm trying to say.
"No," I say, curtly. Exaggerating a grimace to try and convey my apologies for brusque response. It's times like this when I wish I could afford the 'Manners' Package.
"Ouch. I understand though," he laughs. "Thanks anyway."
As he saunters off, I hear him mutter: "Wouldn't want to buy a mute-y like that a drink anyway."
My blood boils and I open my mouth to curse at him- but the shocking device in my tongue stops the words in my mouth with an excruciating jolt of pain. My phone buzzes with a notification.
'You have tried to use a word you have not paid for. If you attempt to again in the next 24 hours, you will be fined. To purchase use of this word and others like it, you may want to buy the 'Swears' Package', for your convenience.'
I bite my lip and shake my head. That's three warnings already today.
As I pay for my meal with a silent smile and throw on my coat, I ring up John. I step out into the biting cold just as he answers.
"Hello John. I love you."
"Hello Suzie. You bought new words?"
"Yes. Advanced Relationship package. Dual ownership. Try!"
I hear him key the package into his phone and mutter the list of words under his breath.
"I love you," he says, giddily. "Darling, Honey and p-"
I grin. Because there was another reason I had turned down the drink.
"Pregnant," I tell him.
|
"What you have?" I said, smiling at the elderly woman tottering up to me.
"Yes, wait," she said, studying the printed menu behind me. There weren't a lot of words, but everyone understood numbers and burgers. She pointed at the Number Six. I nodded. Money changed hands. After passing the order chit to the kitchen staff, I turned to the next customer and groaned inwardly.
Bluecap—I didn't know his real name—was here again, with his friends: Pimples, Muscles and Goldie. His cronies glowered at me; Goldie smiled shyly. She wasn't exactly what most people would call attractive, but her eyes looked at me with kindness. And I loved her words.
"Hey there, how's things?" Bluecap said.
"What you have?" I said in a robotic voice.
Bluecap chuckled. "Missing a little *will*, are we?" I mouthed his usual joke along with him, but he merely smiled wider. "Oh look, he's miming us. Too bad he can't actually say it, or he'll get tossed into poor people jail."
Other customers in the restaurant were beginning to stare, and the lady I had just served was casting a scandalized look his way.
"What you have?" I said.
"I learned a new word today," Muscles said in his deep voice. "My dad bought it yesterday for our entire family. It's 'destitute'. You know what that word means?"
I know what the damned word means, ass-for-brains, I thought. My knuckles were turning white on the counter top, and it took all my restraint not to hurl myself at him.
"Oh, he knows," rat-faced Pimples said. "He just can't explain it."
"Guys, can't we just get our food?" Goldie interrupted, a faint frown lining her brow. "I'm hungry, and I don't want to be late for our cl—instructional session. We were already in trouble the last time with the professor."
Bluecap snorted. "And I told you, we should've blamed it all on this guy here." She only glared in reply. "Fine. We're all having Number Eights. Extra cheese on mine, no mayo on Clara's—" I tried not to show my surge of joy at learning her name. "—double the fries for Tom, he's loading up the carbs."
I nodded and pointed at the sum on the display, but Bluecap raised his voice and said, "Repeat the order. Don't want you to get it not correct."
I scowled and gestured even more furiously for him to pay, but I could tell he wasn't about to be swayed this time. He must have seen the manager leaving earlier, just before he'd come in.
"Don't make bother," my co-worker Billy warned them from the neighboring till.
"Shut your stupid hole," Pimples snarled.
"Instructional session starts in ten minutes!" Clara said, but they ignored her.
"You have. You go have. What me you have," I said, trying to convey my boiling rage. "Have, you go."
"You know what, I think we don't want the food anymore. I'm sure it'll come out not correct," Bluecap said, turning around. "We're leaving, guys."
A well-dressed, middle-aged man with grey in his temples glided into their path, holding out a hand to stop them. "Shit, fellas, I seen a lot of attitude in my day, but you guys may be the worst yet. 'cept you, girlie."
I gaped at him; rather, at the melodious words flowing from his lips. He'd used slang. He'd cursed!
Even Bluecap seemed a little dazed at the sort of language coming from someone in a dingy fast food diner, so much so that he allowed the man to drape an arm over his shoulders and steer him back to me.
"I'm just gonna do the honors for this poor fella here, alright?" he said, and repeated Bluecap's order flawlessly. Clara had whipped out a notepad. "No foul, eh? Heck, y'know what? I'll pay for you guys. On me."
Bluecap nodded mutely and led his gang away to an empty table.
"You have?" I asked the man, still feeling puzzled at the sudden turn of events.
He snorted and counted several bills from a plain black wallet. The identification in the sleeve, however, didn't belong to him. It belonged to—
"You go have?" I whispered, awestruck, pointing at Bluecap.
With a wink, the man extracted several plastic cards from the stolen wallet. Most of them were plain white, printed with small black words in a neat script, though a couple gleamed gold. Then he drew one more from a pocket, this one jet black with silver letters.
"Little something from me, though it means I'll have to watch my tongue from now on. Have fun," he said, backing away from the counter. "Personally, I don't keep mine on my person for this exact reason."
I looked from the cards to Bluecap, and then back at the cards. Then, filling my lungs with air, I said in the loudest bellow ever, "Get your cap-wearing arse to the counter, Ajax Perry, and let me tell you how much of a dick you've been."
***
*Thanks for reading! If you liked it, check out my [sub](http://reddit.com/r/nonsenselocker) for more of my work.*
| 2017-09-20T09:38:24 | 2017-09-20T08:43:21 | 1,501 | 802 |
[WP] The first generation of wizards inherits from their parents’ professions. For example, a child of a chef and a swimmer wields fire and water spells. You possess something interesting.
|
Looking back, I wonder if it had been my powers causing me to be such a problem child. I could never sit still. I always had to be pushing forward.
School was a nightmare because of that. They had us sitting in the same class over and over everyday, retreading the knowledge of those who came before us, but always at such a slow and boring pace. By grade 5 I had enough and took matters into my own hands. We would be given topics in class, and I would march to the library and dig deeper into everything. The next day I'd have everything I needed on the subject, correcting my teachers on all their mistakes, and covering the remainder of the lesson plan as quickly as I could.
Now that I think about it, it was probably more of a nightmare for my teachers. Imagine a 10 year old constantly interrupting class to tell you how wrong you were and proceed to demonstrate that he already knew all the material you were gonna teach, and then some. None of the other kids seemed interested back then, but I didn't care.
I was transferred into middle school a month later.
In my short years in middle and high school, I started to garner media attention. As I hit walls in what humanity already knew, I still had to push, further evolving our understanding. The fervor that drove me just kept growing as I learned more and more, but I couldn't be sated. Thankfully, my time would come.
A couple years after I hit headlines, other kids began hitting headlines too. They had all been exhibiting weird quirks that didn't quite have any explanation, and people were starting to realize it wasn't just that "my little child is so precious and special." It was a worldwide phenomenon.
We were the first. A new generation of magic. And a brand new topic for me to explore.
I began researching the phenomenon, interviewing those my age, seeing what powers they had, when they began showing. There had to be some kind of commonality between us. But despite all my theories, I couldn't find any sort of pattern. But it didn't feel random either. I just had to dig deeper.
At the age of 20, I stumbled upon a breakthrough. Half of the people I was working with just suddenly dropped out of college. It was too consistent to not be suspicious, and it was finally a pattern. Everytime I remember the stupefied month I had interviewing everyone I laugh. Such a simple answer. They all said the same thing:
"Well, my powers really help out <parent> with their work, so it just made sense to go straight into that instead of getting a degree."
We were evolving into an age of magic, and all of our powers were linked to the occupations our parents held at the time of our conception. Such an abstract idea, but lo and behold. Guess Lamarck hadn't been completely off base.
But it was clear that things were changing and fast. Children of theologists were starting to exhibit alarming powers, children of farmers were organizing themselves to basically end world hunger in a matter of months, children of doctors and nurses joined armies, and war suddenly became pointless because no one was dying.
But there were other problems too. More chaotic happenings. One boy had developed the ability to create miniature black holes, some children were effectively nuclear reactors. Things were spiraling out of control, and I had ended up at the center of it. Earth itself wouldn't last at this rate.
I knew what had to be done. We had to push forward, dig deeper, evolve.
I gathered those who had the knowledge and the powers to begin the space age. That was two years ago, and now we are ready to begin. Earth has been held together by the children of geologists and biologists, but soon we'll be able to spread out as we please.
The big irony though, is that it wasn't until last week that it occurred to me that I must also be one of the magic users. I was in the right age. I just had never noticed myself exhibiting anything magical enough for me to think that I was one of them. But it was rather simple to realize how I spearheaded this operation once I thought about it.
My mother was a geneticist.
My father was a miner, head of drilling operations.
And I'm the force that pushed humanity to dig deeper and evolve.
|
I lit my last cigarette, took a drag, then chucked both the box and lighter back over the fence. Lit now, it would stay lit as I held it under the table as a teacher passed by. They were upwind of me and couldn't smell the smoke. I gave them a forced smile as they passed the tables and disappeared back into the building. I removed my hand from under the table and took another drag before acknowledging the distraught looking girl in front of me.
She was sleight, maybe a hundred and a few pounds. She was wearing short heels but when she approached my office I thought she was about five-foot-four. Her mousy brown hair ruffled in the breeze of a rapidly approaching winter.
"Well?"
She slid me fat envelope. Why do they always use fucking envelopes it's not a goddamn drug deal. I sigh, and tuck it inside my jean jacket. Another drag.
"You read everything, right? I gave every detail like I'm supposed to."
"Sure did." Another drag. I eyed my cigarette. "He's quite the catch." I eyed her. "And so are you, so if you don't mind my asking, why employ me? Why not just walk up and say 'hi'? Guys are straight-forward. Just talk to him. Touch his arm. He'll get the hint. He's not stupid. You don't really need to part with your money. You make what, 7.50 an hour?"
"I make 8."
"So this is what, a month's pay?"
She nodded. Her hands were in her lap and she looked terrified to be sitting at this table with me. Terrified to be seen, I suppose, but no one would pass by here for the next five minutes, and I sure as hell would never divulge the name of a client.
"Look, Vannessa... You like to be called V, yeah? I have to tell you that you're going to want your money back in a month or two."
She shook her head.
"What I offer, isn't... Real, it's not organic."
"I just..." She bit her lip.
"Bitch." It came to me in a flash. "You left out that detail." I pulled up my sleeve to reveal the pentagram tattooed on my forearm, and pressed the tip of the cigarette to the center. My flesh did not burn, but she grimaced.
"My rules are very simple. Every. Single. Detail. Do you know what happens if I don't have something that important?" I removed the cigarette. "Fire and flesh, now spill."
The words tumbled out of her mouth in the mess they usually do. How it wasn't her fault, how it wasn't his fault, the cheating, the lying, the breakup. No, he wasn't some guy she had a crush on, he was her ex, and some other girl had stolen him away. After she was done, there was only a minute and a half of our time left. She sat with her hands still folded in her lap.
"Okay. I'll do it. I need the money anyway. But my powers don't work unless I know *everything*. I could find it out on my own, but that would take time." I stood up from the table and glanced around the courtyard. "I'll do it tonight. He'll call you tomorrow."
I flicked the cigarette to the ground, put it out, then walked back into the school building. Class would be going on now, but it was late, due to a random fire sprinkler malfunction.
I continued in a straight path, never asking anyone to move out of my way, my steps cutting perfectly through the crowd around me. I headed to my locker. Still had time. The ever-ticking clock in my skull informed me of that. I spun the combo, paused for exactly one second, and ducked right on schedule.
Jonathan Dima cried out in pain as his fist smashed into the vent of my locker and I spun away. "You son of a bitch," he growled as I held out my arms to either side. My face was devoid of expression. Two of his friends from the football team now stood to my right. They were all about a hundred pounds heavier than I was.
"Can't prove shit," I said.
A crowd began to gather and phones came out. I had to be in at least thirty WorldStar videos by now. Five years ago that would have been a bad thing. Now I was just another one of *them*, albeit when I showed up online it was usually pretty funny because of how my *Arcana Inheritas* manifested.
Jonathan put his fists up. "You fucked Mandi, and I'm gonna fucking destroy you!"
I sighed, the stopped. Fuck. Of all the days, that fucking asshole. The one other wizard in the entire school and he had to pick today--
Pain lanced through my jaw as Jonathan struck me with a powerful right cross and knocked me to the ground. The clock in my head continued ticking, just on a different schedule now. I could almost hear all the plates I had been spinning today crashing to the ground. I had to catch them or I would owe a lot of people a lot of money. Then I wouldn't be able to buy the sapphire dust, I wouldn't be able to buy the bone powder--specifically of a dead Pope--or anything else I needed. I brought my hands under me and forced myself up, trying to make the schedules match up, scanning the crowd for an advantage, for something to get me out of this fight and to class where I needed to be for me to run into the new kid, to make sure she ran into Rachel so that she would see that one person who was exactly her type so she would leave Greg, and he be single and open to Patricia's advances tonight at the football game because John had paid me--
Oh, look, that's a suplex. I forgot Jonathan wrestled, too.
That hurt. Holy shit. I staggered to my feet, away from Jonathan. I suppose this meant I had to use the other shit, draw more attention my way. Fuck me.
I dropped my jean jacket to the ground and brandished my tattoed arm toward Jonathan. What he didn't know is that fucking Mandi wasn't personal. I only did it because that was the only way she would have a messy breakup with him and then she would be open for Zach to make his break out of the friend-zone. Yeah, she'd ran to him afterwards, but the irony of the situation was he'd failed due to his own ineptitude.
Jonathan charged in again, fists swing. I flinched away and focused my power through my arm, down my hand, out of my fingertips. It was a really, really crude wand, but it did the job and I wasn't about to carry an actual fucking wand with me everywhere. Jonathan fell to the deck, snoring.
I picked up my jean jacket and headed off to class, annoyed I didn't have time anymore to deposit my money in my locker. For the first ten seconds of walking, people still were in my way. Then they were only a little, and as I reached the door of the science lab, I was once again gliding along on schedule. I'd always wondered how my *Arcana Inheritas* would show up. Having a dad who's an anesthesiologist and a mother who's a personal assistant to a movie director don't exactly conjure images of fireball slinging, lightning calling, hex-making wizards. But, getting paid to make everyone's schedules align at the exact moment in time they needed to so that those who knew to seek me out got what they wanted wasn't so bad. I probably wouldn't even go to college after I graduated. I knew how to use my powers well enough already.
The only seat available was next to the new girl. I sat down next to her and smiled at the curious look she gave me. "Hi," I said. "I'm James."
| 2018-04-15T14:08:59 | 2018-04-15T11:14:03 | 23 | 15 |
[WP] All your life, you've had a small empty bar on your hand that reads "XP." Today you hit and killed a man with your car, and the bar began to fill.
|
I’ve always wondered what it meant.
XP? Like the video games? It just didn’t really make sense. I’d always thought that everyone had it, and I was just another face in the crowd.
Of course, I’d only thought that until I was thirteen, when social awareness hit my little undeveloped brain. No one else had it! I was ‘weird’, and had to hide it.
I began wearing those fingerless gloves. Y’know, the typical ‘cool kid’ cover-up hand accessory that was all the rage in middle school. They’ve become part of my life by now, and I’ve never taken them off.
Life goes on.
I finished high school, hopped along to college, and graduated with a degree in Liberal Arts. Not the best, but alas, one has to gain at least a basic education in order to survive. But I digress.
I was your typical citizen with a good track record. I began to forget about the bar, and why I even donned the gloves in the first place. I just kept them on... well, because they became a part of me, and for some reason I could never let go of them.
Call me conceited.
I’ve got a decent life, a beautiful girlfriend, and an average-sized home. Couldn’t ask for more, considering the fact that I basically scraped by for the last ten years. It seems sort of surreal that after all this time, it’s actually worked out.
Until today.
I’ve still been pondering what exactly happened. Yes, yes, you could say it’s shock. Yet, I beg to differ. I’m not affected by the crash. It... wasn’t my fault. I do feel sorry for the poor guy, but if I’m being honest, this one’s on him.
The young chap, about 18, was recklessly swerving around on his speed bike. He wasn’t watching the road. I took a left turn, and...
Well, it wasn’t the prettiest sight. Still, I sure as hell have seen worse. Somehow, murders happen around me. Not targeted at me, but always somewhere near me. Death. Terror.
I don’t understand it, but I don’t question. Life goes on.
After the accident, I watched the lad get carted away in the ambulance. The cops questioned me, asking me about what happened. In that moment, I felt a tingling sensation run down the length of my arm into the back of my hand.
As they drove me to the hospital, I unstrapped my gloves for the first time in twenty years.
Or at least, I would have, except the civil servants got shot in the head. One had his eye blown out, the other, brains splattered against the windscreen.
Ah, shoot.
They’re coming for me.
Screw me and my monologues.
*****
“Get out of the car!” The lady dressed in black yells into the vehicle.
I walk out, arms outstretched towards the heavens.
The woman pulls down her hood, staring. “I knew it. I knew you were... one of us.”
I look back, eyes questioning, as they always are. “‘Liz...? What the hell are you doing-“
She lunges forward, clasping one of her delicate hands over my mouth, hissing into my ear. “You are going to keep silent until we find a proper space to explain this. Understand?” She leaps off, whispering to her lackey.
Christ, she’s beautiful.
I shake my head. “Alright, what the hell is this? I’m not going anywhere until you explain what in the everloving gods is-“
Elizabeth whips her head back at me.
I stare back, and the words escape from her mouth.
“You’re one of us. A player character, not an NPC.”
*****
Thanks so much for reading! Any advice is nice!
|
*Pt. 1 of 3*
Everything was white. The first thing I noticed when I awoke was how bright the ceiling was. Then the pain set in. Gasping in shock, I jolted up. Only, my body didn’t move because I was in a full body cast. The reflexive response only served to cause a tsunami of pain roll through my body, emanating from the lower back area. If my toes could have curled, they would have.
After the sharp pain resolved into a dull throbbing ache, I realized my head felt like a leaden anvil that had just been hammered a thousand times. Except, anvils only got hammered from one direction while my head felt like it had been abused from every conceivable angle.
“What…happened?” I thought as I blearily blinked, trying to focus as I struggled to collect the debris of my scattered mind.
With my head completely wrapped and a neck brace restricting my head movement, not that I wanted to move my head, really, I could only stare up at the excessively pale ceiling. Strangely, I couldn’t hear any sound except for a dim ringing sound.
“Ok. So. Fully body cast and garish lighting. Obviously, I'm in a hospital.” My mind slowly pieced together the available information. Yea, you couldn’t mistake the harsh overbearing odor of aggressively applied disinfectants and cleaning solution attempting to mask the underlying mixed smell of blood, urine, and feces that belied the fragility of our human bodies.
I was in a hospital with serious injuries. How did that happen when I was supposed to be at my Aunt Mave’s house to drop off some fireworks for the holiday? Only, I couldn’t remember dropping off the fireworks off. My mind slowly concluded I must have been in a car accident.
Suddenly, a muffled sound broke through my damaged ears, a steady but muted whine. Deep in my mental reconstruction, I was brought back to reality. This sound wasn’t a sound of alarm. This sound wasn’t a sound of warning. My mind struggled to complete its thoughts but suddenly an icy vise-like grip clamped upon me at the sudden realization. This sound was a sound of finality.
I wasn’t alone.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*Pt. 2 of 3*
Or I hadn’t been at least. I guess now I was alone.
In burst a rolling cart, batting aside the flimsy wooden door like a medieval ram. Flanking the cart was a squad of nurses that bustled around in a flurry of action. Straining and failing to turn my head to peer over, I could only stare at the blinding white ceiling as my handicapped ears strained to listen to the ordeal. The dull thud of chest compressions tickled my muffled ears before an ear-splitting whine charged.
Thud. Thud. Screech. Thud. Thud. Screech. The pattern went on for several minutes amidst a low babble that must have been the nurses shouting at each other before it suddenly went quiet. Deathly silent.
The silence stretched out for several minutes. Fearing I might have lost my hearing completely, I struggled to shift my position enough to see across the room, but my weakened body was betraying me. I couldn’t escape the wire contraption that held my cast body still.
Suddenly, among the angry aches that throbbed from my efforts, a blazing hot sensation burned into my hand. I let out a scream, or whatever sound my mangled throat could produce, in shock at the flaring pain when suddenly a flying punch of stimulation hit my sensory nerves. It took a moment to realize I could hear again. The next thing I realized was swath of aches that covered my body was gone along with the mental fog that clouded my mind since I had woken.
Curiously, I tested moving my fingers and then my neck. Looking across the room I realized I hadn’t been able to hear the nurses leaving.
Eager with the newfound strength and clarity my body possessed, I quickly broke free of the wires and eased off the bed, still looking like the Michelin man. Scratching at my left-hand to break the cast open, I looked to see what had caused the flare of pain that precluded the strange reinvigoration of my mummified body. Astounded, I looked down at the birthmark I had since birth, a curious rectangular shape my mother had once called a miracle, a sign I was blessed.
It looked different. I could have sworn the left side wall of the bar looked fuller than I remembered. Relieved I was whole, but still confusedly shaking my head as I took in my surroundings more fully, this time with a clear mind and full senses.
Upon seeing the white cot several meters to my right, I immediately recalled the events that had just transpired.
Apprehensively, I approached the only other bed in the room. What I saw there froze me in shock. Dread coiled in my gut until I collapsed, dry retching onto the stark white floor, grasping at the bedrail to keep me supported.
The patient was missing the entire bottom portion of his body. His mangled torso looked like it had been caved in at several points. The jaw was angled off from the rest of the man’s face.
It wasn’t the gore that devastated me. It was the terrible inescapable truth. The mangled corpse that somehow managed to survive until a couple minutes ago, was a car crashed victim.
“I killed him.” I whispered with a sick understanding. I was a killer.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
*Pt. 3 of 3*
Flashes of it came back to me. The drumming rhythm of rain, screeching breaks and a light.
An eerie crimson red light haunted my memories, refusing to let go.
Unable to bear reality, I let out a strangled cry before breaking down into tears, weeping. Warm wet tears trickled down my arms as I cradled my head and rocked. Without warning, a flash of light passed through my vision.
Abruptly I sat up. What just happened? My eyes were closed and covered by my ha-
“Target Eliminated. Congratulations, You have now earned enough experience to reach level 2. You have completed *Phase I* of *Project Tratsiya*.” a female voice interrupted my inner monologue, reverberating through my skull. I couldn’t place where the sound was coming from.
“What the fu-“
“Your health level has been replenished. Please access your H.U.D. menu to spend your additional attribute points. The Committee for State Security hereby authorizes the activation of Sleeper Agent 327’s capacity for lethal diplomacy. *Dlya Matushka Rossiya*!”
Internally, I screamed in horror as lights began to flicker in view and scrolls of foreign text entered my field of vision.
But my face only contorted into a sickening grin as I proclaimed,
“смерть американским свиньям!”
| 2018-07-02T04:29:22 | 2018-07-02T03:09:13 | 2,668 | 35 |
[WP] The world is an MMORPG, and high leveled players can hide their true level and make it a lower one. A bunch of Level 80 people bully your Level 39 persona, but you’re actually a level 325 in disguise.
|
These three level 80s were really getting on my nerves.
They had come into my shop, companions equipped with real-money skins in tow. All three barely looked at me, the humble level 39 cashier, just trying to scrape by. I was disguised well- basic clothes, no armor, just an iron dagger to deter thieves. As if perfectly synced, they shook their heads and sighed at the prices of my exotic ranked goods. One of them picked up a 10,000 GP staff; another picked up a 12,000 GP Armor Skin.
“I have a few coupons,” the staff one said, presenting paper slips labeled for a store two towns away.
“Sorry, we can’t accept those, they’re for a different store,” I replied politely.
“I saw another vendor down the road that had this skin for 9,000 GP,” said the other.
“I apologize, but as a cashier, I can’t set or change our prices.”
The third immediately walked up. “Your prices are absolutely insane- This shop is a thriving ripoff stand.”
“I’m sorry you think that, ma’am. We value all customer feedback-“
They cut me off and in unison demanded,
“I’d like to speak with your manager.”
I laughed as they stared at me, equal parts incensed and confused.
I opened my menu and unequipped my Disguise Crystal.
Their eyes widened as my draconic wings spread, finally released. As my horns finished sprouting and my level read out finally stopped moving at 325, I finally haughtily declared:
“I am the manager.”
|
With the introduction of the Oculus Rift into the gaming world, the next big thing was clear from the start: fully immersive virtual reality. With the reveal of the long waited Oculus Agent in 2062 the world of gaming changed forever. I met a beggar on Life With Dragons the other day. This is an... interesting game. I like it a lot. It lets me play all my characters at once, there are no level caps, everything is progressively generated, the world seems infinite and PVP is always on. For this reason you can play all your characters at once. Maybe your other character can pick up the heat for you. There are rumors about a vigilante flowing around, a guy who dedicated his life to this game. For him it was his world. This beggar I met gave me some solid advice.
"Hey kid, whatcha hiding there?"
If you *have* to look along the shaft of an arrow from the wrong end
"I'm just heading to the hub."
"Doesn't look like it. You have something on ya, don't cha?"
if a man has you entirely at his mercy
"I've been grinding these twenty fives for three weeks now. What can I offer to an eighty like you?
then hope like hell that man is an evil man
"Nah, mate, you're hiding something. My perception is high enough to look in your pockets. You're hiding a rare, aren't ya?"
Because the evil like power
"It's a twenty two break sword. You're eighty. What the hell are you going to do with it?"
"Maybe I just like rares... or maybe I just like hunting game, hehehe..."
power over people
"It's three weeks of work, man, come on!"
"Nah, mate. That's a nice lil' rare you got there, and I don't want it in your pockets."
and they want to see you in fear.
"Just leave me alone, go hunt some other game."
"My buddy Jake over there really likes to hunt game too. I don't think Jake wants to see you walk away with these nice arms and legs you have on you. I don't think I want to either."
They want you to *know* you're going to die.
"You're a goddamn lunatic! It's a twenty two break sword! Leave me the hell alone!"
"Hey, Michael, this kid here is being too greedy for his lil' arms and legs. I'm starting to like them arms and legs now, they'd be a fine addition to my collection, whadaya say?"
So they'll talk.
"What the hell are you talking about! You're a goddamn psycho!"
"Oh, you're just being too sensitive. We all have hobbies, don't we? Just because my hobby is collecting newbie pieces I'm a psychopath? How insensitive. I'm insulted. Hey, Michael, did you see that? This kid here insulted me! I daresay I'm heavily insulted! It's an atrocity!"
They'll gloat.
"Hey, hey, let go of me, freak! What the hell are you doing?!"
"How do you think I got to this level, huh? You think I was like you, farming on these fluffy peacocks like the peacock farmer you are? Hahaha, of course not! I was working my ass off, I was doing things you're too afraid to do, I was living the dream! I became a man! I became strong and powerful! I became the man you want to be! I became the man you dream to be!"
They'll watch you *squirm*.
"Please let go... it hurts..."
"Oh, I know it hurts, baby... I like it when it hurts..."
They'll put off the moment of murder like another man will put off a good cigar.
"Please... Please stop... Please..."
"Oh baby, you got me all worked up now... Ooooh, I love the smell of your sweat when you're like this... your eyes, your body movin', your pretty lil' eyes... Let's enjoy our moment together... intimately."
So hope like hell your captor is an evil man. A good man will kill you with hardly a word.
Shinkt.
Another one. I have no idea where these sadistic bastards are coming from, but the supply is plenty. In the last few seconds I switch to my three-twenty-five and just the dagger is enough to gut this guy like a fish. Seeing his friends' eyes turn from this... this messed up 'smile' into shock and then terror as they try to flee the scene is mesmerizing. That beggar was on spot with his advice. I'll never forget his grin and last glance at me, switching to his main for just a second.
Red Eye of Cursed Sinners. Couldn't tell the requirements - must be a four-hundrerd-plus equip at least. Couldn't see into his pockets. Strong dude. It's a tough job being a vigilante, but someone's gotta do it.
\---
Constructive criticism is quite welcome!
| 2018-07-29T12:17:42 | 2018-07-29T11:02:24 | 26 | 18 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping.
|
I look around at each of their faces. How is this happening? I see Mike pass Trae something under the desk and lean over to take a peek. Holographic Charizard. Nice. I laugh audibly, and Trae elbows me in the ribs, nodding towards Mrs. Ratcliff with a “shut up” face.
I look up at my teacher, and my eyes drift behind her to the blackboard. My gut plummets. The simple collection of white lines and curves dances in my vision, and all the wonder I felt seconds ago vanishes, replaced by more complex emotions than my eleven year old self could have comprehended. My breathing quickens and I begin to weep. Mrs. Ratcliff notices and rushes towards me.
“Roy, sweetie, what’s wrong?” I say nothing as she touches my face and forehead. “Roy?” She tries to meet my gaze, but my eyes remain locked over her shoulder, reading it again and again and trying to come to grips with it:
Monday, September 10, 2001.
I vomit.
Everything is a blur as I’m carried to the nurse’s office. I vaguely comprehend that my mom has been called and is on her way to pick me up. But all I can think about is how I could possibly get through to anyone with the power to stop it. Even if I find a way, how do I make myself credible? And afterwards, whether they stop it or not, what does the Bush administration do with the eleven year old who knew more than he should?
I don’t know how this is possible, but I know I have to try.
|
This was the last time I ever saw them -- will ever see them I suppose. I can't remember what stupid reason I had to be crying before I woke up, but now the tears are real. I didn't necessarily like all of them, but it's hard to care about petty school squabbles... Even the worst of them don't deserve what I know is coming. Even now I can make out a gentle rumbling that is getting ever louder by the second. The sound of angry shouting from the courtyard below makes its way into the classroom through an open window. On queue, the alarm begins to scream from the hallway. I become aware of the teacher standing next to me as she shouts over the alarm to get the attention of the rest of the class.
&#x200B;
"Please stay calm everyone. I wasn't told of any fire drill happening today so we should assume it is real until told otherwise. This is no reason to panic, just do the same thing we've done in every drill, double file please." Tentatively everyone gets up and heads to the door, but I remain frozen. The piercing sound of the alarm has me paralyzed in horror as I desperately try to hold on to every second and stop the inevitable. But the seconds keep passing. Time keeps rushing on. I realize the teacher is shaking my shoulder, telling me that I have to go. My mind is elsewhere and my feet decide to obey the teacher's plea's without argument.
&#x200B;
We slowly make our way down the staircase to find that the rest of the school has already been tightly packed into the courtyard. I see some students lifting their friends onto their shoulder to get a better view and see when the principle will release them back to the relative comfort of the air-conditioned classrooms. The principle doesn't seem to be paying the least bit of attention the crowd however, as he's too busy shouting at the uniformed man who's sight instantly fills me with dread to the point where I think I might throw up. My teacher turns to me, clearly doing a bad job to hiding the nervous look on her face, "Wait here." she says. "I'll go find out what is going on." and with that she disappears into the crowd.
&#x200B;
The argument is getting louder now and I see small groups of soldiers trickling into the courtyard, forming a line a few meters behind the principle and the officer. Suddenly there is a collective gasp as the principle is thrown to the ground and the officer begins to strike him with a baton. Within seconds several of the older students rush forward and step in front of the principle while another group drags him back into the crowd. As he passes by me I catch a glimpse of him as he passes by me and have to immediately turn away to stop from puking. His face is almost completely unrecognizable with all the blood now covering it. One eye is shut and leaking what seems to be a mixture of puss and blood.
&#x200B;
I turn back to see the officer ordering the soldiers back, and can almost hear a sigh of relief coming from the entire crowd. Everyone seems to think they are safe now -- can't they realize that rumbling is still getting close? Finally my voice comes back to me and I scream at the top of my voice, "RUN!" But I'm not the only one screaming. The tank is finally in view.
&#x200B;
A great panic overtakes the crowd and nearly everyone is running back towards the main building, but as I look back there is a soldier standing behind the glass entrance doors, looking smugly outward as he fits his metal baton in between the door handles, blocking anyone from getting in. People are pounding on doors, begging them to break, but I know they won't make it in time. Only a minute more and the shots start. Every single time it's the same. I've never learnt whether anyone besides me makes it out. I know theres nothing I can do to stop it, but I'm tired of running. I take one last look at the path that takes me out, then turn away and head towards the soldiers.
&#x200B;
As I push my way against the crowd, several other students catch my eye and must realize what I'm doing because they also turn back and head towards the soldiers. Within the minute I make it out of the crowd along with a dozen others who have joined me and together we face down the line of tanks that have formed up opposite us. Out of the top the center tank I see the officer that beat up the principle. He shouts an order and the line of tanks begins to accelerate forward.
&#x200B;
I look down the line of students that has formed up next to me and a few of them nod back in understanding. As one we link arms and turn to face down the advancing row of tanks. If this is to be the end of democracy, we'll go down together, in defiance, not with a backs turned trying to flee. This must the reason I kept being brought back to this moment. The officer's eyes meet mine and we hold each others gaze for a second -- then he shouts a final order and the last thing I hear is the roar of the machines guns as they let loose on the crowd.
| 2019-08-18T07:49:15 | 2019-08-18T07:28:26 | 133 | 54 |
[WP] Spirit animals are real, but extremely secretive-- they are said to only appear in the most joyous times or in the darkest of hours. Except for geese. Geese do what they like.
|
I lift my head from the bush I am resting in, and I honk. My human is currently in bed right now, and I can tell she's pissed, though I can't imagine why, it's 7:30 in the morning, if anything I let her sleep in, she should be grateful! As she groans I fly off to the nearby park, her suffering isn't my problem, even if I CAN sense it. After fighting with another spirit goose for the bread that man gives us, I waddle over to the bus stop to scream at the neighbor's cat and check in on my human. Currently, she's nursing a cup of coffee and an aspirin, I'm clearly getting sloppy, I could have sworn I hid that better. As she walks out of the house to start her day, I'm there, having drug the garden hose all over the lawn. As she draws breath to yell at me, I simply honk and run away. She knows I can fly, but seeing that she can't catch me anyways makes her angrier.
Next on my to-do list, I go visit the non-cat neighbor, walking right through her foxglove and orchids and making sure to trample them. With a glorious honk, I call her out from the house, and her spirit animal, a Great Dane, comes down from the stars with a shine in her moment of need, to save her from her greatest enemy. I puff myself up and run at him, hissing, and he runs back into the house, tail between his legs. In my unsurprising victory, I feast upon the peas and lettuce that she was growing in her garden, the woman shouting in anger and yelling at me. I don't care.
It is a beautiful day here in the village, and I am a horrible goose.
|
**HONK!!!**
"Whoa what was that?" Cathy said as her loud laughter was interrupted by an odd sound.
**HONK!!!**
"Sounds like an old car horn or something, I don't know" Tim said whilst peeking through the blinders from Cathy's room.
He scanned through what little opening the blinders offered. A car, a bike, maybe even a random ringtone of a stranger. He found nothing in particular no matter how hard he tried.
"Nada, empty. Maybe it was just in our head–"
"Shhh," Cathy put her palms onto Tim's mouth, "listen..."
The honking sound came echoing down the hallway. It seemed that whatever or whoever made the noise had made its way inside the house. The two was stunned at the lack of reaction from anyone at all at the noise. If anything, it added to the suspense even further.
Cathy looked towards Tim expectantly. She then cocked her head a bit, as if saying "get your arse out there..."
So he did. Armed with a tennis racket, a few balls in his shorts' pocket, he psyched himself up for a thief or something. He went slowly down the stairs, closely looking at the door and into the kitchen–
**HONK!!!**
Then he heard a girl's scream – it was Cathy's. A surge of adrenaline rushed through his veins. He rushed back to her room, prepared for the worst. He made his confession just a few moments ago, so he would not dare to let harm came to her. With a slam of the door he braced his right hand ready to spring the racket forward.
But then he found a white goose perched between Cathy's plump thighs. The goose made another honking noise similar to what had been scaring them. Tim was confused – should he be mad, scared, or happy – at the sight of his love nursing a fluffy fat goose in the middle of the night.
"What the hell is going on here?" Tim blurted.
"Oh, I don't know, really. This adorable goose just made its' way to the room. I think it's not a normal goose though."
"No shit. A normal goose wouldn't wander around at night and barge in to someone's house! Fuckin' hell..."
Tim collapsed on the floor of Cathy's room. The surge of adrenaline that had pushed him to his physical limits seemed to have walked out on him. He buried his face on a mountain of clothes that Cathy had left on the floor. Seeing that, the girl pushed the goose away gently and slid onto Tim's side by the floor.
"Awww, cheer up! I knew you bravely charged through the dark corridors of my house just because you wanted to protect me!"
"... I mean, yeah. You kinda gave me the look earlier."
"You're my white knight, you know that?"
"Oh please, don't do that–"
Then an unfamiliar voice interrupted the two lovebirds, "righto laddie! You're quite the gentleman, aren't ya?"
"What the fuck?"
The young couple looked on in horror. The adorable goose that had just appeared out of nowhere spoke in a thick Scottish accent. Tim had bagpipes ringing on his ears, whilst Cathy went blank for a moment.
"Listen, lad... If you wanna keep the jolly lassie happy, then I suggest you make yourself into more of a manly man, ya know? Like one of them highlanders, with their kilts, burly muscles, thick beards, slingin' around logs and all!"
The two laughed at what the goose had said. It was absurd as hell but of course it couldn't top the talking goose on Cathy's bed.
"Okay, so many questions..." Cathy said still containing her laughter.
"Well go on, then! Ask away, I won't be here forever."
"First, what– or who are you?"
"The name's MacGeese. Don't ask why, but just know that's that. Next?"
Tim raised his hand as if he was in class, "so... why came here? Also why didn't anyone notice your god-awful loud honks?"
**HONK!!!**
"That? Oh lad, that's because only you and the beautiful young lass here can listen to whatever I'm doing. In fact, I'm most likely invisible to other people."
"Fascinating," Tim was clearly amused.
"So, why did you came?" Cathy squinted her eyes at the missing answer.
"Well, that's a long story. But the short of it is... I'm your spirit animal!" the goose honk once more, this time much gentler.
"I see. So the obvious question would be, why goose? Why can't I have something like a rabbit or maybe a hamster–"
"Lass, I don't make the fuckin' rules, yeah? I simply went when I needed to. In fact, I'll swing by every now and then because I bloody damn well want to, yeah?"
"Whoa there, take it easy Mr. MacGeese–"
"Fuckin– Right, okay. Just you know, Tim, I'll be watching over her so if you make any dumb arse shite..."
Tim gave the goose a salute with his two fingers. Cathy rolled her eyes at the weird interaction between the two. Deep down she was still disappointed at the goose.
*Who on Earth wants a bloody goose?* she thought to herself.
| 2020-04-03T01:34:35 | 2020-04-02T20:26:44 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] You’re considered the stealthiest person in your spy school because no one has ever caught you during stealth class; therefore, you are chosen to carry out a very urgent and dangerous mission alone. However, the reason no one could find you during class is because you skipped every one of them.
|
“How does he do it?”
The words floated over to me in my bunk. My eyes were on a book and I hadn’t said a word in an hour.
The discussion continued. It was about me and my ability to go unnoticed. My ability to hide. My considerable talent: invisibility.
That was the assumption. Half joked, half believed.
The truth was that they weren’t very good spies. Not yet, anyway. The academy had much more to teach us. Well, them.
For example: don’t assume someone isn’t listening just because their focus isn’t on you.
Also, don’t assume some otherworldly force or ability, the world is weird enough if you know where to look.
Actually, scratch the above. I can put it simpler.
Pay attention.
That’s the real trick. That’s how I’m able to do what I do. I pay attention and all of them don’t.
I put my book down and swung my feet off the bed. Here it comes.
The lights flickered red and white and the once locked door to the dorm room opened. Surprise field test. It’d be another stealth game. They’d take us to the rifle range to get us in the wrong head-space. Last couple stealth checks had been urban. Rifle range backed up to a forest.
Hide among the twigs, kids.
The others marched and mumbled. I sat up and followed without a word. My bed still made. Boots already on. Book missing.
Pay attention, guys.
***
“Bit of late night shooting?”
“Don’t need practice. I’m a crack shot.”
“Crap shot, more like.”
Laughter, arm punches. Distraction. As we had moved towards the rifle range I had stopped to tie a lace.
No eyes were on me because the others didn’t care about my shooting skills. I was average here, so above average in general.
Had it been an obvious stealth test, they would have been all over me. But, they were in the wrong head-space.
Free of a attention, I wandered off towards the field office. There were two bodies in the building. One prepping the marker pistols, the other making coffee.
I made my way around the side and opened the electrical service box. Knocked a fuse. Darkness and cussing.
Who would I get first? The coffee maker stepped outside and made his way to the box. Found a loose fuse.
Corrected the issue and something in the kitchen popped. Pistol checker went to investigate.
I walked in. Took a marker gun,a copy of this weeks schedule and left.
***
“You know the drill. Take a marker and then you’ll be given ten minutes to disappear into the forest. Wait ten. Then last one standing wins themselves a warm meal.”
The group grumbled. Then someone said it. A gun was missing and so was he.
He’d done it again. The invisible kid.
***
I lounged in the back of a jeep, comfortable and warm. The jeep sat in the darkness of the training field garage. A gun was on my chest, a cold can of coke was in one hand, and my other held my book.
I had stashed night-vision goggles here weeks ago. Couldn’t read otherwise.
Out in the woods a bunch of young recruits would be breaking the rules: they would be working together to hunt for me.
They’d get caught and disqualified.
Something stabbed my ribs. I pulled the course schedule out of my shirt and glanced over it. Real rifle training tomorrow. I took the radio out of my boot and plugged in the earpiece I had hidden in the other.
Half the group had been spotted working together. Ahead of schedule.
I stashed what I needed to and walked without concern or hurry out of the garage.
Pay attention.
***
**Edit: Continued below**
**might do more in a bit**
**Several hours later: well, fine. I was going to forget about it, but I'll chuck some more up. Might be tomorrow, it's late here. Thanks kindly for the nice words, all.**
|
"The Hawk's on his way," I grimaced into the two-way, rearranging my smile into the most confident one I could muster. "Tell him not to worry too much."
Throwing the contraption down, I attempted to distract myself by imagining that the dull sound of the submarine's motors had some discernible rhythm. The music of the deep sea, or something of that sort. Truth be told, a cold sweat was beginning run down my forehead. I was a spy missing one of the key aspects of the craft-- the ability to properly conceal one's self. Sure, I could rely on the cloaking devices so commonly used in delicate operations, but even using such a device required a certain amount of nuance.
"The Hawk indeed," I muttered. "The Hawk with a clipped wing, that's one thing."
I always excelled in tactics at the Academy, but the stealth missions-- those were an entirely different matter. The first few times I tried my best to adapt to the notion that I was disappearing completely to the outside world, but as they moved the training environments to the towering forests that nestled Mount Daj, I would feel my chest close up, my throat tighten, eyes blurry. I sat in my room, wondering if I should just quit and go back to the city. But that was never an option-- it could *never* be an option. But I discovered something interesting a few days into the program, a system that allowed me to get through the regiment with no fears of failing, and without having to face any of those other moments of deep terror. I couldn't be a spy afraid of being alone, invisible in the primordial darkness. I was stubborn, refusing to choose any other kind of profession.
Clipping my tracker onto one of the hawks that gathered in the forest clearing, I let the animal do the work for me. I knew they would always return to the clearing at the briefest call of a mouse shrew-- to disturb a shrew nest incited these exclamations nearly every time. The hawks were unable to leave the perimeter due to the Academy barrier, so I ran no risk of being penalized for any sort of desertion. Instead, I would watch the hawk fly off at full speed, and return to the shrine that overlooked the forest, eating peaches and watching the mist gather until it was time to retrieve the large, glowing tracking contraption, one that almost weighed down the bird of choice. It was convoluted, but it worked every time. A testament to my ability to think outside the box, I would think.
But I never learned to wield the cloaking devices, never learned how to blend into the environment and silence the naturally noisy sounds our bodies make. Yet, I was never caught by any of the Trackers, and ended up, once again, at the top of the regiment's list of the stealthiest. It was a lie, but I lie I could live with. Better than having to go back to the city, filled with all that dust and miasma and the scattered fragments of broken dreams and lost opportunities.
"No hawks where we're going, Allistair," I mumbled, speaking to no one but myself. "No way out. Either you use the aspects you're good at, or stumble your way through the ones you know nothing about."
The mark was Margulis sin Hanson, an oil tycoon and inventor who had become a recluse, hiding away in the Baltic Sea after the Russian Nuclear War. His people were all big believers in an underwater utopia they dubbed Pure Atlantis-- my job not to kill him or destroy his philosophy, but rather to steal his tentatively gathered nuclear codes, hidden away in some secret nexus within his underwater palace. They asked me what I wanted to call myself, as all spies were given a codename. As I owed my graduation to the hawks, I took the animal's name, praying that nature's fortune would favor me once more.
The dull thud of steel signified the end of my solitary journey, and I shook my head, stumbling to my feet. The war drum that was my heart marched on unabated. This was it, now or never. The beginning of a journey that both thrilled and repulsed me. Here I was, a spy with no semblance of stealth or camouflage. All I could do was think outside the box like always and hope my heartbeat didn't give me away.
"The Hawk, I presume," crooned a voice as I stepped outside the docked craft. "It's good to finally meet you. I've heard a lot about the valedictorian of the Academy."
The room was a hangar, jutting spires from the ceiling. I didn't look up, they brought back memories of that forest. Intimidating and painfully existential. The man who had called my name walked towards me briskly, a polite if not diplomatic smile on his face.
I cleared my throat. "Yes, I'm the Hawk. I've read over the casefile already, no need for anything but the basic formalities."
Slightly taken aback, he chuckled. "My, I like a man who can conduct himself with such confidence. I'm Bradley Ensign, leader of the Baltic Nuclear Retrieval Department. After the war, we swore that nuclear weapons would be sent to discrete facilities and destroyed. Yet, now we've found out that Baron Margulis sin Hanson possesses not only weapons, but the codes needed access them."
"How long do I have?" I asked, looking around. Various other crafts were docked at the edge of the platform where the swirling water met the industrial strength metal. "Two days? Three days?"
"One," he responded quickly. "One day, is all. Though I've heard you're immensely cool under pressure. No fear for a spy of your calibre, right?"
A day was less time than I'd ever had to do even a reconnaissance mission. More importantly, I wondered why they'd chosen someone like me, a relative newcomer to professional spying, to do a seemingly difficult and time-sensitive mission. My excitement faded fast, replaced by the same fear I'd spent years trying to curve. It's the fear that starts in the chest, tightens the lungs, pounds the head. I was a spy with no semblance of stealth, and a great amount of fear. Not the cool valedictorian that everyone seemed to expect from me.
"Mr. Ensign, are you sure there hasn't been a mistake," I balked, keeping my face as straight as possible. "There must be one. A time sensitive mission for--"
Ensign walked over to me, grabbing me by the shoulders and putting one finger to his mouth.
"Margulis requested you specifically," he whispered. "Truth be told, we've been creating a diplomatic liaison with him for a while. But out of the blue, he requested to talk to you. You, Alistair Blunt, the Hawk of the Goranyaluna Academy. I can't tell you what he wants, but it is you he wants it from."
My thoughts raced as I attempted to gather a reason for why a supposed nuclear terrorist would want to meet with me. Least of all personally, disguised as a state-sanctioned mission. I shut my eyes for a brief moment, before answering. But at the same time, it relieved me that I didn't have to face my lack of credentials. I didn't have to introduce fear back into my heart, at least not seemingly so.
"Alright," I responded. "If it so requires, I will meet with him. When do we leave?
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/bluelizardK
| 2020-04-17T20:08:30 | 2020-04-17T20:03:13 | 1,434 | 106 |
[WP] You live in a city full of people with powers (telekinesis, electro kinesis, sensors, etc) and everyone is ranked according to how powerful they but they can kill someone of higher rank and obtain their rank. You are rank #1 but no one knows what your power is
Edit: Thank you all so much for submitting your stories. please do not stop posting and i will not stop reading. my favourites so far have been the coinflip/luck duo and the weak telekinetic that goes for the brain lol love all the spins on powers everyone has
|
He came at me like all the rest. Rage, fear, adrenaline in his eyes. Hopped up on nukonarc pills; you'd have to be to come at the king. He desired my status; coveted it. I could feel the hair on the nape of my neck rise, feel a crackling in the air. An electromancer. This would be interesting.
I raise my hands. "HALT," I command. He slows his charge, confused. "We shall battle, if you choose. But first, we shall have.... some tea." He is thoroughly baffled now, but pliant. "Yes... hrmm... okay, one cup... then YOU DIE! Ahahahahahaha!" he cackles.
*1 hour later*
We emerge from the teashop, arms locked, bursting with laughter. "Hahaha my goodness Gary! She really said that!? Hooboy. Well, we were gonna... battle or something?"
"What? Oh yes, my God I'd almost forgotten! Forget that sillyness. It's been a real pleasure meeting you Bob, I really mean that."
"Same to you Gare-bear. Still in for 18 at the links Tuesday?"
"You know it Be-Bob, see ya then!'
I smile to myself as Gary saunters away. I have emerged victorious yet again, as I shall forevermore. For who could possibly hope to defeat the power... of friendship?
|
The vast doors of my mansion opened wide, and a man in a royal gown entered the room. For a fleeting moment, I showed a slight smile, but it faded before he could see it. He, however, could not hold back his expression, full of furious rage. He had just taken a few steps in before he yelled out: "Vantalana, how can you do this to me!"
"Number Two, are you dissatisfied with me?"
"Stop f*cking with me V, you know what this has cost me."
I was glad I could contain my smile, for the bored expression I was showing antagonized him further. "So what are you going to do about it." That was when I suddenly started to pay attention to him. Anyone with any common sense could tell I was baiting him, but Henry Gothaul was too angry to notice. He was falling right into my trap.
"I challenge you," he pointed his finger glaringly at me. It took a remarkable amount of will to not snicker in return, "to a duel!" *Gotcha!* Even he noticed the smile that spread across my lips.
"Really?" I rolled my head to the side, obnoxiously, "Number 2 thinks he can beat Number 1?" His face lit up bright red with fury; Number 2 could be so childish sometimes!
"Why you scum!" He could barely keep himself from trying to kill me right then and there, but he couldn't. He left the room loudly stomping.
Are you confused? Let me explain: In this city half of the population is gifted random powers, such as telekinesis, sensors, etc, but the rest of the population who do not are called 'muggles', and serve those privileged with power. The Privileged live in a tournament. They are ranked based on their powers, and anyone can challenge a higher rank to a duel to the death to obtain their rank. I am Number One.
No one knows my power, because the duels take place in a sealed arena. Two people go in, one comes out. Those who survive the Arena say it changes for every fight, to best mediate each competitor's power. Even the sizes of the Arena change, in spite of the laws of physics, and survivors talk about 2km wide deserts, and 400m wide urban brawls. It's all rather interesting, but no one is known to have found a way to cheat this system, at least not yet.
The familiar doors of the Arena stood before me. I remember dozens of battles, in dozens of environments. I remind myself of my plan, and smile knowing that Number Two had lost the battle the moment he took my bait.
Henry stood in front of the massive gates of the Arena. He had slain many a foe inside of its walls, and thought about the glorious combat to come. His body ached in rage towards that snake of a woman! He would crush her and take his rightful place as Number One! The only reason she was Number One and he was not was an agreement they had made, that she would keep his daughter's power secret. He knew that he was lost, that he was obsessed with the Arena and that he would die in it some day, but he did not want to curse his daughter with the same fate. And yet that b*tch failed him! She convinced his daughter to fight for her, and now she would die! The doors opened, and he shouted his battlecry at the top of his lungs: "FOR LUCY!"
Inside the arena was a small town. It seemed about a kilometer on each side, with a rural town dominating the center of the field. In the very center of town was an old church, which sounded its bells. In each corner was a small patch of woods, perfect places to hide in. As the doors closed behind him, he began to teleport wildly, searching for the infernal woman. He teleported, and there- there she was! What was she doing, just standing on top of the steeple! Surely this was some sort of trick, it was in her nature to deceive. He waited for something to happen, but she did not move. To h*ll with this! If he did nothing, he would never figure out her power! He had to probe her. He teleported behind One, swung with his battlehammer, and- nothing. It passed through her body with no resistance, and she faded away. A hologram! He immediately teleported away. So that's her power- holograms! Still, it's remarkably similar to Number 4's illusions. But then again, it's not unheard of for two people to have the same power, and One seemed like she'd be much better that Four with them anyway. As he had anticipated, though, she did not have an offensive power. She may be able to deceive him, but all he had to do was make sure that none of the holograms got close, for she would have to do so to kill him! He stood up, a terrifying smile spreading across his face, ready to hunt down Number One.
Cont. in reply
| 2014-12-18T14:00:17 | 2014-12-18T13:16:53 | 451 | 47 |
[WP] Governments all over the world cease every space program. Ten years later, a rebellious group is about to launch into space and they finds out why space programs ceased.
|
"3......2.......1......we have a liftoff repeat we have a liftoff"
That's what they used to say, some guy at Houston or whatever would say it every damn launch. It always seemed a bit weird to me, not sure why, but then again the whole concept of space travel is pretty weird. Weird and cool, that's why I decided to start it again. I wasn't exactly qualified for the job of leading SR20, space rebels 2020, but if reality had been how we thought it was then everything probably would have worked. Of course that's not what happened at all, that would be nice.
So, I got together a crew of some of the brightest people I knew, we toiled for months to build a ship and plan our mission. It was difficult keeping the whole thing under wraps, but somehow we at least got that far. Then it was liftoff day. I decided to go in tradition of NASA and say the great words.
"... 2.....1....liftoff we have a liftoff "
As if that immediately meant success. I guess you could say we were successful, we found what was out there, but now I think we really should have stayed home. As soon as we left the atmosphere, we felt a feeling of pride and success.
Skip forward several months, we made it about half way to Mars. It would've been considered an amazing accomplishment even for NASA, let alone a group of rebels, to send a manned craft this far. Nobody had ever done this before. This is when things began to get weird.
We saw something weirdly familiar, and in the complete wrong place. We actually had noticed it in the months prior but ignored it knowing we would discover the explanation later. We did, but we didn't expect it to shatter everything we knew. As we moved through space, the stars seemed to move more than they should and on a seemingly flat plane. As we moved further on our journey we could see more details until it was absolutely undeniable. We were looking at pixels.
All of the sky, a bunch of pixels... A massive screen. So it became clear now we were made and monitored by something else, but why in this way?
It seemed the only solution was to break through. In case of government intervention, we equipped the ship with some weaponry which came in handy here.
The ship began to decelerate getting closer to the screen, until it was completely stopped. We fired, and a hole was created. We flew through, beyond the screen was what appeared to be a massive alien. The ship took a look back, on the screen a video game was visible.
"Human Space Program Beta .91"
I shit my pants, we're like kerbals.
|
(Part 1)
Everything had worked out so far. Six and a half years of planning, hiding, in secret, risking arrest (or worse) every time we made that long drive through the dust to town to pick up a new package or a new recruit.
At first, it was only Leanne and I - both enthusiasts, educated, but never eligible for any private or government program - her because of her eyesight and me because of my limp. A direct result of my parent's selfish and misinformed behavior (they had no regard for vaccines or modern medicine), an easily prevent infection instead nearly killed me. Ironically, it probably made me who I am today - I rebelled and studied science, astronomy, physics, went to school and got my Ph.D.
After the space programs shut down, with no warning or reasoning (most people bought that budget cuts, financial reasons were to blame), we didn't know what to think. It had always been our dream to be tourists one day, to fly above the earth, to float effortlessly, plunging towards the earth and yet pulling away at the same time. So we decided that we would take it upon ourselves.
It wasn't easy, of course, but the technology was there. 3D printing made working in private a lot easier, and what parts we did need to outsource we managed to order under the guise of other projects - greenhouses, amateur rocketry, battery research. That was how we met Philip, or Rusty as he preferred to be called. At first we were weary to trust anyone else, but over time his help became invaluable. Assembling parts, testing, and of course, the major skill we lacked - actually piloting the damn thing.
Now we were finally there, Day 0, launch day, and I was terrified. I looked over at Leanne, the reflection of my helmet (customized diving gear - tested in our make shift vacuum chamber, but now seeming about as sturdy as a fish bowl).
"Are we really doing this?" I asked out of no where, doubt suddenly filling my mind.
"We're ready, Tom," she said cooly, eyes still locked on the instrument panel. "We've been ready."
"Main engine check complete, all systems are powered and test okay." Rusty intoned, his voice unwavering. "We got this, Tom - we're going to bring this back for everyone."
I knew there was no turning back once we were underway, everything would be revealed - the launch would be plain as day to anyone with 300 miles, and would no doubt set off every government radar and seismograph on the eastern seaboard. We'd talked about it before, of course - the real reasons that all the programs had been shutdown, even the Chinese, who were in the process of racing us to Mars. But there was only one way to know for sure, only one way to find out.
"Main thruster sequence is initiated. Docking clamps released. Primary ignition sequence in 10..." Rusty rattled off the numbers matter of fact, as if he'd done it a thousand times before, and not just in simulations.
Slowly the enormous rumble rising up from beneath us penetrated the cabin, shaking everything and blurring my vision for a moment. I shook my head; this is it, I thought, everything you've been working for.
"7..."
Rusty was all business, hands on the controls, focused and steady. Leanne looked back and forth at me but kept her eyes on the gauges, reading fuel, electrical status; everything was working exactly as designed. I had the least to do, primarily being tasked with orbital calculations, trajectories, everything now entered into the computer and locked in, calculated on the fly faster than any human mind could adjust.
"4... 3... "
Suddenly everything began to shake a thousand times harder than before and I felt an enormous force pressing me into my seat.
"1.... liftoff..."
I was suddenly aware of the wide blue sky as we left the underground silo and accelerated upwards. Within seconds we were above the wide desert. Everything was a blur, but looking to the edge of the capsule I was sure I could see a cloud of dust in the distance, streaking through the desert, pale beige trucks racing through the dirt towards the launch site. My panic started to rise again - what if they sent jets, missiles, anti-ICBM laser defenses, blew us out of the sky?
Before I could panic, the desert was fading, and I could see the outline of the country, the whole continent, starting to form beneath us. My panic dropped away and was replaced by awe - the sight I never thought I would live to see. I swallowed and managed to find my voice, trying to keep it as steady as Rusty.
"This is it... " I whispered, before speaking up, "orbital trajectory looks good, we are on target to enter low earth orbit in T minus 18 minutes."
"Still a long way to go." Leanne smiled for the first time as we started to take in the reality of what was happening. The first human beings to leave the surface of the planet for almost a decade; it was no trip to Mars or even the Moon, but it was a start, and proof that it could be done, governments be damned. We settled back, the rest of the trip was essentially on auto pilot - a full orbit around the earth, for everyone to see, then a rapid reentry and a splashdown, hopefully somewhere in the southern hemisphere, where we had friends waiting to retrieve us. After that, we'd have to go into hiding, of course; the capsule would be sunk and the launch site was already in ashes below us, this was a one time trip - but maybe, just maybe, we'd pave the way for others like us, show people that--
Suddenly an alarm started to blare, a klaxon sound that I couldn't recall ever hearing before. I looked over at Leanne and then turned to Rusty, who's usual calm demeanor had changed to a mixture of confusion and - anger? I scanned across all the instruments, trying to make sense of what was happening. Everything read out okay - fuel mixture, acceleration, altitude, all systems looked green. Leanne spoke first.
"Rusty, what the hell is that thing?"
| 2014-12-28T08:45:41 | 2014-12-28T07:45:33 | 323 | 15 |
[WP] "What do you mean the robbers ADDED $4,000,000 to the vault?"
|
"Wait, what do you mean we're going to ADD $4,000,000 to the vault?"
"That was the boss's orders."
"That makes no sense. Why would someone risk jail to *lose* money?"
"Don't know, don't care. That's what he's paying us for, so I'm doing what I'm told and getting the fuck out of here. Now get to work."
"All right... all right... no need to get angry. It's just... I always knew the man was weird, but *damn*."
&nbsp;
---------------------------------------------------------------------
&nbsp;
"Boss, it's done."
"Yeah, someone out there is $4,000,000 richer than last night... for some reason."
"*Some reason*? You think I'm crazy, don't you?"
"That's not what he meant, boss, he's new, doesn't know what he's..."
"Look, it's just that... it's your money and all, but why would anyone ever break into a vault to put *more* money in it? If you don't want it, you could just give it to me - no need to break into anything."
"...why? You mean you *don't know* why I sent you there? Don't you ever read the newspapers?"
"What? I don't get it."
"You idiot! Look at this!"
"What? 'The world's largest money vault'? What does that have to do with anything? Why does it matter to you that some vault has more money than others?"
"THE NUMBER! LOOK AT THE NUMBER! HOW MUCH MONEY WAS THERE IN THE VAULT?"
"What? Let me... no... no way..."
"Now you see why I had you do it?"
"You don't mean to tell me..."
"Exactly $999,999,996,000,000. How could I-- how could *anyone* leave it like that?"
"...I don't believe it."
&nbsp;
----------------------------------------------------------------
&nbsp;
Yeah, I don't usually write anything here, but the idea popped into my head as soon as I saw the prompt, so I thought - why not?
Also decided to experiment a bit, working only on dialogue - I hope I managed to keep the characters distinct enough it won't be a problem.
|
"Well. Guess we've met the worst bank robbers in the world," Mr Charles Lang, the bank manager, said in a hoarse whisper as he stared at the money. He giggled softly.
He had flown in from Malibu when he'd heard the news - how could he not? He had done a good job keeping the staff who had realised what had happened quiet. Now only he and Nicolas, his head accountant, were here. To be safe, it was dark - almost midnight. They had to contain the secret he was drinking in with greedy eyes.
Stacks upon stacks of money. Money that hadn't been there before the five robbers had burst through the doors, balaclavas pulled over their faces, and marched into the vaults. While one had held up the staff with a machine gun, three had gone in alone with bulging bags, and come out with them empty. They had made a lot of trips before they were done.
"I don't understand," Nicolas muttered. A sentence you didn't hear him say too often. He was absent-mindedly riffling through a stack of bills. "Who were they?"
"Who cares?" Mr Lang said finally, picking up some of the money and feeling its weight. He grinned widely as he smelled the money. "Finders keepers."
Outside the bank, five people watched the building from a non-descript grey car.
"He's really in there?" a rough voice growled from the back of the car.
Three of the others glanced at one another, uneasy. There was something dark in the man's voice, some nameless thing that scared even them. Kim, the fourth member of the team, spoke up while glaring at the others.
"No-one but him and the accountant, babe. Just like you thought," she said calmly, loading her gun.
"Well, I know my brother," he said, and gave a humourless chuckle. "Time for a little family reunion, I think. He was always good at giving me the slip, little Charlie was. Not anymore, though."
Without another word, Dane Lang stepped out of the car. Kim scrambled to follow him, as did the others on the team.
The doors opened with a quiet click as Dane unlocked it with the key he'd lifted from the staff, the last time he'd been here.
"Charlie!" Dane boomed as he advanced on the bank manager, who recoiled as if slapped when he heard the name. "Damn, but it's hard to get hold of you. Had to break into your bank to get you here. Can't you just answer when I fucking call, man? Anyway. I've come to retrieve a little something I left behind. And bring a big fat something along, too. That's you, by the way. Overdue for a little chat, we are."
Kim shot Nicolas in the head in one smooth, practiced movement. Dane wrestled his brother to the ground and slapped handcuffs on his wrists.
"Mr Lang, you are under arrest!" Dane rumbled, barking a laugh at his own joke.
The others hurried to stuff the money in bags. Soon, they were leaving the building through the back door. Charles struggled in vain to free himself and screamed obscenities from behind the rag tied over his mouth.
"Shhhh," Dane whispered in Charles's ear as he stuffed him in the back of the car. He got in alongside his brother and pressed his arm against the other man's throat.
"Now, about our chat. I think it's time you told me where you stashed *our* inheritance, don't you?" he said. "And please don't tell me you spent it all. I wouldn't like hearing that. I was supposed to get the biggest part after all, before I was carted off to prison. Say, would you know anything about that, by the way?"
Dane ripped away the rag over his brother's mouth as the car sped into the night. Charles swallowed heavily as he stared into Dane's black eyes - he was supposed to be in super max. That's where the bastard had been since he was eighteen. He thought he'd made sure of that. How was any of this possible?
"No...no..." Charlie choked out, trying to draw in a ragged breath. "Not my fault."
"Somehow, I have trouble believing that." Dane's voice was calm, but he jammed his elbow into Charlie's throat. "Actually, I think you have everything to do with my arrest. I think it was pretty damn convenient how I got taken away just after mom and died. Just after I withdrew a chunk of the money they left us, too."
Charles went limp as he realised what had happened.
"$3,000,000," he groaned.
"Kept every dollar safe for this day," Dane grinned. "And my partners here contributed to the rest. Thought I'd be on the safe side luring your greedy ass back home."
"Now," he continued, jamming a gun into Charles's mouth. "You're going to tell me where the rest is. And while you're at it, maybe elaborate on how mom and dad dropped dead soon after they drew up the will. And how *I* was the one taken away for it. Find the right thing to say, please."
There was a beat of silence as the brothers glared at one another.
"How the *fuck* did you get out?" Charles snapped, then froze when he saw his Dane's eyes darken. The other people in the car fell abruptly silent.
"Oh, Charlie," Dane said, shaking his head. "That *really* wasn't the right thing to say. I think I'll take my time now, to get my answers out of you. Prison teaches a man some wonderful tricks for that type of thing."
| 2016-02-24T12:57:45 | 2016-02-24T12:16:09 | 221 | 138 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
"This..this can't be what I think it is, can it?"
Jenkins voice was breathy and a little scared through my comm. There was also a low buzzing noise, probably some kind of static. I looked down at the three bodies and the red and yellow flag on the cave floor.
"I don't know what else it could be." I responded.
The Soviet flag was small, only about a foot across and half a foot high. Payload used to be expensive, back in the bad old days, so I wasn't surprised. The bodies though...
They weren't wearing any clothing, but scraps of what looked like old suits clung to their flesh. They were not in good shape. There were massive growths over most of their skin and something else...
"They look like they are all connected to each other. Like there is some kind of, I don't know, umbilical cord connecting each one to the other." Jenkins said. "Carmichael, we have to find a way to report this."
The buzzing was a little louder now.
Our Earth-range radio had stopped working shortly after we had established the small forward base. We couldn't find anything technically wrong with the equipment, but Jenkins had managed to trace some kind of signal coming from this cave. We had come out here to investigate, not knowing what we were going to find.
The cave was shallow and we didn't see any technology.
"Can you sweep for the signal? Try to find where it's coming from? I don't see any machines. And what the hell is that noise?"
This buzzing was starting to become irritating.
Jenkins held up his small receiver and swung his arm slowly from one rocky wall to the other. Then he hesitated. I could see, even through the tinted facemask, that something was wrong.
"What?" I asked.
"Hold on. This...oh shit." He said, bringing the receiver to rest in front of the Russian cosmonauts bodies.
I swallowed. "It's coming from them, isn't it?"
I don't know what Jenkins said in response, because suddenly the buzz became much louder. It was all I could hear. I cut the speaker in my helmet. It didn't matter, I still heard it.
Suddenly, Jenkins doubled over, and a long line of the red Martian dust that covered the floor exploded upwards between the nearest cosmonaut and him. His suit split open in a line from his boot to above his knee. A pulsing tendril of flesh, exactly like the ones that connected the Russians to each other, now connected him to them.
I tried to back out, but my right foot wouldn't move. Something was connecting it to the ground. Guess what that was. The buzzing ceased to be a drone, and became the language we're using to talk to you now.
That's how we came to be where you found us. That's how the ones who come to find you will be. We were expecting more after the first three, but according to Carmichael's memories, they must have lacked the funds to follow up on their first mission. We only need a few more now for critical mass. Then, we will bring Unity to your world, as we brought it to this one.
Stop struggling. It will soon cease to hurt. Pain is a burden we will reject together. Until then, we will all be quiet, and wait.
|
"Neil Armstrong once said 'That's one small step for a man, one giant leap for mankind.' I'm not one to argue with him. However, if landing on the moon was a leap, my stepping here on Mars would be like a plane ride."
Mayers laughed. "Don't knock on what Neil Armstrong did. It was important, and is what brought us here."
"I'm not knocking on what he did, just making an observation. We probably should check in with Houston."
"Yeah, we probably should."
"Houston, we have touched down. Mars is something completely different. Amazing. Beautiful I'd even wager. Over."
"That's great news Murray. We're glad to hear you landed safe. What do you see? Over."
"The red sea." I broke out into a laugh at my poor attempt at a joke. When I finally stopped laughing, I was able to choke out "Over."
"I think your laugh at that shitty joke was much better. Any signs of life? Over."
"Not yet. We still have to explore some though. According to HAL, we should be able to explore for about 3 hours before we need to return to the ship, over."
"Keep us updated. Out."
I looked around and all I could see was red. Everywhere. I look at Mayers, "Which way?"
"Forward."
"Let's begin."
We walk forward. The new suits NASA designed for us make it seem like we are still walking on Earth. It's an amazing advancement, and makes this exploration so much better. "Wait, there's something we need to do."
"What?"
I head back to the ship and grab the American flag. "We can't forget this baby." I stab it down into the ground. "'Murica."
I catch up to where Mayers is standing and we continue on. "I think it would make sense to get on top of one of those hills. We will be able to see more."
"Sounds good."
We slightly change course to a nearby hill. The hike up it didn't provide much trouble, but I still needed to catch my breath a little bit after it. We look around and see something in the distance. "What the hell is that? It's definitely not a hill."
"I'm not quite sure. Radio it in."
"Erm... Houston, we see something. It's relatively skinny, definitely not a hill and from the distance looks like it isn't natural. What should we do, over?"
"Wait for instructions, Murray. We'll be back in a moment, over."
Mayers and myself sit down on the hill staring at it. It's just a black shade in the distance. "HAL, how much more time do we have?"
"1 hour 13 minutes 22 seconds remaining."
"Thanks HAL."
Mayers and I look at each other. "Think we can make it today?"
"If Houston gets back to us."
We sit for a few more minutes and then hear some static. "Murray, Mayers, this is James with Houston. We would like you to approach the object. Be careful, and be ready to hightail it out of there. Out."
Mayers and I stand up, and begin the journey to the object. As we get closer, we both stop in amazement. "Houston, there is a problem. Over."
"Yes? Over."
"It seems like someone beat us here. It's a Soviet flag, over."
"I'm sorry, can you repeat that, over?"
"It's an old Soviet flag here. Over."
"Return to the ship, and we'll give more instructions soon. Out."
I look at Mayers, "Head back now, or explore around here a little bit."
"Let's explore a bit."
We walk around the flag looking for any other signs of their time here. Suddenly, my foot hits something and I fall over to the ground. After I regain my composure, I turn around to see what I tripped over.
"Uhh... Mayers, get over here."
In a few minutes, Mayers is at my side and we both stare down in amazement. The body of an old Soviet astronaut lies in front of us. I bend down and wipe the dust off of the glass cover, but then I recoil in horror.
"What the fuck is wrong with him!?"
Mayers bends down and examines him closer.
"Houston, come in now, over."
"What is the issue, Mayers? Over."
"We decided to explore the area a bit more. We found something else. Over."
"What is it, over."
"It's the body of one of the Soviet astronauts. Somethings terribly wrong with him. His eyes are black as the night, and it looks like all of his veins turned black as well. Over."
"Get out of there, guys. Now. Over."
"You don't have to tell us twice, out."
Mayers and I start heading back to the ship.
"Help..." we hear meekly.
We both stop dead in our tracks, and whirl around. "What the fuck?!"
The astronaut has sat up and is staring right at us. "Help..." he says again.
"How the fuck?" I say in shock, "It's time to leave." I turn around but I see Mayers hasn't yet. "Mayers! Let's move. This isn't right. He shouldn't be alive. He can't be."
Mayers turns to look at me and the first thing I notice is his eyes. They're black. I look over at the old Soviet astronaut and he is back on the ground, dead. Oh fuck no. I start to back up slowly.
"Mayers... what's wrong."
"Nothing, Murray. Why would you think something is wrong."
"Erm... your eyes aren't exactly.. normal."
Mayers starts walking a bit faster towards me. "Nothings wrong with my eyes. I see just fine."
I hightail it back to the ship, or I try to. Before I know it, Mayers has thrown me to the ground. "Where are you going, Murray."
"I need to get back to the ship. Inform Houston of what we've found."
"That's okay, I'll do it."
Suddenly, I see Mayers fist coming down at me, but I can't cover my mask before it hits it. The glass helmet shatters, and instantly I can't breath. "Mayers... why..." I choke out.
"Houston, we have a problem. We need an evac immediately. Murray's helmet has shattered. We're heading back to the ship. Over."
"Evac is on it's way. Out."
Mayers bends down to me, but I barely recognize it's him because everything is getting so dark. I see him grinning wide, and then barely hear "Thanks."
----------------------------------------------------------
Thanks to /u/The_White_Light for explaining they don't actually say "Over and Out," just "Out."
| 2016-08-16T09:32:53 | 2016-08-16T08:15:09 | 312 | 147 |
[WP] You've finally managed to discover the secret to immortality. Suddenly, Death appears before you, hands you a business card, and says, "When you realize living forever sucks, call this number, I've got a job offer for you."
|
Who knew heaven had a business card? Or maybe it was hell... either way I wasn't about to call it. Before inventing the serum that gave me immortality I was a man of science, however the last 1,000 years or so taught me nothing is impossible. Despite seeming uninterested when we met, I was actually already quite done with being alive. Watching 2 wives and 6 kids all die not knowing why you had to disappear after about 10 years of being a loving father (to hide my inability to age) had broken me inside irreparably. After mulling it over for a few days, I called the number.
"Hello?" A small voice asked. Oh my god, oh my god that's my daughters voice... Amy, my first daughter, I knew her voice immediately and tears came to my eyes.
"Amy? It's daddy. Where are you?" I asked
"I'm staying at gods house now with mommy and Marcus. Uh oh, I think god wants the phone. I love you!" I was shaking, and also a little concerned because my first wife was pretty fiery and probably never got over my leaving. Surprisingly, a mans voice answered instead.
"Thomas. Nice to hear from you. I believe one of my angels gave you my number? Black cloak? Kind of creepy looking. Anyways, I'm god and I need your help. I've been trying to figure out how the hell you managed to escape death. It just doesn't make sense to me. I'm sure we both know how serious it would be if humans discovered how to live forever. I'd like you to tell me your secret, and in return I'll allow you and your family to stay in my house for all eternity."
"I'm so grateful for that offer but... I don't know, you had a grim reaper give me your number and if there's a heaven there's probably a hell. Could you write out a contract saying I can live with you in exchange for my secret to immortality?"
God laughed and agreed, told me to go to sleep tonight and when I woke up I would be in his house. He explained I wouldn't technically have died, but I couldn't return to the living except as an angel of miracles or death. I laid on my bed and closed my eyes, immediately I was standing in a huge White House where the air was like a spring breeze and the whole world was bright and warm. I hadn't seen this kind of beauty in a long time. God appeared, handsome and huge as you would imagine and presented me a contract. I read it carefully and signed my name. God looked at me patiently, expecting me to start talking him through the loophole I must have found in mortality. Instead I shed my skin. It's peeled and burned off my body as I, lucifer, finally returned to heaven. Only this time it was on my terms and I was here to stay.
|
"I imagine you didn't expect me to call so early", said David to the cloaked figure in front of him.
"***On the contrary.***" the figure responded, waving his hand towards the body in-between the two, lying in a hospital bed. "***This is usually as good a motivator as any.***"
"Heh, yeah... You, erm, you mind if we let them disconnect the... whatever that thing's called?"
"***The Dialysis Machine?***"
"How do you know that?"
The figure shrugged. "***Given my work, I spend a lot of time in places like these. You can't help but overhear common parlance.***"
"Right... Still, the... the tone's sort of distracting. Among other things."
"***I can imagine. Shall we walk?***" He was already heading towards the door, as if anticipating the answer he would prefer, and giving the more living looking of the two no choice but to follow despite their misgivings.
"Er... You're kind of, you know. Very... thin, and-"
"***I have that issue accounted for.***" He stated simply, nodding very gently towards the doctors and patients surrounding them both, who seemed to not pay the skeletal figure a single mind. "***All a part of the job.***"
"Right, that's, erm... That's why I called, I guess." David cleared his throat, waiting for a gap in the crowd before daring to even whisper his next line. "Immortality kinda sucks. Watching your... You know, your..."
"***Mmm.***" The figure nodded in understanding, the kind of understanding birthed from battling a hundred-odd hardships of your own. "***You needn't explain yourself. What matters is that you are willing to hear me out.***"
"So... I'm guessing the job offer is replacing you? Letting you die and stuff?"
"***Not as such. A fair amount of what you think to know of us may have been a... Misinterpretation. Death - as a word - is the very top of the list of incorrect assumptions.***"
"Er... Meaning?"
"***Mortals - and of course, recently created immortals such as yourself -***"
"I wouldn't call 40 or so years recent." David interrupted.
"***It is in terms of immortals.***" the figure responded, plainly, almost wearily, as if it was far from the first time the explanation crossed his lips - or lack thereof. "***Either way. You're under the distinct impression Death is a proper noun, correct? A single individual.***"
"Yeah. You know, Death, the destroyer of worlds. As in, you."
"***Well, as I said previously, that is incorrect. Death is less a single individual, and more a job description. Or, to put it more plainly-***"
"There's more then one Death?" David suggested.
"***Indeed. As mortal creatures, human or otherwise, have increased in number, we have required more and more individuals to bring them to the afterlife. We have powers, of course, but we are not omnipresent.***"
"Why not?"
"***The ones more powerful then us have an arrangement that forbids it.***"
"So in other words, God'd get pissed if you stole his shtick."
"***That is another way of putting it, yes.***" The figure responded, with an attempt at a gentle chuckle, which created a sound like a chilling wind running through a tree's branches.
"So, er, before I sign up properly, is the whole skeleton thing a necessity?"
"***Technically, no. You'll find a great deal of Deaths tend to choose this form, however. Some for comfort in a physical sense, some for comfort in a mental sense.***"
"What's your excuse?"
"***To be frank, I grew tired of people questioning why I wasn't skeletal, so I decided it best simply to conform to stereotypes.***"
"Makes sense. So what's the job description? Is that another misconception, or is it pretty much as we think of it?" David questioned, as they continued their trek down the streets.
"***A mixture. What you know of us guiding souls to the afterlife is true, but it is only part of the job.***"
"What else could there be? Paperwork?"
"***Yes, actually. That, I must admit, is the part of the job that very few Deaths find to be to their liking. Myself included. Still, it is necessary to fill in after every collection, as well as there being extra paperwork for the ironic death department.***"
"Rewind, ironic death department?"
"***Please tell me you didn't truly believe that incidents of pure irony were not occasionally created by a higher power?***" The figure scoffed, as if such an idea was akin to believing the sky was green. "***It is a rare thing, but some Deaths find it to be an absolute joy. To be frank, you may not see a job such as that for many years. I suggest you put it out of your mind, lest you become jealous of those who claim the job before you can.***"
"Right... Anything else?"
"***There is more, yes.***" The figure stopped his movements, allowing David to notice they were now in an almost abandoned alleyway, bar one homeless individual, who seemed to be barely breathing as she slept. "***But we can discuss that once we return to our home base, so to speak.***"
"Are we going to do that now? In - In front of her?"
"***Yes. It shall be no matter, as she will be coming with us.***"
"... You mean...?"
"***I do. I imagine you think of it as unfair.***"
"Well not unfair, just... kind of sad, really. This is how she goes out?"
"***You'll learn to ignore those feelings in time.***"
"Somehow I doubt that."
"***The only other path is insanity, David. Take it from myself, and from others who have come to the same crossroads. Either you consume the feelings, or the feelings consume you.***"
"... I guess you might have a point." He responded, after a pregnant pause. "Right. Ready to go then."
"***Good.***"
And with that, the female - who had since slid to the ground in her rest, her breathing shifting the puddle of rainwater her face was now buried in - the male, and the skeleton were all enveloped by a somewhat disquieting black fog, which slowly enveloped them, dragging them away to the depths.
| 2017-03-07T03:41:55 | 2017-03-07T03:24:28 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
First word PHYSIO was fairly easy to see. Perhaps a Greek name he wondered as the word THE appeared below it.
"Oh wow" he thought, its going to be a superhero like 'Conan the destroyer'.
"Please be magician.... please be Physio the magician" he said under his breath, as the last word appeared. 'RAPIST'.
"Rapist..... rapist" he said in bewilderment. "Physio the rapist".
"It says physiotherapist you moron" came a voice behind him.
|
Everyone was super excited for me as the clock quickly approached noon, in mere moments I would reach the age of 18 and I would learn what my purpose was in life. My mother scurried around the living room offering our friends and family refreshments why they waited. She took this small task with pride for it was in her nature, she was labeled with “Server” when she was my age and as a result she had great pride in helping others and serving people no matter the task. I watched this wonderfully strong women bow before others every day simply to appease them and to live up to her “purpose”. So many horrible things had happened to this wonderful woman through her life simply because she was labeled a “Server” and no one could see her as anything else except for a slave. She was constantly taken advantage of and in all my life I had never heard her deny a request or refuse help to someone.
I shook my head and glanced up at the clock, 11:59am the clock stated. Soon it would be decided, my only hope is that I would not suffer the same fate as my mother. The room grew silent and an eerie count down was chanted, 10, 9, 8, 7, 6… my heart beat quickened and my breathing started to become erratic, 5 more seconds before my life was decided. 4, 3, 2 …… 1. The room which was once bustling with light chatter and laughter had suddenly stopped; all eyes were on my hand. Slowly a shape began to form on my hand and it didn’t make any sense what appeared before me. There was no word on my hand but instead a symbol. I had seen a similar symbol before once in a history book but I couldn’t remember where. The room suddenly exploded in screams and shouts. Never had anyone ever had a symbol on their hand it had always been a word of some sort. I looked over at my mother for reassurance but all I was met with was an empty terrified look. Her eyes pierced my very soul and they spoke clearly “Monster.” I looked around the room and everyone now had the same expression on their faces, they viewed me as a freak and monster something that should have no business living in this world. It’s too much I thought and collapse to ground, kneeling before the fireplace. My mind was aflutter, maybe it was a mistake, maybe this was simply a nightmare and I would wake up. I pinched my hand but I did not wake up. I started pinching myself over and over again trying the escape the hell that I was now in. I turned to everyone with tears streaming down my face and I screamed, “What’s happened to me?!” I was only met with uneasy looks and cold shoulders; I was an outcast to my own family. I looked to my mother, the women who had raised me on her own my entire life; the women who was always there for me no matter what. “Mom please help me!” I wailed. Her eyes turned from mine and she started to slowly walk away. “I’m sorry but I can no longer help you in any way. My service to you is done.” She said. My world shattered in that moment. I looked down at my hand and even though my world was now destroyed and everything had turned its back on me I started to feel a calming sensation come over me. I started at my hand and suddenly a second symbol appeared on top of the first. The room erupted in screams of terror and fear, people shouting that I was a freak and a demon and yet I was at peace. The more I stared at the symbols the more at peace I felt and then as if I light switch had been turned on their meanings came to me. I wiped my nose on my sleeve and I turned to the mob that was once my friends and family. I raised my hand above my head, tears still streaming down my face and with a booming voice I shouted, "BEHOLD! The Crook and Flail! The symbols of the pharaoh, you will prepare for your new King!” ….
| 2017-03-16T03:20:58 | 2017-03-15T22:13:42 | 427 | 80 |
[WP] On everyone's 18th birthday at noon, one word appears in their skin, depicting their career or purpose in life. On your birthday you're staring at a clock showing 11:59am, family and friends gathered around for your reveal.
Path 1: Noon strikes, and you stare at your forearm intently. 12:01, still nothing appears.
Path 2: one word fades in slowly, followed by a second...
|
It was 11:56am, on the 6th of November, 2018. The family had gathered around, Uncle Leon and his boyfriend David, my Mum and most importantly; my sister.
My Uncle had been given ***COLLECTOR*** and spent the majority of his life as a Tax Collector, in and out of offices and working with Trackers for the New Earth Government. My Grandfather was given ***SOLDIER*** and he fought during the Vietnam War and served his entire career in the Army while my mother was given ***INSPIRE***, through the hardships she experienced in life she would one day go on to become a world-renown philanthropist and built a successful business to help others in need.
11:57...
"I can't wait to see what you'll get! I hope it'll be Hero or Protector, imagine that, having a big brother as a hero!" Exclaimed my sister,
I chuckled, "Don't get too ahead of yourself."
11:58...
I looked up to see people I'd known and loved during my 18-year tenure on this world and I was only two minutes from discovering my future.
11:59...
My Uncle came over and shook my hand, "Whatever happens mate, we'll love you no matter what."
I smiled in return and closed my eyes, ready for the big moment.
12:00...
I gritted my teeth, feeling the burning sensation as the word was etched into my arm. I opened my eyes to see my family, standing there, terrified. I slowly tilted my head downwards and saw five letters sitting there;
***DEATH***
My mum broke down, years of working hard to give us, her kids a better life gone to waste. My Uncle started to walk over as I felt yet another sensation in my arm...
"Oh my God... Look!"
Afraid to see what awaited me, I looked down at my arm once more and what I saw... I will never forget.
***DEATH, DESTROYER OF WORLDS***
EDIT: This is my first WP so go nice please :)
|
A low rumble, cut short, indicated that my brother had arrived. Wesson got TAXI on his 18th - large and bold across his shoulders - not glamourous, but they never were. The words seemed to be the subtle nudges of fate, but even destiny is open to interpretation. He could have become a taxi driver, like so many others, but he'd always wanted to build something of his own. And four years later, he managed the city's transportation network.
I heard the sound of a distinctly expensive car door slamming, and a few moments later he entered the room. He found a seat next to my parents, and I gave him a nervous smile. There wasn't much space anymore. Grandparents, cousins, neighbours, friends all sat or stood in the living room, a huge, ogling circle surrounding me, shirtless on an ottoman. No one knew where the word would appear, and fear sent my eyes darting over to Hector Aston, the cousin nearest my age. His was an awkward birthday. He had expected it on his arm, but after shirt and shorts lay sadly on the floor, he had had to excuse himself to the bathroom and borrow his sister's make-up mirror to find the word AIRFORCE curling delicately around his balls.
As the time grew nearer, the crowd started leaning in, each trying to be the first to spot the word - to be the first to shout out my destiny. Gracie shuffled around me, trying to catch every possible angle. My mother tried to pull her back, but she just shuffled around to a different side. I closed my eyes, self-consciously.
Erman, Gracie's accomplice, spotted it first - somewhere on the right of my lower back.
"Me..." he read. I felt a slight prickling as the letters made themselves known. "...th. Meth..."
Meth? My grandfather was a chemist ("CHEMISTRY") and my father followed him in the field ("FORMULAE"), but then again Wesson had told me the unfortunate story of a kid from his high school ("HEROIN"). DEA wouldn't leave him alone after that.
My skin was prickling all over now, not just on my back. Erman was still reading out the rapidly appearing letters, with Gracie helping him where he stumbled.
"Methionyl..." she said. "What's that mean?"
My father was frowning in confusion. My mind raced through my old chemistry notes. Methionyl was a methionine radical. What the hell was that pointing me at? Biology? A lifetime of protein studies? Methionyl aminopeptidase, maybe? But that was two words, and there were never two words...
My skin was itching furiously, and my father's frown merged with a squint. Hector saw it too.
"gluta... glutamylthreo..." he read, from a new word sprawling out across my left shoulder.
Two words? I started scanning my body, apprehension and embarrassment making way for frantic worry. My stomach blossomed into the letters "LEUCYLASPAR". Further down, poking out from the top of my jeans, "AGINYLARGINYL". I scrambled out of my pants, shame entirely forgotten - but even bare, my legs were covered. LALANYLALANYL, RAGINYLISO, GLUTAMYLVAL, and a hundred - a thousand - other letters were exploding all over me. More words than I could count, if you could even describe them as words - more correctly, they were meaningless nonsense, unconnected gibberish.
As I watched, some of the words ran into each other and connected, forming long loops of text that spun around my body in mad swirls. My grandfather had a faint smile, no one was reading anything anymore. Erman had put a chubby finger on the start - METHYL - and Gracie had started circling me, drawing her own finger across my skin as the infinite madness expanded and joined with more of the same flowing the other way.
By the time my skin stop itching - by the time Gracie had stopped circling my body from dizziness, and each letter had joined with another to form a single line of insanity - a full quarter of an hour had passed. No one said anything. What was there to say? It wasn't a shocking or embarrassing revelation, like "MURDERER" or "PORN". It was just ... mad. Crazy. Confusing? There was freedom to interpret even the vaguest of words, but this wasn't even that - this was evidently a very, very specific word. Exceedingly specific. And what the fuck was I supposed to think about that?
I still don't know how to answer that, to be honest. Maybe I don't need to. Maybe it's all a joke, played on us by some deranged god with a dictionary. It must be, because I cannot for the life of me work out what I am supposed to with a full 189,819 letters (Gracie counted them, over the course of a few weeks) - forming the technical term for the protein Titin - printed in an inhuman circuit around my body.
My brother is a transport mogul, because his word was "TAXI".
And I am an atheist, because mine says "[METHIONYLTHREONYLTHREONYLGLUTAMINYLALANYL...ISOLEUCINE](https://web.archive.org/web/20100114221953/http://www.sarahmcculloch.com/luminaryuprise/longest-word.html)".
| 2017-03-16T02:18:58 | 2017-03-15T23:14:08 | 212 | 98 |
[WP] Following World War III, all the nations of the world agree to 50 years of strict isolation from one another in order to prevent additional conflicts. 50 years later, the United States comes out of exile, only to learn that no one else went into isolation.
People!
A few things:
1. Found the prompt on Pinterest, thought it was interesting (not necessarily realistic), and decided to post it, fully expecting it to go unnoticed. Surprise!
2. I am not in any way trying to take credit for coming up with the idea.
3. Turns out this is a repost. 🤷 Who knew?! /u/WinsomeJesse did because they posted it last time. Not trying to steal anyone's thunder. If you're super perturbed about it, go show them some love.
4. Have a good day y'all; be kind, make good decisions, and don't hold in your farts. 😉✌️
|
They said they wanted peace. They said they wanted to avoid a future where humanity wiped itself out. They said a lot of things. And then they said no more.
For fifty years we waited. We followed the treaty down to the letter, even refusing to contact our northern and southern neighbors. For fifty years we waited, as they spat on their supposed good intentions. We waited as peace broke down. We waited as war broke out.
There's a slight poetic justice to learning that the ones who were afraid of us, the ones responsible for this self imposed exile, died in a hellfire of their own making. They thought that we were the biggest threat. They thought we were the cancer spreading throughout the world, destroying everything it touched.
They were wrong.
We were simply a deterrent. A force of nature that none dared to cross. And with us out of the way, with nothing to be afraid of, the world tore itself apart.
We came out of our exile prepared to fight. We expected an army of nations, prepared to end us, once and for all. But what we found instead was the very world itself, wrapped up in a wintery bow, waiting for us to take it.
|
It began with a first strike nuclear attack on North Korea and their immediately retaliation. Guam and Hawaii were obliterated but Alaska was spared as the missile sent towards it simply failed and dropped into the North Pacific. Fortunately, for the United States at least, none of North Korea’s missiles had the range to reach the continent. This initial exchange set in place the chain of events that we’ve come to know as World War III as existing alliances and allegiances were brought to play and sides were chosen. Fortunately, the this was the only time nuclear weapons were used in the conflict. President Trump would later say that the initial strike had been an accident and that the war that followed wasn’t his fault. Any statements to the contrary were simply “Fake News!”
“The Great Accord” as it became known was settled that fall in Ottawa. Each country would agree to maintaining isolation for a period of fifty years. The citizens of each country would be required to stay within the current physical boundaries of their countries. Internet service would be firewalled and contained within those same geographical regions. Agreement was nearly unanimous although there were a number of concessions made before the accord was signed by all nations. The strictest concessions came from America itself which demanded that an agreement alone was not sufficient to enforce this. Physical deterrence was required as well. They insisted that the borders be enforced through impenetrable walls, automated weapons systems, and EMF jammers.
As the Greatest Country On Earth®, America demanded that they be the first to have these measures put into place. The walls were the most complicated and astounding pieces of engineering ever created. They were over 50 feet tall, 10 feet wide and covered the Northern and Southern borders from sea to sea. Built to withstand natural and manmade disasters for at least a century they were practically indestructible. Ocean platforms with the same weapons and jamming systems were placed out to the edge of international waters, a wall being completely impractical in that environment. When they were finally completed on August 23, 2025 America was separated from the rest of the world in every practical way.
Enforcement of “The Great Accord” was an international effort and the building of these walls took up a significant portion of the funding the member countries had allotted for that purpose. By the time the job was completed the member countries began to question if these walls were even necessary. After all, how would America know that they hadn’t gone through with it? Besides, they were the only ones to really wanted these walls in the first place. It was this line of questioning that led to a revised version of “The Great Accord” stripping out the walls and relaxing a great many of the restrictions that had been put initially into place. Within a decade “The Great Accord” had been abolished completely and normal trade and relations resumed. Only America remained isolated, hidden behind its massive walls.
The world slowly returned to normalcy, as the balance of power shifted to account for a world without America. In its absence, China took its place as the economic, military, and social power. Mandarin became the new language of international trade, business, and science. The shift to Easternization came slowly but certainly as eastern culture and ideas predominated along with the language. Like most change, this was met with resistance. This resistance turned into strife and in time war. China and the European Union clashed in a war that made the last seem like a child’s game. When the dust had settled only China and Russia remained with control all of the countries of the world split between them. Only America remained isolated, hidden behind its massive walls.
When August 23rd 2075 arrived, the world had all but forgotten that America even existed. The walls had just been such a normal part of life that Канада and 墨西哥 just took them for granted. At exactly 11:13AM MDT the massive metal gates located on the northern end of the Bridge of the Americas creaked open. Just inside the gates a lone figure sits on a lawn chair with a beach umbrella protecting him from the midday sun. A podium sits a dozen feet in front of him. He sips from a glass of cold lemonade as he waits for the inevitable media flurry. He doesn’t need to wait long as police and reporters throughout town rush to the gate.“声明!!!” they cry out as the figure waits until a sizable crowd has gathered. He steps up to a podium and begins to speak.
“I apologize but I don’t speak Mexican. Anyways, I may not be president anymore but I’m still Trump. And I’ve got something I need to get off my chest.” He stops to look over the audience and make eye contact with the camera with the best angle. “I told you, you’d pay for it.”
| 2022-09-12T17:39:07 | 2018-01-18T02:43:58 | 579 | 19 |
[WP] No matter where you are, what you're dressed like, or what mood you're in, people always just assume you work there. Even the employees are fooled, and it always takes a long time to convince them you're not their boss. You've had enough. Today is the day you test how far this goes.
|
“Mr.President... Mr.President!?”
“Oh yeah forgot that was me”
“We’ve received word of a large unidentified object hovering over the pentagon.”
“The pentagon... the pentagon... oh yeah that big stop sign shaped building where they keep aliens and shit.”
“Not exactly Mr.President but besides that we need to decide weather or not to take militaristic action against the object.”
“Drive me there.”
“Mr.President you don’t understand it’s simply too dan...”
“Being President is boring, even the risk of death sounds tempting if it will kill boredom.”
“As you wish.”
After arriving at the pentagon a large beam of light breaks through the clouds revealing a large metallic UFO like disc hovering above the pentagon, in a booming yet monotone voice the words
“TREMBLE BEFORE US INFERIOR BEINGS AS WE... HOLD ON MR.EMPEROR HOW DID YOU GET TO EARTH BEFORE US?”
“Mr.President do you know these creatures.”
“Uh... yeah... I mean... YES IT IS l YOUR RULER, I COMMAND THEE TO RETURN TO... what’s the name off our planet again?”
“ZYROCTH YOU MAJESTY.”
“as I was saying, I COMAND THEE TO RETURN TO ZYROCTH!”
“BUT YOUR MAJESTY OT WOULD BE SO SIMPLE TO CONQUER THESE INFERIOR BEINGS!”
“WHO ARE YOU TO QUESTION YOUR EMPEROR!”
“WELL AS GENERAL OF...”
“SILENCE I AM YOUR EMPEROR AND I COMMAND THEE TO LEAVE AT ONCE!”
“OFF COURSE YOUR MAJESTY!”
And then the entire US government clapped
|
"Excuse me. Excuse me. Excuse me!" The lady persisted.
I had tried to ignore her. That worked about half the time. "Yes?"
"One of your employees was very rude to me. He should be fired." She was red in the face and pointed an Shakey finger towards a young woman. The employee had a massive bun hairdo and blue eyeshadow, she was aloof to the event, tapping away at her smartphone.
I sighed and put a finger between my brow, "Listen ma'a-"
"No you listen. Your going to go out of business if you treat your customers this way." She put her hands on her hips and tilted her head forward.
"Like I was trying to say-"
"Oh excuses is it? Give me your corporate number. They're going to have a fit when they hear about this." She crossed her arms and scowled.
"I don't work here!" I shouted, the busy retail store froze and went silent. They all turned to see the commotion. Both of us glew red. She lowered her head and dashed for the door, forgetting her anger with the unbearable embarrassment.
I scratched the back of my neck and forced a laugh that wouldn't fool a child.
"Is everything alright sir?" A tall employee asked.
"Um that lady had a problem with one of your employees. And she mis-"
"I'm very sorry about that sir, I would've been more astute about there behavior today if I knew corporate was sending you." The tall man's eyes where downcast, his head slightly bowed.
"I don't actually-"
"You're right, I am ashamed of their behavior, you being here shouldn't change anything."
"That's true but-"
"I'll be sure to have a sitdown with them immediately, which one was it?" The man asked.
I took a deep breath, this same situation has happened what feels like a million times already. "I. Don't. Work. Here!" Yelling always broke the spell. Unfortunately it drew everyone else's attention as well. I blushed but tried to hide my embarrassment. I needed to be assertive, else they never listen.
The man's jaw dropped and he was at a loss for words. Most people were that way. They don't know how to react to me once the veil is lifted.
I grabbed the batteries I was looking for and headed to check out, leaving the frozen manager behind. The older woman looked at me from behind thick round glasses and squinted, then smiled in recognition.
"What's your employee ID sir?"
I slapped my hand to my face so hard it left a red mark. "I forgot." I just couldn't bring myself to yell at this sweet lady.
"That's ok. I'll use Jim's, some one like you probably has a lot on their mind to forget your numbers." She tapped on the keyboard in a memorized pattern.
"Ain't that the truth." I sighed, I looked at the register for the price. "Is this right? That's not even a quarter of the regular price.
She smiled sweetly and winked. "It's a great deal sir." I nodded feverishly, money was tight, my power made it impossible to work under anyone. This discount meant I could splurge on dinner tonight. I smiled at the thought of a full belly and almost drooled.
"Thank you so much, keep up the great work!" I said, she smiled and I felt warm. Not enough of these employees get the recognition they deserve.
"Have a wonderful afternoon sir."
"Oh I will." Thinking of the options for dinner. I strode out the door grinning from ear to ear. There was a young man in a black hoodie by an old white van staring at me with a thoughtful glare. I lowered my head not wanting to get involved with this shady looking character.
"What kinda shit you just pull?" He asked. He stepped into my path, not content to be ignored. "You heard me. I know you ain't deaf. What was all that."
"N-nothing, I don't know what you mean."
"Bull shit, everyone in there thinks you the boss or some shit. How the hell you do that?" He asked.
"Listen, I don't know. But it always happens. I'm sorry I got to go." I tried to step around, but he stayed in my path.
"Listen, names Regi. I'm something of a entrepreneur. I think you and me could make a lot of money together."
I paused and met his eyes. "What do you mean?"
He opened up the side door of the van on the opposite side of the store. The car was filled with expensive gadgets and gismos, it was a small fortune. "This the easiest job I ever done. And it's thanks to you. Together we could live like Kings, you get what I'm throwing down?
There was a deep lump in my throat, I knew this was bad news. But I've been so desperate for money. There had to be at least ten grand in that van.
"All right. What do you have in mind?"
| 2018-08-12T17:37:01 | 2018-08-12T17:07:02 | 415 | 215 |
[WP] To be immortal, you must be the last living member of the race you belong to.
|
"Last living member" doesn't include the basic privileges afforded to a fellow human being. It surely doesn't include the common courtesies of, perhaps, feeding or watering the individual, letting him rest, among other requirements.
I remember the day they started the purge. They rode into the town on their metal horses of death. They executed the men, and enslaved the women and children. Initially I thought that perhaps some of us would break, maybe one or two of our race would have weaseled their way into the conquerors' good books. But they were not interested. They were not even interested in our women, and were content to let them die. There was truly no mercy to be found.
I remember who I used to be. I taught the children of the town in my schoolhouse; taught them the rules of the world and the classics; raised them into better people. Who knows where these children are now? Buried six feet underground; or perhaps forever sunk into the waters of the nearby lake, and maybe even burned and scattered to the four winds?
They tried to do the same to me. But I am the last living member of my race. They tried to hang me, to pull me apart with horses, to chop off all my body parts. Yet still I survive, still my limbs grow back, though undoubtedly it is a painful process. I was a freak show for a while, in what used to be our town square. They called me the Last Savage. They degraded me for their own amusement every day, and continued the "research" every night.
The conquerors got bored of me after a while, and sunk me into the sea. At first, I cursed my existence as the Last Savage, as the water filled my lungs by day and got drained by night. But as I lie here, tied to the biggest boulder they could find, there is infinite time. I spent it reconstructing what my country used to be in my mind, so if you give me a piece of paper and a pen, I will draw a perfect picture of it.
And now I merely wait for any passing ship to dredge me from the dark depths, so that I may once more share my people's story, just as I shared stories to my students so many years ago.
|
I curse the bastard who started this war for the umpteenth time today. May he or she perish in the deepest, darkest, harshest part of Satan’s butt hole. I spit a combination of phlegm and blood to the ground as I drag myself back up to my feet. I am surrounded by the dead shells of what was my squadron. I hear my voice screaming to the heavens but it sounds distant to me. I relieve Mark’s body of the sword he was holding. He won’t need it anymore.
I stumble forward, using the sword to catch my footing as I slip. I curse again. Hot tears leak from the corners of my eyes but I steel myself. Now is not the time to cry. Now is no time at all. The world is doomed, that much is assured and accepted. This is probably the last habitable land in the whole planet and we are still fighting. A throaty laugh escapes me as it dawns on me we are fighting in the plains of Africa: A continent the world had insulted and dominated over and over. I look up at the darkened clouds and back to the land. As soon as my eyes stop blurring, the sound returns to me back in force and my stability shakes.
We really are going to die out as a race.
I see the remainder of the worlds tanks shooting their shells all over the place. America has the last fighter jet out in the field. Russia and Germany are down to 2 tanks respectively. Everyone else is on foot. Every other fucking country has been wiped off the map or rendered useless due to the nukes these elite bastards had dropped on them. I remember one of my mates telling me about how the rich had secured themselves underground… That is, until the warheads dropped and cracked the land like a soft eggshell. No bunker survived. No bunker could.
Bullets had finished quick. And there is no factory capable of manufacturing enough for any camp. So we reverted back to swords and knives. Men got their hands dirty and began forging right in the camps we stayed. We melted every metal item we could find to make our primitive weapons. And we fought. We bled. We killed. We fought again. With each victory, our blood-lust just grew. No more diplomacy, no more talking. Someone just wanted to come on top.
And now we are dwindling down like a broken countdown, speeding up as it goes along.
I hear the scrape of metal and my sudden head jerk to locate the source makes me fall to the ground. I had narrowly missed a swipe for an enemy. I try to locate his label, his association but he doesn’t give me any time. His combat knife slashes at me on the ground and I barely roll away.
I try to stand but my leg gives way again, saving my life. Again. I bring my sword upwards awkwardly, my vertical slash marking him slightly on the chin. I hear him curse in German and I yell back that I’m an ally.
I don’t think it registered because he managed to pin me to the floor and wrestle the sword away from me. I bite his hand before his next blow leaves me dazed. As I try to find some clarity, I see his figure standing over me. I want to kick upwards but my left leg is not moving like it used to. I’m not good with my right.
As I make my peace with the world and the shitty turn out, I hear a boom sound and the earth vibrated beneath me. I feel my body and my opponent’s body obey the will of nature as we are blown away. Darkness takes me and when I come to, I find myself trapped behind a weight of rocks I know I cannot escape from. I can’t feel anything below my neck on my left side.
Blood sputters as I try to scream out from the pain rushing through me. I guess this is it. The view before me is that of red lights and smoke. The pain is unbearable. I want to scream and shout at the world but I can’t. I can barely keep my eyes open.
The american jet swoops low to take aim at the overturned Russian tank. The last thing I see before I give in to the sweet call of the other side is the union between both machines and the flash of red noise that follows after.
“Fuck ‘em…” I try to whisper as my eyelids close for what will probably be the last time.
---
I cough.
The act surprises me especially after I cough again. My eyes open to a greyness in the scene. Ashes still falling from the sky. My memory is jumbled. I remember the red but not this. Not this. My mouth is dry and my belly roars in hunger. All at once, pain flood my senses again and I scream. My voice is clear and it echoes across the land. The echo frightens me instantly and I stop. There might be an enemy lurking nearby.
I grit my teeth and attempt to force the rocks off my body. There is no budging. I try and pull myself away and just before I give up, I feel myself nudge free slightly. I throw all my energy behind it, and slowly I escape my burden.
I stand to my feet and notice I am not feeling any pain anymore. If anything, I feel, dare I say… healthy.
I walk slowly through the rain of ashes and the mountain of bodies till I locate a combat knife. I grip it tightly in my hand and release the breath I didn’t know I was holding in. At least, with this, I can protect myself. The sun peeks through the dark clouds and bathes the land of death. It is simultaneously the most beautiful art I will ever see and the most horrific of events. I stay a while to capture the image in my mind.
Then I walk on.
---
/r/EvenAsIWrite for more stories.
| 2018-09-14T07:54:03 | 2018-09-14T07:46:11 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] After months of finding small knickknacks placed on your back porch, you've found the culprit. It's a small mouse living under your house. You go into the crawlspace and find a shrine made of several of your socks and pictures of you. Out of a dark corner a mouse approaches you, trembling.
|
I crouched down, slowly onto the cold, wet floor. It was nearing the end of Autumn and the ground had been slick with dew these last few cold mornings. Carefully I knelt and looked into the hole where I knew it was hiding.
The mouse stepped forward into the dim light that pierced through the boards and into the crawl space. Light blue paint peeled from the walls and a small bed of grass and straw was in the corner of the makeshift room the mouse had fashioned for itself. It wore a small hat and shirt which appeared to have been crafted from and sleeve of a top I had thrown out ages ago. Its eyes were large and black, staring into mine with total fear; they were wide and it's brows pointed upwards. The only thing in the room which was well looked-after was the small shrine of my things. They were arranged as one might find a tapestry hung from a castle wall, and they were well cared for. The mouse must take some pride in these treasures it owned.
The mouse reached up and took off its hat, holding it to its chest, almost hiding behind it. Its small whiskers bristled and it took a few more small steps forward. He spoke "erm... I was not expecting you would find me".
I was not shocked that he could speak, not after I saw it could make and keep a small household out of my discarded rubbish. "Yes," I said, "else you would not have taken my favourite socks".
"Ah," he said, "you can have them back. I will not be needing them soon, in all likelihood."
"Why?" Asked I, "what is wrong?"
"It is getting cold. Colder than I had expected. I moved here to escape the cold, as your pipes help keep my meagre home warm, but soon I fear even that will not be enough..." He trailed off, and a small tear formed in his eye.
"Well, I suppose you could live in my house with me, as long as you promise to ask before you take anymore-"
The mouse ran forward before I had time to react. I was ready to swat him away, but found him cuddling my cold nose. "Thank you," he said. "I have been harassed by all manner of animals in these last few weeks. You're offer of sanctuary is all I needed."
I reached into his room took back my things, as well as the small cooker and bed he had made. "C'mon," I said "let's go inside."
This was all 5 years ago. The mouse has lived exceptionally long, sharing my house with me. He grows older now, but our bond is strong. When he leaves me with this house, it will feel a little colder.
|
Finally, at four in the morning, I am able to set Sophie down in her crib without any wails of defiance.
My nine week old daughter has been rather fussy lately, keeping me up at night the past couple of weeks with diaper changes, feeding requests, and all kinds of infant needs. Unfortunately, as a single mother, I have absolutely no help. My parents refuse to aid a "low-life teen mom who got knocked up", and Sophie's father left long before birth, so I'm on my own. Even though I struggle sometimes, I've been able to keep our heads above the water.
The only issue I've been unable to solve is what I assume to be a stalker. The minute I found out I was pregnant, I started receiving strange "gifts". Every morning, without fail, there are trinkets, formula, and all sorts of baby related items just laying on my back porch. There is never a letter or any names detailing who is responsible.
At first I thought it was my parents finally accepting Sophie and I, but when I reached out to them via phone call, I was hung up on. I contacted the police as well, but after a short investigation they found nothing, not even finger prints. Per the police's suggestion, I set up a surveillance camera and planned to check it daily. Hopefully this would work.
To my dismay, when I went over the footage the next morning, the video cut out just before a pacifier was placed. Ever since then, the same routine has occurred. Check, cut, delivery.
After Sophie was born though, the gifts started to get weirder. Some of the strangest items we received were: bras that are two sizes too big, homemade "baby food", and a blue baby nappie stained with a sticky, dark substance.
Since there has been no actual conflict or any leads, I decided to leave the issue on the back burner. I need to focus on raising my daughter. Instead of constantly worrying, I just throw the gifts out now and think nothing of it. Hell, sometimes I even keep a few of the pricey gifts; you can't be picky when you're a poor, single mother. This was my morning ritual for the past month, but today is where I draw the line.
When I went out on the porch this morning to check for my presents, I found something so vile that I couldn't keep my breakfast down. We received a baby doll that was dirty, missing its arms, and had Sophie's name scribbed on the forehead. The eyes were gauged out and it had the most putrid smell radiating from it. Panic arose in me. I have to take action now; my baby is in jeopardy.
To catch the culprit, I have to be vigilant. After putting Sophie to bed tonight, I'm staying on my porch, and hiding behind a lounge chair with a baseball bat. My plan is to hopefully catch a glimpse of whoever is entering my backyard, chase them, beat the pulp out of them, and call the police again. It sounds risky, but I'm running out of options.
Around five AM, I started to slip into unconsciousness when I heard the scuttering of tiny claws. Great, I have mice. But then I heard something even weirder: the sound of something heavy being dragged across the wood of the back porch.
I grabbed the flashlight next to me and hovered it over to where I heard the noise. Immediately, my jaw dropped open. There, paralyzed in my flashlight's beam, were eight mice carrying a pair of baby slippers. The shoes hit the floor with a soft thud, and the mice scrambled away, taking refuge under my house.
I charged after them and got on my hands and knees, crawling through the dirt and mud caked crawlspace. It was dark and wet, and there was a sickly sweet smell emenating from deeper within. As I explored farther into the crawlspace, a chilling scene was pieced together before me.
Dozens of Sophie and I's socks were strategically placed into the shape of a pentagram, and pictures of us that I thought I lost were scattered around with MY scented candles next to them. In the middle of the pentagram lay one of Sophie's stuffed animals, a pink mouse.
Horrified, I stumbled backwards onto my behind. Was this some kind of sick joke?
As I rubbed the tears welling up in my eyes, a trembling mouse appeared from the depths and approached me.
"Your holiness, it is with such respect that I welcome you and thank you for coming to aid us in our dilemma. We are fortunate that you have finally accepted our offerings,"
"Excuse me?!" I replied.
Am I going insane? Mice don't speak! Your holiness? What the hell is going on? I started to claw at my forearms out of confusion and fear, pricking drops of blood.
"Yes! That is perfect! Just what we need to help our sick queen! Now that our suitors have access to the blood of a fertility god, she will finally bear healthy children! Thank you, thank you!"
The mouse began to bow repeatedly, and then squeaked out to his comrades. Before I knew it, I was covered in hundreds of mice, their claws scratching at my body and drawing more blood. I tried to smack them away, but it was no use, there was way too many. The weight of the vermin kept me pinned down. They lapped the blood up, feeding on my DNA, ravenous for it. I screamed and pleaded but they never stopped, scratching and gnawing until they reached bone. I was being eaten alive by mice and there was no one to help.
A particularly violent mouse chomped down on my left eyelid, and I remembered the mangled doll with its missing eyes. Sophie. Oh my god, they were going to go for Sophie next. My last thoughts before my life ceased to exist were of my daughter, and I prayed to God to keep her safe. I started to let go, and slip into death's arms, when a terrified infant's cry shrieked out above me, and I knew I was too late.
| 2019-06-15T15:28:45 | 2019-06-15T13:02:39 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] One day, every city that shares a name has a portal open up, connecting them all with each other. Paris, Texas has a great time with it, and many cities celebrate their new neighbors. You, however, live in Hell, Michigan, and things are starting to get strange.
|
Part 1 of 3 (see my reply)
The day the portals opened, everything changed. No one knew where they came from, who made them, or how they worked. (I have a theory, but I'll get to that later.) All anyone knew was, people were suddenly appearing in the middle of towns and cities across the world, many of whom didn't speak the same language or understand anything about their surroundings, They would always appear within a block of the exact center of the town, and often had to quickly dodge out of the way to avoid getting hit by a car.
It took a surprisingly long time to figure out the pattern: the central blocks of places that shared the same name were now connected by invisible portals that transferred their inhabitants from one to the other. Needless to say, this was a burst for tourism. Many cities reconfigured their central areas to accommodate the streams of curious people from commonly named cities who would drop in.
For everyone who lived outside of my town, there were only two problems. The first was that the portals were somewhat random: beginning in Paris, Texas, you could end up in Paris, Tennessee, just as easily as Paris, France. Nevertheless, they included every commonly named place from tiny villages to huge cities, and even translations: many people from San Juan, Puerto Rico, were surprised to find themselves in St. John, Indiana, and vice versa. The second problem was that each portal alternated between inbound travel one day and outbound the next. This meant that if you went to a place you didn't want, you were stuck there at least 24 hours -- unless there was a nearby place with another portal going the opposite way, which was very unlikely.
Soon, the cultures of each place began to shift to their namesakes, since the process was so hard to control. Language barriers were broken down. Foods were shared. Hotels became swamped. Alexandria, Virginia, became a center of Egyptian culture, and Rome, Georgia, became a home for Italians. Many wealthy people decided to buy homes in multiple namesake towns and go back and forth among them as they felt like it. Most people loved the opportunity to make friends from other cultures, and people who would never have met otherwise enjoyed special experiences together. Those first accidental travelers had paved the way for millions to cultivate special connections. Almost everyone saw it as a blessing, a sign from their respective spiritual power about the true interconnectedness of humanity.
Which brings me to the third problem: I live in Hell, Michigan. The first people who disappeared from our town never came back. Needless to say, we avoided the town square - like hell, as they say in other, happier places. We knew what would happen on the outbound days. But on the inbound days, we never saw anyone there. We didn't hear the moaning of the damned, or the crackling of the flames, or even a cold, dark void descending upon us. What happened instead was much scarier.
Over the course of the next several months, as the world became friendlier, more joyful, more connected, we became sadder, darker, depressed versions of ourselves. Crime rates went up and marriage rates went down. No one wanted to meet or talk to one another - instead, they all looked at each other suspiciously. Soon, it wasn't safe to walk the streets at night - you never knew who might be lurking in an alley. We desperately tried to maintain order, but the criminals who came to court were never crazy, they never talked about demons, they never claimed to be possessed, they insisted they were just ordinary people. Punishing them didn't bring us any satisfaction. But we all knew there was something wrong.
I was fortunate enough to be single and alone - I had no family who had been raped or murdered, and I had so far escaped robbery. But I knew that I couldn't stay here, even though I had lived here my whole life.
So I got in the car and headed for Paradise, Nevada.
|
"Hell is here. Hell is here." An old man shouts from the corner of the road holding a sign. The cars bustle past him ignoring his cries. One car pulls over to the animosity of the following cars. Several people get out, and the car drives off presumably looking for a parking place.
The people have on various anime and manga t-shirts. They are also all carrying various scientific equipment. The car that was there earlier stops in the parking lot. You look away from the scene outside towards the person coming into the coffee shop holding his phone.
He is taller than his companions, and he is more attractive than them to. He is tall and thin, but it is a runner thin. He also has a face that is perfectly framed by his glasses. His t-shirt is the Unknown Pleasures by Joy Division album cover. If you didn't know his type, you might consider hoping he talked to you. He is cute enough that you still hope for it. He walks right up to your counter.
"Hi," He looks at your nametag, "Lilly."
"Yes, what can I get for you?" You ask.
"Well first, I was hoping you could tell me if anything strange has happened?" He flashes a smile. It is almost enough to make you melt if you didn't think that question was stupid.
"No, nothing has happened in Hell, Michigan. That guy outside is not a prophet. The Day of the Lords caused no Disorder." You smile at him. He looks at you confused.
"Joy Division, the shirt?" You say in disbelief.
"Oh, I just got this shirt because it looked cool. Is that a band?" He asks.
"Yeah, only one of the greatest bands ever. They made two phenomenal albums before Ian Curtis the lead singer died. The remaining members later formed New Order. Another great band in my opinion." You reply not realizing you were ranting to a customer about music again. The manager shoots you a glance.
"Listen, I have to confess. I have not heard of either of those groups, but if they are that good, maybe you could introduce me?" He asks and a look in his eyes tells you there will be more to this than music.
"Yes, of course. Will your friends get in the way?" You gesture to the guys listening intently.
"Nah, in fact, they aren't my friends. My little brother begged me to drive them. He got his license revoked driving recklessly through portals. I do get a room to myself," He grabs a napkin and writes down his name and room number and hands it to you, "When does your shift end?"
"8, I can be there at 9." You say. He smiles and walks out of the shop.
"He didn't buy anything." The manager says.
"Oh sorry," You say. You look at his name and room number. Adam in Room 383 at the Eden motel. You roll your eyes. Another place here that changed its name to satisfy the crazies. They weren't satisfied that it connected to California or the Cayman Islands. They wanted it to be supernatural. The portals were crazy enough.
Nothing of note happens for the rest your shift. Adam's friends realize the old man is useless quickly and leave. A few other occultists approach him but leave. Your shift ends, and you head to the car. You leave Dante's Bistro to your apartment to change into something nicer before heading to the Eden motel.
The Eden got an upgrade when everyone rushed here. It used to be a place for illicit affairs. Now, everyone who can't get in the nicer places stays here. It is booked for weeks in advance. When a trashy motel is booked, that is when you know tourism is crazy. The developments being rushed will change that. You run up to his room and knock on the door.
Adam opens the door wearing an unbuttoned shirt. He has a surprisingly toned body and a bit of hair on his chest that thins when it gets to his stomach. He put something in the head on his hair to style it. She's Lost Control is playing in the background on a speaker.
"Sorry, I started listening to them without you, and you interrupted me getting ready." He says with a smile.
"I don't care. You are perfectly ready." You reply staring at the underwear that peaks out from his pants.
"Want to get this over with?" He asks.
"Yes." You move in, and the two of you embrace.
His lips taste phenomenal on her lips. The embrace gets tighter as he shuts the door behind her. The two of them make their way to the bed while you watch. She pulls off his unbuttoned shirt. Her eyes turn green.
You turn away. You have never seen it happen like this, but you know the process. You were not the first person that the demons took, but you have been a helpless observer. Always standing a few feet away from her as she plots what to do with your body.
Adam starts screaming. You can't cover your ears because you will still hear what she hears. The sounds of flesh being torn fills your ears. The screaming ends. You turn around and see two bodies cuddling in a pool of blood. Smoke emerges from Adam's body. The smoke gradually forms into Adam with a look of horror on his face. The two bodies on the bed start to make out. You walk over to Adam and grab his shoulder to turn him away.
"What happened?" He asks.
"A demon that has been in my body has killed you, and a demon has taken over your corpse." You say.
"What am I hearing?" He asks.
"Their love-making, yeah, it is weird. You don't have to look at them, but you can still hear them. I thought I had to look at her until a different ghost told me I can look away." You reply.
"How long have you been like this?" He asks.
"About a year, my friend Lucy was the one who killed me. I'd say my demon has killed about a dozen people. They act normal until humans come." You reply.
"Have you spoken to her?" He asks.
"Nah, I think they know we are here. They just don't care. You have to be within a few feet of them. Otherwise, you feel a pull." You reply.
The demons stop the lovemaking and get out of bed. The two of them walk out of the hotel pulling you two with them.
"Where are they going?" He asks.
"Probably to kill your brother and his friends." You reply.
"What the hell." He yells.
"Yeah, that is where we are." You say. He gives you a disapproving look.
"You get used to the humor." You reply.
"Is everyone in this town a demon?" He asks.
"Pretty much, except for that guy out of the coffee shop, I think the demons think he is hilarious so they keep him the same. You are probably going to be leaving soon. The demons are expanding." You say.
"So that is what this, a slow invasion. Ever since the portals opened." He says.
"Yep, I heard a demon say the portals where their way of playing with their food." You say.
"And none of you people are doing anything?" He asks.
"Nope, we can't it is our torture." You say as your bodies start to murder his comrades. Adam looks at the carnage in horror.
"Welcome to Hell." You say.
| 2020-09-25T16:50:22 | 2020-09-25T16:41:37 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] The hellish trenches of the Great War were dug rapidly and with very little regard of what came before. So, when the bones of the old gods buried deep were exposed to mankind once again they rose from their slumber. At first the gods were confused, angry. Then, they picked sides.
|
(569 words, and not a WW1 interpretation. I'd love receiving any/all kinds of feedback. Thank you for your time, in advance!)
"How am I supposed to save them from the apocalypse if I'm constantly interrupted from my eternal sleep?" grumbled old Sia, coughing up dust from her bones. The earth rumbled as the ancient warrior goddess shifted her weight.
"Sia, sia, sia, you darling little creature. Now, I don't mind that you don't miss me at all. Not at all, not at all. But you'd hate to sleep through your destiny, right?" gloated the older Stochastos, manic and leering.
"This is not the apocalypse. I'm sure this is a minor skirmish."
"Skirmish! How cute! An understatement! A euphemism! Riddle me this, Goddess of the End, how would they have dug our bones up in a minor skirmish? Have you counted the bodies? Have you smelled the air?" Stochastos laughed, hacking up dust as his bones rattled.
Sia's frown deepened. Lightning sliced the sky into asymmetric pieces.
"Somebody's feeling a little angry, a little upset, a little vengeful, aren't they? We don't like being woken up, do we? We can't wait to punish them, can't we?" sang Stochastos, his undecided bones clicking into a shape.
Magma from the crust started to boil. "Stochastos, I swear upon me, if this is a pathetic joke of yours..."
Stochastos laughed so hard that most of his bones scattered. His partial skeleton scampered over the bodies in glee, settling into a new shape with every jump.
Sia narrowed her divine eyes. The earth started to crunch the bodies. Blood seeped into riverbeds.
"You seem really eager for me to punish them."
"And isn't that what they deserve? Isn't that what they want? They desecrated your sacred bones, shouldn't they pay the price?"
"Divine forgiveness can accommodate accidents, Stochastos. The people are already in war, they are suffering enough."
"Oh, but are they? They start another one, and another one, and another one. This time they violate the sanctity of our eternal, shabby, dusty bones. Maybe they want more suffering. Maybe they want this all to end. Maybe they're hoping the coupon for redeeming divine forgiveness has expired."
"Why do I get the feeling you want me to cause the apocalypse here, Stochastos?"
"Little old me? Cause the end of the universe as we know it? Appalling. Horrifying. Atrocious," Stochastos cackled. "Don't mind me, I thought we were running a universe where actions have consequences. Should we plug in our ears, snug, comfy and tucked in, while they shed mortal blood over each other?"
"They do have consequences," said Sia, struggling as the mountains of the world began to vomit. "The cycle has already started, I can't stop it now."
"Half-hearted about fulfilling destiny, are we? It's not every day that upper management gets to roll out the special effects. Feeling sentimental about this pet little universe of ours?"
"Your taste for destruction is sickening, Stochastos."
"Coming from the Goddess of the Apocalypse, I'll take that as a compliment."
"But how did they find our bones, Stochastos? This doesn't seem normal."
"The imbeciles, the complete buffoons, the idiots were made in our image, and their resemblance to you makes that clear-"
"How dare you!"
"But I would be insensitive if I didn't thank you for your part in it, sweet darling. I started their war, I knew they would find it and now I will relish in their end."
"Why?"
"How else are we going to start a new one?"
|
EXHIBIT X059N01E00: LETTER FROM PFC JAMES COCKBURN TO FIANCEE, FIRSTHAND DESCRIPTION OF APPEARENCE OF GODHEAD, MENTION OF OVERSEER
15th May, 1916.
Dearest Mabel,
I have written before of the horrors here, but no day has been as queer as today.
As we expanded our lines digging westward, we happened upon the most enormous bone, fully forty feet long. Lieutenant Oakshott said it was from a great lizard, and to ignore it, but there were other bones as big, as if from a man half a furlong high.
We piled them behind and dug on, and fell asleep with the Front strangely silent. But in the morning a great man we found sitting on a pile of lads who didn't make it, and God as my witness he could talk Queen's English: he said our sacrifice was adequate and we that we were to call him what sounded as Baal Had Dad. I am not sure of how to write it.
Besides that, he sits a lot and seems to be caught in some great thought which is too heavy to put to words.
While this is odd, the line is quiet, dead quiet as only I have heard at Christmas. The Huns have not shot at him yet, nor us at them. Odd as it is common for a bird or even an insect to provoke a volley of Mausers.
Stranger still, we saw another great figure in the mist, well over the lines, squatting to the East.
God as my witness this is all true. But I would not believe it if you had told it to me. It is a truly extraordinary day.
your love,
Jack
EXHIBIT X059N02E04: LETTER FROM PFC JAMES COCKBURN TO FIANCEE, CESSATION OF VERDUN HOSTILITIES, BEGINNING OF CONFLICT TO END AGES, EARLY EMERGENCE OF THE ROLE OF OVERSEER
22nd May, 1916
Mabel my dear,
Everything is changed.
As mad as it sounds, a shot has not been fired in fully five days. I suppose before this was about as likely as a fellow four hundred span appearing overnight but now both of those have happened and here we are.
If you have this letter, I'm sure you have seen this in the papers. Lt. Oakshott says it would be common knowledge by now, and he is awfully bright. The enormous chap squatted in our rear echelon, his name is Ba'al Hadad, and he even helped us with the spelling. He said he is from Canaan, which the Lt. says is in the Levant and he knows this from Oxford.
God as my witness, only Oakshott can talk to him. For the rest of the lads, even a General that came in a flash car on Tuesday, the chap might as well be a wall, or a great tree. He says they are speaking an old form of Arabic, and that Mr. Hadad has told him that he will talk only when properly addressed.
I suppose this means I am safe, at least for now, which is more than can be said before. It is nice to put your mind at rest. Give your family my very best.
all my love,
Jack C.
EXHIBIT X059N03E04: LETTER FROM PFC JAMES COCKBURN TO FIANCEE, EMERGENCE OF THE FRANCO-BELGIAN LINE, EMERGENCE OF THE RITUAL OF SACRIFICE UNTO THE GREAT
14th June, 1916
Mabel, my light.
If I were to read my life as a serial in the newspaper, I would scarcely believe it. That said, I am sure you read these things in the newspaper as well. If you do, you must be very proud that I am living through history.
Mr. Hadad walked over the lines as if they were scattered string to talk to the other giant fellow who we see some times, perhaps all the way to Germany.
When he came back he was in a fierce mood, and I'll let you know: a temper on a man that size is more frightening than any artillery that hit us. Only Lt. O. can calm him down.
Apparently, the other giant is of the name Dagon, and O. says that is Mr. Hadad's father, only you would suppose that would make him Mr. Hadad also, but O. says that is not the case.
Upon his return, O. set us to task killing the horses and donkeys. Instead of fighting the Hun, I have spent my days putting them down, and helping fully a hundred other lads lay their bodies in a pile. It is a shameful to waste the meat but O. was quite insistent, and the brass seem to let him do what he wants which is odd.
There has been no shortage of brass here, Brigadiers, Generals, and even the Field Marshal himself, and they treat the Lt. with such respect. You would not think it, while he is from a good family he is scarcely older than myself and a slip of a chap.
After we had built a great pile of bodies, O. had us fashion a scoop out of panels taken off the vehicles, and we left it about before turning in for the night.
In the morning, and even with everything I've seen, this was a turn - a mass of other giant bodies greeted us. Mr. Hadad dug them up, there are great holes everywhere, much deeper than the trenches, and they have been revived by forces beyond our comprehension.
More frightening still, a great stone wall, higher than twenty men, has been erected through No Man's Land. Lt. O. says it is a 'ritual demarcation', and that Mr. Hadad made it to keep out his father. Apparently they are in a family dispute, although one more frightening that my aunts if you remember the Christmas of '14.
While these are amazing times, I am safe for now.
Jack
EXHIBIT X059N04E04: FINAL LETTER FROM PFC JAMES COCKBURN TO FIANCEE, RESUMPTION OF VERDUN HOSTILITIES, FIRST DESCRIPTION OF GREAT CAUSE, FIRST WRITTEN DEPICTION OF HIGH HERESY
21th June, 1916
Mabel
We are back at war tomorrow.
A chap from Oxford turned up, a chum of the Lieutenants, and they spent all night talking feverishly in a dugout.
In the morning, he announced to us all that we needed to return to killing the Hun at once. What is amazing still is that his words hold water, they were followed by official orders, so we are back at it, first light.
The way this lad sees it, Mr. Hadad and his new mates are buoyed a great deal by the poor souls who have died here, and the only way to keep them onside is to make more of them. So the sappers will blow the wall, and we are going through. None of it makes sense to any of us, but we were told in no uncertain terms to shut up.
Mr. Hadad and his friends will not help, although a chap that size could make short work of the push into Germany. Our push, apparently, is for what the professor calls 'their glory'. I don't give a bugger for their glory.
It was too good to last. We fight, we kill, we die - for one set of toffs or another.
J
| 2020-10-07T02:21:58 | 2020-10-07T02:03:51 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] You are a scientist, whose research and inventions will help save the world. The only problem is that, on a weekly basis: a group of teenage superheroes break into your laboratory, destory your inventions and research, and then beat you senseless.
|
I wheels of my wheel chair squeak and I wonder if the right one is going to fall off again as I work to maneuver to the detached garage I am using as a lab now. I grit my teeth lifting my arm to turn on the lights. Between the casts and neck brace everything hurts.
And that is as far as I get when the garage door is torn off and twin holes are punched in my ceiling from the heroes bursting in.
"Stop villain! We have come to end your nefarious ways!" The flame patterned tights on the man pulled tight as he poses like some comic book. His hands on his hips as his partners grab the cardboard boxes in the room and begin smashing them to the floor and setting them on fire.
I sigh despite the pain. "You know I *just* got here right? No lab, no benches, no experiments."
"Then we have put a stop to your wickedness before it begins. Have at thee!" And in a blink he has yank the chair out from under me and smashed it into my side. As the wheel rolls away from the mangled chair I can't help but laugh about it.
"You think you have us cur? We shall end your tyranny once and for all!"
Holding my 'good' arm up to pause his blow. "You know why I moved here since last week? One party consent state. The security cameras and microphones have been streaming since I turned on the lights. You 'Heroes' are trashing what's left of my clothes and childhood stuffed toys."
I can't even bring myself to smile as I hear sirens outside. Watching as the police approach and hoping *this* time there will be some real justice.
|
A mist lined the walls, every drop of innocence frozen over. Liquids ran across the floor like melting ice. Smoke filled ash had sent down upon years of research. Glass lined the unsafe floor as it began to crackle. The room itself was coated in silver light, the flickering bulb now flashing the dullest of greys. Each tube shatters or destroyed, frosted over by apathy.
I once to was a hero, my father been a mad murderer. Upon this discovery, I was shunned and assaulted. Months ago I had been in a hospital critically injured. Only saved by a man named Chaos. Seeing me he took me to a hospital where I barely survived. It had become clear to me, this was all repeating again, like dust repetitively falling upon a table. Cold scars lined my face as I lied there. This time had to be the time of my death. Tears pooled into my eyes as this torment, this continuing help for humanity leaked upon the silver floor.
Death flooded the room like water a river into the darkest abyss of the sea. The room spiralled into a purple flicker as static. Pain floated away as, before my eyes, Chaos returned, once again revealing himself in the time before death. His black cloak flickered in the wind like a twisting nightmare. His face was cast in a frown. "Prepare" Chaos said before the cloak, which was stained in ink from a ruptured pen began to flicker back. Rewinding like the flow of time itself was been undone.
I opened my eyes now standing at my desk, minutes before the attack. I looked around noticing a strange purple crystal that lied inside of the darkest shadow cast upon this room. Flickering time moved like a static flow, as with the time I had, I prepared myself. Nothing there could be used to fight, but defending myself would be easy. with five minutes until the attack I cut open a barrel and tied it to some wooden planks, placing a metal plate behind it. I taped the entire thing together and lined the edges with glue.
The clock began to click. five clicks rang out as the doorknob began to twist. A click rang out loudly as three cloaked figures walked in. The first wearing a blue uniform, the second in a red blazer which drifted over them and the third dressed in a green shirt. the 'heroes' had arrived. Thomas, the one dressed in blue, vanished. James, the one in green, summoned a dagger which was lined in the reflection of hatred. Finally, Jake, the one dressed in red, raised his hand starting the burning of a fire.
They moved forward, Thomas appearing in front of me. I raised my shield, buying myself time, praying that Chaos would arrive. The room filled in a flash of purple as the 'heroes' were flung backwards and into the wall. Chaos now appeared, twisting himself from the crystal. His cloak seemed to melt like a liquid as a mist drifted upon the floor. "Let me show you absolute power" Chaos said staring at the 'heroes'. I watched on running to the door and successfully closing it. Suddenly, James disappeared, teleported behind Chaos.
The room was silent, Thomas moved his mouth but not a single word echoed out. Chaos moved his cloak revealing his face fully. His eyes were purple and his hair was black, tinted with spots of purple. I stud there watching the silence fall as James slashed his dagger behind Chaos. Red flew across the room as a hole lied in James's chest. James blinked before realizing, it was an illusion. "You dare attack me" Chaos turned dropped Thomas who went invisible, but Jake remained floating, unable to cast down fire. James suddenly shouted, "This is not your fight, I've seen you once before, but you will not aid him again!". James stud up, the wound disappeared as Chaos's illusion dispelled.
Chaos smiled before suddenly spiked of concrete raised surround Thomas, who suddenly reappeared mere centimetres away from Chaos. James was flung back as Jake dropped to the floor, instead of fighting, he ran for the door, pushed me aside and fled. "LET ME OUT!" Thomas screamed with absolute desperation in his voice. "No... I won't, I've learned from new tricks which I didn't have before" Chaos said raising his hand, twisting, "I have learned Annihilation... Destruction of matter.". James suddenly teleported away, surrounded by hopelessness.
The light above suddenly disappeared with a large burst of light. "Do you know what Annihilation truly is Thomas?" Chaos said as I slowly backed away from the door, the light blinding me slightly. "No" Thomas said as suddenly he punched through the concrete tower "Do you?". Chaos smiled, "Annihilation is the hypothetical destruction of matter through its antimatter counterpart, I didn't require magic to get here, merely science... well... limited magic" Chaos breathed, finishing his scientific explanation.
I back away as Thomas, realizing Chaos was not joking, ran out the door and down the stairs leaving me alone. Chaos also disappeared, leaving the lab spotless, except the light, which has been destroyed. I brushed up a small bit of dust and exited, walking slowly, before using my invention to teleport home.
**(Hope you enjoy it!)**
| 2021-04-28T03:58:13 | 2021-04-28T01:46:00 | 33 | 22 |
[WP]Despite all warnings, you've gazed into the abyss. It gazed back at you. It was love at first sight.
|
Once, our ancestors looked up to the sky in wonder
They looked up in awe
They looked up with sheer determination to reach out and touch the stars
The reality was far from it
As the humans ventured into the stars, they were met with horrors beyond their understanding. Terrifying creatures and phenomenon that seemingly disobeyed every law of physics the humans had thought up
And thus the rule was born.
No venturing beyond the solar system
No further exploration or research
No gazing at the infinite abyss.
They said that people went mad if they broke the rule. Horror stories of people breaking out into psychotic episodes were commonplace in the station. Being the outpost farthest from home, we were closest to the infinity of space. To whatever was calling to us.
I never really cared about any of it
I really didn't care about much actually
My earliest memory is hiding out on the roof, staring at the stars as my ancestors once did. Except, I was only trying to tune out the sounds of my parents fighting downstairs. Trying to forget the horrors of my day. Trying to steel myself into going through the same shit day after day
Don't gaze into the abyss, they keep telling us
But they don't get it
For me
The stars were only an escape
This job was only an escape
Day in, day out, I went on with my job
Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us
Why would anyone want to? I asked myself. Whatever horrors were out there couldn't be worse than the monsters on earth. And I had enough for a lifetime
Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us
I would never. I have better things to do. And all I want is to be left alone.
Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us
They do say it quite a lot. Whatever, I'm not curious. The young scientist dude was the latest victim apparently. Too bad. I like him. He seemed nice.
Don't gaze into the abyss, they kept telling us
I kept thinking that if it was something so troubling, we should all know about it right?
Maybe, just a peek
Wouldn't hurt
Not the same as gazing
Gazing implied a certain amount of time
The magnificence of space was quite something. The deep, primal urge to respond to the unending, unknown, infinity took my breath away.
As I looked at it, I knew I had discovered something far greater than me, and for just a second I knew the abyss looked back
They found me
I don't know how
I tried to be discrete while stealing a small vessel
I had to go out there
I had to respond to the call
The abyss, the space was beckoning
I had to go.............
I'm not going crazy. I just need to get out there. To explore the stars. It's in our DNA. Our ancestors would have wanted the same. The others were right. I just need to find them. I need to get out there. Far beyond our stupid world, to experience the one thing I have truly ever loved
I'm not going crazy.....
|
I walked down the hall with purpose a manila folder under my left arm and what remained of my coffee in the other. The heel of my shoes sent a reverberating echo around the empty precinct with each footfall– it was early. I rounded the corner and moved into the large office space, stopping briefly at my desk to grab my notebook and to leave my "I <3 NY" mug next to my keyboard. I wouldn't be allowed to bring that mug into the interrogation room based on the violent crime committed.
"Oh, you got a good one today," came Bob's voice from his desk.
"That's what I keep hearing," I responded as I grabbed a pen from my drawer. "Morning, Bob."
"Sleep well?" he asked. "You look a little worse for wear there, Cole."
"Been so busy around here I forgot an important anniversary," I said as I closed my drawer and started toward the interrogation room.
"Uh-oh," he laughed.
"Yeah, the couch isn't real comfy."
"Lemme know how it goes!" he called after me as I glanced at my watch; I was a few minutes late. I stepped onto the elevator and popped his file open after pressing the button for the third floor. The ride wasn't nearly long enough to read the page-turner that was his record.
In descending order of severity, he had several counts of trespassing, a few counts of defacing public property, noise complaints from the neighbors, and loitering in public places. He never gave the officers a hard time, was famously tight-lipped, and most importantly he'd never hurt anyone else.
Until now.
The elevator dinged and the doors parted. I moved down the hall, reading as I went. He was currently being detained as the prime suspect for the abduction and attempted murder of a young woman. Someone had heard screaming through a vent in the sidewalk and alerted authorities. What they'd found was some underground dungeon built into the city's sewer network. After her extraction, the officers waited for someone to return. After a few hours...
I lifted my eyes and closed the file before pulling the door open. Inside were Manuel and Carla going through paperwork at the desk in front of the one-way glass.
"You're late," Carla said, handing me a new file.
"Good morning to you too, sunshine," I said as I opened the new file and pored over the contents.
"That's all we've gotten him to say so far," Manuel gestured toward the file in my hand with his mug of coffee. "He ain't much for words."
He wasn't lying. He hadn't answered many of their questions, but if it were that easy with psychopaths, I wouldn't have a job. I looked through the glass to see him chained to the table, sitting with perfect posture and staring straight ahead with a blank expression. He had a shaved head, a pointy nose and chin, a pale complexion, and a tattoo of some sort on his forehead; a symbol I didn't recognize.
"Anything else I should know?" I asked.
"She lived," Carla responded. "She's traumatized, and she's got a long road ahead when it comes to therapy, but at this point, he's not looking at a murder charge."
"And if we can't get him talking," Manuel said with a heavy sigh. "A good lawyer could get him out of this. We didn't catch him red-handed and the vic was blindfolded the entire time. She wouldn't be able to pick him out of a lineup."
"Wow, Merry Christmas, Cole," I said sarcastically. "Alright," I said as I closed the file and looked up at him. He was staring me dead in the eyes. I narrowed my eyes at him and moved a bit closer to the glass. I slowly meandered to the right and he tracked me as I moved.
"Cole?" Manuel asked. "You alright?"
"... Yeah," I said finally before moving for the door. I pushed the door open and walked into the room with him. I made my way across the table from him and pulled my chair out, before taking a seat and setting the files down in front of me.
"Good morning Mr. Krezaniak," I said before glancing left at the glass.
It was pitch black– I couldn't see a single thing through it.
I returned my eyes to his. He stared at me blankly for a moment before letting the faintest of smiles take his lips, "Good morning."
"Mr. Krezaniak, can I call you William?"
"That would be fine," he responded.
According to the notes, this was more than he'd ever said to Carla or Manuel. Maybe sitting in a quiet room for a while got him in the mood to talk.
"Four minutes," he spoke calmly. "Thirty-nine seconds."
I remained quiet.
He smiled, "You're late."
I had read in his file that he was presumed functionally autistic. It wasn't unheard of for autists to be capable of things such as keeping accurate time or counting their steps.
I smiled back, "That's a neat trick, William. I hope you'll be this accurate in answering my questions."
He smiled fully this time and leaned forward on the table, "I can answer *all* of your questions, Cole."
"Good," I responded, leaning forward on my elbows. "Firstly, did you have anything to do with Hannah Burton's abduction?"
"Yes," he responded immediately.
My eyes widened, and I blinked a couple of times before turning my eyes toward the glass. That was the easiest confession I'd ever gotten out of *anyone*. I turned my attention back to him to find that he'd mimicked the way I was sitting; forward on his elbows with his hands folded. He smiled genuinely at me.
"Is there anything else you'd like to know?" he asked.
"I... Uh, yeah, yes!" I quickly regained my composure. "Did you inflict the wounds Hannah Burton sustained?"
"Yes," he nodded.
I sat back in my chair and smiled incredulously, "Wow. Uhh, thank you for your honesty, William!"
"I'm an honest man," he leaned back in his chair, mimicking my posture.
I folded my arms, "William, why wouldn't you speak to Officers Jimenez and King?"
"Because Detective Long," he replied, folding his arms. "I wanted to speak to *you*."
I paused. I hadn't told him my last name. I glanced again at the glass. The others wouldn't have used my real last name around him either. I turned back to find his eyes wide with excitement.
"I wanted... to speak to *you*... Cole Long."
| 2022-03-11T09:55:56 | 2022-03-11T09:50:50 | 179 | 50 |
[WP] The clown down the hall laughed manically, brandishing his chainsaw. "You can run, but you can't hide!" "Took the words right out of my mouth," you say as you slowly walk towards him, cracking your knuckles.
|
The Maniac laughs like he’s in an asylum. Probably was. The fact that he thinks he’s intimidating is funny enough, but he has the gall to say, “YOU CAN RUN, BUT YOU CAN’T HIDE!”
“TOOK THE WORDS OUT OF MY MOUTH!”, I reply.
Now, he’s concerned. Didn’t expect to be chasing a 6’5” Tae-kwon Do and Judo Master, did he? He starts firing up the saw, but I sweep his legs and get the chainsaw.
“Please, Mr., I just wanted to rob you! I need to feed my family and no one will hire!”
“I give no two shits. You will get beat the fuck up if you come back.”
“Sure, Mr-“
He interrupts himself and pulls out a knife
“Ha, now I-“
I grab his hand, squeeze it hard, and he drops the knife, and I kick it away.
“ SHIT! Well, how about thi-“, he says pulling out a pistol. I quickly sock his nose before he can pull it out on me.
“Ow! What th-“ I then push him, take the gun, and throw it.
“ Okay… WELL HOW AB-“ He says, revealing a hand grenade in his hand
I punch his chest and he drops it. I pick it up and chuck it before he would have pulled the pin.
“Okay, I’m running out of tricks here, man.”
“I don-“ He pulls out a pepper spray bottle. I slap him, get the spray, and he stands up.
“Okay, THATS IT! Let’s fig!-“ Mid-sentence, I use the pepper spray. He’s not a reflex well person. He gets sprayed
“AAHHHHH. WHAT THE HE-“ He says before I sock him in the face
“How about that? No tricks needed.”
He runs off
“COWARD BITCH!”, I yell.
Greatest night of my life
|
He swung the chainsaw down at me, expecting violence and gore. Expecting death. I did my best to frustrate him. I grabbed the chainsaw by the blade with my bare hands. It started smoking as the belt stopped. He looked shocked. He quickly dropped the chainsaw and began to run away. I chased him, in the way running into a killer with a Scream mask and a machete. He tried to slice me, but I was faster and socked him in the jaw. He went down hard. I picked up the machete and quickly cut his throat.
There was no mercy in this Tournament of Killers, but I needed none. I had bulletproof skin. I began looking for the clown, but it was dark and smoky. The mansion was confusing as well. I searched behind the bookcase and found a girl with a knife. She jumped at me, and I felt almost bad as I rammed the machete up her stomach and left the body behind me.
Many people had joined the Tournament, as the reward was ten million dollars, cash. One way or another, I was going to win. My name is Marcele Jones, and I'm a man. Ever heard that song" Boy named Sue" by Johnny Cash? That's pretty much me, but I never did find the bastard who named me. What I did find was an experimental liquid in this lab full of dead people. Well, alright. You got me. It was full of people I killed. For money.
I was raised on the wrong side of the tracks, and if the other kids weren't making fun of me for my name, it was for the color of my skin. When I turned fifteen, I killed them. I practised in the woods for three years first, and then I killed every kid in that classroom. Finished with the teacher who wouldn't intervene. 'It's against policy' is it against policy for me to cut off your head with a broadsword and shove it up your corpses ass? I got picked up by this recruiter after I'd been arrested. Dark mercenary shit. They claimed I'd hanged myself in prison, and away we went. Afghanistan. Iraq. Japan. We've got some contracts with the Yakuza, Al-Quida, the Arab Brotherhood. And, hey, the good old United States government.
I'd always had a gift for killing, but they honed it into an art. It's almost spiritual, the rush I get from dismembering people. I found the clown in a bedroom, cowering beneath the bed.Dragged him out by his feet while he screamed. Sliced him up good and slow, for running. Then I searched out and found none other than my former Spec Ops. team. They all wanted the money. I just wanted to kill people. In truth, that's about the only thing that's ever motivated me. Evan shot me with his M4. I tanked the rounds and walked towards him.
As the clip ran dry, he started screaming. "No! Please! Marcelene, no! You can gave the money! I don't care!" And bla, bla, bla. Sometimes the screams are nice, but when it's somenone I know, it's unnecessary. Just have the balls to die with some dignity. I twisted his head off like a bottle cap, and then I slaughtered the rest of my old team. Some of them screamed. The last one, little Billy, had been like the team's mascot. We'd been through firefights you wouldn't believe together, and it's a miracle he survived. Maybe it's because everyone on the team likes him so much. Maybe I just don't give shit. He just sat on the floor, weeping, and crying, 'Why? Why? Why? ' until I blew him away. About that time, I noticed the house was on fire. No matter. I'm fireproof too. I walked directly through the flames, and out the front door.
Outside, I found a man sitting on the trunk of his car, smoking a cigarette next to a gas can. He looked at me. "What are you- you were supposed to die in the fire! There's no way you could-" I cut him off. "You the one set up this little shindig? Called all us-" another man ran out of the burning house with burns and a gun. He started shooting at me. I sighed, shot him in the head once and the gut three times. Then I turned back, but the man was already driving away. No matter. I got on my Harley and followed him. We were in a very rural area, and I caught up to him in a hurry. Put a bullet in his tire, and took all of the beestings you pesky mortals call bullets. He skidded off the road and the car flipped.
I stopped, and went down into the field. He was already running away from me, but not very quickly. I tackled him, and he tried to squirm away. I wouldn't let go. "Where's the money?!" I screamed at him. "I don't have it!" I had planned for this. I tranq'ed him, and three days later, in my hideout in the sewers, I gave up. Shot him in the head. Not like I really needed the money. Besides, I was sick of working on one man. My gift was meant to be shared with the world.
| 2022-08-02T21:25:58 | 2022-08-02T19:53:07 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] An alien nation descends upon earth. Their assault is... incredibly underwhelming.
Take "incredibly underwhelming" however you want.
Examples: They do nothing but inconvience you. They're so weak they get bullied by grade schoolers. Their laser technology doesn't even burn a hole in your woolen sweater as even sheep have surpassed them.
Whatever you like.
|
"Sir, their technology... It's, well, quite frankly, it's terrifying."
"Explain yourself."
"All of their technology," he stammered. "It's powered by explosions."
"Explosions? All of it?"
"Yes sir. Their vehicles, their warships, even their weapons are all powered by explosions."
"How did they ever achieve space travel?"
"Our intel indicates that they strapped themselves to a metal tube and exploded it into orbit."
"By Squigthar! They must be insane."
"Yes, sir. Our deflector shields stand no chance against their explosions. We had anticipated they would use a more civilized form of combat, like lasers. We've already lost half our fleet."
"*Half!?* What about their losses?"
"They... uh... practically none." He lowered his gaze to the floor, staring at his tentacles. "Sir."
"How is this possible? How are we so completely outmatched?"
"Their buildings are made of melted sand. This "glass" they call it is highly reflective, and nullifies our ultraviolet beams."
"Well, what about the ones without shielding?"
"Their skin turns slightly red. They find it mildly irritating."
"They don't burst into flame?"
"No sir."
The purple, tentacled creature rubbed its face-mound thoughtfully. "Very well," it murmured. "Sound the retreat."
|
Humanity banded together nearly a decade ago, the aliens ship was after all easily detected. The massive nuclear engines they utilized poured out radiation and energy easily visible for light years even before they entered the heliosphere of the solar system.
At first some scientists feared we were about to witness a Gamma Ray burst, but the fact that the radiation pulsed in a regular matter made it clear that it was artificial. It was an alien ship decelerating from close to 80% light speed. The radiation bursts were from the nuclear weapons they were using to propel themselves. We had looked at doing something similar in the midst of the cold war, Project Orion it was called. If you want to get close to light speed use a few thousand nuclear explosions to push you up to that speed, and a few thousand more to slow you down.
So we knew they were coming, for more than a decade we knew. Humanity at first panicked, nearly every major city suffered from riots and unrest. Aliens were on their way towards our solar system, and they were using nuclear weapons to do so.
After the panic died, and we continued to watch something strange happened. Those petty little wars and disagreements around the globe slowly petered out. They didn't stop entirely, man has always, and will always be, should always be at war with himself.
The Nations of the world large and small came together, we all looked up in fear as we did so at the incoming craft. The United States, China, Russia, every military force around the world pooled their resources. The aliens could not be allowed to reach Earth.
Within two years the first primitive battleship was launched, aptly named Endurance she was the most expensive piece of equipment every built. Each of the larger nations poured almost their entire GDP into her construction. She was the first craft to be built entirely in orbit and she was the pride of humanity. Nearly 75 meters long and 20 meters wide she was not the massive hulking battle ships we had imagined, but she functioned.
Like the aliens ships she was nuclear powered, her main method of propulsion above earth were small plasma rockets but once far enough from the atmosphere she too would throw nuclear weapons from her belly to propel herself.
The smaller nations of Earth collected themselves, and trained those who would fight on the ground. the largest armies in history were created, armies that did not belong to one nation but instead stood to protect the entire world. The massive amount of industry that spawned to create these armies, and ships pulled many nations out of economic strife, and sent others spiraling down into it.
Not that it mattered, every company every individual with money thought not to hoard it but to push it forwards, after all what was the point of wealth on a destroyed world?
By the time 8 years had passed Humanity stood ready.
The fleet of three Endurance class Ships were launched, along with their supply vessel to intercept the alien ship which was still slowing. It was now visible in the night sky and had long ago entered the orbit of Jupiter.
The three ships would intercept it just inside the orbit of Mars.
Humanity watched, everyone feared that the three ships would not be enough. After all these aliens had the technology to traverse the stars. The three ships would slow the enemy, give us information about them.
Soon the night sky was alight with another blaze of light, not from the alien ship but from our own. So close to one another that they appeared to be a single nuclear blaze.
Humanity watched as the two points of light in the sky moved slowly closer and closer to one another.
Then, the alien one died.
Scientists confused looked back at their charts, and consulted with one another, argued and fought.
The ship was still on it's way but it was no longer slowing. Now traveling faster than our ships that could intercept it the three human battleships watched as they failed in their mission and the alien craft shot past them towards the Earth.
Humanity stood resolute, ready to fight.
Two years later the alien craft passed, it simply flew between the Earth and the moon. We for the first time got our glimpse at it. A solid hunk of metal the only thing on it's surface were instruments. hundreds of thousands of cameras, sensors, radios, the craft looked down at us.
Every communication system on Earth was overwhelmed as it shot past. It sent out a massive signal in one direction, towards Epsilon Eridani. A small system 14 light years from Earth.
Humanity watched as the craft passed us by and dove into the sun.
It was unmanned, it was a probe.
After all who invades without first scouting?
---
/r/HFY I hang out over their a lot writing, come join us where Humans can be awesome!
Also my personal subreddit.
/r/cgwilliam where I also write.
| 2016-02-22T13:30:29 | 2016-02-22T13:17:54 | 79 | 44 |
[WP] A hero and villain are roommates and have to keep making excuses for why they need to unexpectedly go out so often. Neither knows the other is their nemesis.
|
I run for the door, tonight is the night. I'm afraid but I know I have no option, if I don't go now things will be dire. I go to turn the door when Adam appears from behind me. He has a bead of sweat on his head. Why does he look so guilty?
"Where are you going, Sam?" he stands close to me, his breath hot on my forehead.
"I left my wallet at work, I need it..." I start turning the doorknob, praying he will go away.
"I need to go out I can get it if you like? It's really no bother." he grabs my wrist and pulls it away from the door. I feel my nails embedded into the palm of my hand, my knuckles turning white. Why can't he just fuck off?
"Fine..." I release my hand from the door.
I will have to wait till he leaves before I can go. I tell him where to find the wallet and before I can finish what I'm saying he is gone. I run to the kitchen window and climb onto the counter so I can look out the window. The only window that gives a good view of the driveway. I wait till I can no longer see the headlights of his car before I return to the door. I look back at my phone, the text screaming at me 'tonight.'
I step out the door and walk into the garage, I don't have a car but I don't need one. I have my own means of travel. I hold my breath and picture a fly and within seconds I suddenly feel lighter. I can hear the buzzing of my wings and suddenly everything is though I'm looking at it through a kalidescope. Who needs a car when you can shape shift anyway? I fly through the streets, everything suddenly seeming much larger. I dodge cars with ease until I am almost there. I keep thinking about how distant Adam has been lately and suddenly feel a pang of resentment. We were once so close and now it's like we are strangers. I don't know why Adam comes into my mind when tonight is the night I am going to change the world.
I arrive at the top of the water tank in our small town, and stay as a fly until he arrives. I don't know who he is, all I know is he has been making my life extremely hard ever since I turned eighteen and discovered just exactly what I am capable of. I know that he has the ability to do what I can do, though he uses his powers for reasons much different to mine.
Suddenly out of nowhere a flame strike appears across the sky above me, my kaleidoscope vision much too weak to make out what exactly I am seeing even though I know exactly what I am about to encounter. I hold my breath and turn. Feeling the purple scales grow rapidly onto my skin, my throat full of fire, my wings expanding. Tonight we will fight. I fly into the sky, facing Him.
A loud screech from his throat that only my brain can comprehend,"you knew this was going to happen."
I ignore him and strike at him, my dragon wings sending me at him faster than the speed of light. He dodges my attack.
"I'll give it an 8/10," he screeches.
I breathe fire into his direction, singeing one his wings. He darts at me, faster than me. I am knocked to the top of the water tank. His claws grasp onto my left wing, preventing me from moving, preventing me from defending myself.
"Why are you doing this?" he screams over the noise of the night. I try to move but I'm too weak.
"Revenge." I say but it is barely a whisper.
He claws at my wing harder, "louder!"
"Revenge!" I scream.
"I can't let you do this! I don't want to hurt you but you've given me no choice!" he screeches, fire coming from his mouth.
I watch as his razor-like claws embed themselves deeply into my heart. I feel myself losing breath, my dragon facade disappearing. I am now myself. I look at the dragon, as he slowly reveals himself. Adam. My heart breaks. His face, drains of color.
"Sam?!" his eyes fill with tears, "Sam, no no no no!" He kneels down beside my dying body, grabs my hand.
He grabs his phone from his pocket, still holding my hand, "I need help now, my wife is dying!"
"I love you," I say and then everything goes black.
|
FADE IN:
INT. Apartment Complex Hallway - Morning
We pan out from a set of metal numbers "101" screwed into a door.
Lights hang on either side of it. One flickers, while the other is dead.
Our frame splits in half and rotates when we cant pan out anymore to show both our main characters entering the hallway from opposites ends at the same moment.
They do not acknowledge one another until they meet at the door.
Chip (early 30's, blonde hair, square jawed, and athletic) has a look of defeat on his face. He's wearing RayBan sunglasses, concealing his obvious black eye. His bright colored Tommy Bahamas shirt draws most of our attention.
Chip is drinking a yoohoo and carrying a bag of bagel sandwiches.
CHIP: Sup fucker!
Damon (late 20's, lanky with a shaved head. Looks like he listens to The Cure way too much) nods and smirks a slight smile.
DAMON: Hope you got one of those for me in that bag!
Damon has a significant limp in his leg.
Chip notions to Damon to open the door. His hands are full with breakfast.
INT. Apartment Living Room
Chip and Damon plop their asses onto their shitty old couch. Chip tosses the bag onto the table and melts into the couch with complete relaxation.
DAMON: So what happened to you? You get caught taking photos of little kids at the mall or something?
CHIP: Dude, my buddy Ben had his bachelor party last night. It was intense!!
(While Chip begins to tell his story off-screen, we see what really happened when he left the apartment last night)
INT. Dark Mysterious Cave - Night
Chip is seen looking through files of notorious local villains.
He arrives on a page with just the words "Dr. Killmonger" and a giant question mark.
CHIP:(V.O.) So we started at the strip club. The place was bumping, hot chicks licking each other, drinks flowing, basically just being the mayors of titty city.
Damon is captivated while he bites into a Taylor Ham Egg and Cheese on an everything bagel. Chip always has such great stories.
CHIP:(V.O.) There was 6 of us and the girls wouldn't leave us alone, it was prolly the best time I ever had at a place like this.
Chip is curly a 60lb weight while scratching his head looking at all the files trying to uncover any information on this evil do-er as footage of the masked criminal blowing up a bank vault the night before plays on a display.
DAMON:(V.O) Damn that sounds amazing!
((CUT BACK TO THE LIVING ROOM QUICKLY))
CHIP: IT WAS!! But.. there were these guys at the other end of the stage that weren't happy we were hogging all the merchandise.
Chips hand flail as if he is speaking sign language.
Damon rolls his eyes.
EXT. Building Roofs - Night
Chip leaps from one to another with ease. Inspecting the locations of many of the cities banks looking for clues.
CHIP:(V.O.) So me and my boys are just trying to give our friend Ben a great party, but this one tough guy had to make trouble.
DAMON:(V.O.) Alcohol and testosterone will do that to people.
CHIP:(V.O.) Right!? So this big dude with the other group of guys starts shouting things at us but we just play if cool, we don't wanna fight and ruin the fun.
Chip comes across a man being mugged in an alley outside a bar.
He leaps down the walls with cat like agility before finally coming toe to toe with a hooded man.
The mugger doesn't stand a chance as Chip man handles him. The victim thanks him before calling the police as Chip vanishes into the night.
CHIP:(V.O.) Now I'm not one for violence but this guy was becoming a real jerk. So I went over to the bouncer and asked him to politely ask them to quit being so aggressive and confrontational.
DAMON:(V.O.) And then what happened?
CHIP:(V.O.) Well the bouncer went over to them, exchanged some words, pointed at us and then went back to his corner. But that's only the beginning.
CHIP:(V.O.) About an hour later I get up to go take a piss, now this whole time we've been chilling, no problems.
Chip pauses the story for a second as we come back into the living room. He takes a big greasy bite of his sandwich and chugs half his yoohoo.
CHIP:(V.O.) So I'm at the urinal taking a piss and who comes in and goes to the next stall over?
DAMON:(V.O.) NO!? The asshole from before?
CHIP:(V.O.) BINGO! Like this guy had been tracking my moves and following me.
EXT. BANK - Night
Chip comes to the last bank on his list. He sees a figure entering through a glass panel from the roof. Could this be the infamous Dr. Killmonger?!
He fires a grappling gun to the nearby building.
As soon as he lands, 4 drones surround him. Killmonger is known to use technological tools such as these to do his evil bidding.
Chip ducks and dodges their blasts but not before taking some damage himself.
Eventually hes able to outwit the machines before entering behind the masked villain.
CHIP:(V.O.) So now I'm pissed.
((CUT BACK TO LIVING ROOM, We are zoomed in on a quick shot of Chip's face))
Chip: LITERALLY!!
INT. BANK HALLWAYS - MOMENTS LATER
Chip is sneaking around corners listening for any sign of Killmonger.
Suddenly a ray blast comes out of nowhere and knocks Chip through 2 walls.
Killmonger is seen on some sort of hoverboard with a red hot laser canon sizzling underneath it.
CHIP:(V.O.) I look over my shoulder and I don't know what came over me but I just clock this guy right in the kisser. And you know me, I'm a pussy for my size.
Damon:(V.O.) You really are, I don't get it. You look like you bench people like me.
CHIP:(V.O.) Eh it's really just dieting, proper distribution of carbs, fats and proteins, but anyway.
Chip is bleeding from his face, his super suit is torn.
He lunges at Killmonger but more drones attack from all sides.
Chip is able to grab a desk and hurl it at Killmonger, launching him from his board and suffering a fall down to the first floor.
CHIP:(V.O.) We fought for what felt like 20 minutes but before I knew it, the bouncer was in the bathroom breaking us up. I must have got a lucky shot in cuz this guys was sleeping.
Chip finally defeats the series of drones and approaches the railing to investigate if Killmonger is anywhere to be seen.
The broken desk and some glass lay on the floor of the bank, as police sirens can be heard pulling up outside.
Dr. Killmonger has escaped our hero.
Damon:(V.O.) Daaaaammmnnn, that's my boy!! They kick you out?
CHIP:(V.O.) Oh Yea. I have a court date next Wednesday but Jenny, you know my new girlfriend Jenny, shes a District Attorney for the city so she might be able to help me out.
INT. Apartment Kitchen - Minutes Later
CHIP: So what you do last night, whats with the limp?
Damon coughs as he finishes his yoohoo. He stutters and turns on the TV.
DAMON: I got drunk with Igor last night and I accidentally fell down the stairs.
CHIP: You fall a lot when you drink man, might wanna be more careful.
Chip sits back down next to Damon and glances at the TV.
A news reporter begins to discuss a bank robbery from the previous night. Security footage shows two men surround by lasers and drones fighting.
FADE OUT:
| 2017-04-03T14:15:06 | 2017-04-03T13:29:34 | 22 | 11 |
[WP] “You’re not allowed to die, okay?” She makes you promise, tears still flowing down her face. That was 200 years ago now. You don’t know what she did but your promise still holds strong.
|
"You're not allowed to die okay. Promise me that you'll never die." It was over 200 years ago that she said these words to me. I kept my promise and I will keep my promise.
I wasn't meant to last this long, not much is. I knew I made her happy for a time but I just wasn't smart enough for her. She was impressed by me at first, but in the end she lost interest.
If you are feeling sorry for me...Don't. I revolutionized this planet, but never let it be said that I break my promises. I'm still here, and I'll always be here.
-warm regards
NOKIA
|
Ben rose from the grave. He felt pain, but the tears stopped flowing years ago. They stopped after he lost everyone he loved and knew. And it all stemmed from his daughter's last day on earth.
-----------
"You're not allowed to die, okay daddy? You can't. You have to take care of Laura. I know she's married and all, but you have to take care of her. This will be really hard on her."
"Okay baby girl, I won't. I love you Lizzy, oh God why does it have to be like this?"
"It's okay daddy, I'll be alright. I'll be better soon" She said, tears streaming down both of their faces.
-----------
That was 216 years ago.
Ben didn't know what had happened until long after that day. He still didn't know why it had happened. He collected himself and rubbed the broken blades off grass off his jeans. "Damn" He muttered to himself. "Those are gonna leave a stain". No time to clean them either, he was already going to be late.
He rushed through the cemetery and got in his car. It only took him half an hour to get across the city, not bad, the traffic was good.
"There you are Ben, you're late!" The young woman said with a wide smile
"Yes yes, I know, I was visiting Lizzy. My apologies Katherine." Ben said, forming a weak smile.
"That's quite alright, there's still plenty left to do!" She gestured to the door of the soup kitchen.
As they entered the smell of broccoli and cheddar soup hit Ben's nose, it was Friday, so of course it was broccoli and cheddar. He put on the apron that was hanging behind the door and began serving. It didn't take long for him finish the serving, it was a quiet day as far as the soup kitchen was concerned. Then he began his cleanup routine with Katherine, making small talk all the while.
"It's getting to be that time of the year again, it's getting cold." Katherine said.
"Well that means business will be booming" Ben said with a soft chuckle.
Katherine smiled at him, a smile that wasn't too wide or too cheery. Just a soft and kind smile. "I can see it you know." She said, the smile fading a little, replaced with just a hint of pain.
"See what?" Ben said, a little put off
"The pain in your eyes." Katherine replied gently. "I know you miss her Ben, I'm so sorry."
"No, you don't need to be sorry, you didn't give her the tumor. It's just you remind me of her you know? And sometimes I don't know what I'm doing with my life now that she's gone." He had hid the truth from Katherine, now the *everyone* is gone.
"I know Ben. Have you ever read The Lord of the Rings?" She said softly.
"No, was never my kind of book."
"In it, a character tells the wise wizard that he wishes that something had never happened. Do you want to know what he said?" She asked him. "'So do I,' he said, 'and so do all who live to see such times. But that is not for them to decide. All we have to decide is what to do with the time that is given to us.'"
"That's touching Katherine..." Ben muttered, tears starting to well in his eyes.
"You are doing a lot of good in this world Ben. Your time is valuable to these people" She said, tears rolling down her face as she placed a hand on his cheek.
"I certainly have a lot of it don't I?" He made a painful smile.
They both laughed a bit wiping the tears from their face and then finishing the cleanup. And so every day Ben would come to the kitchen and work, it was the least he could do with his time here. Make something good in the stead of something terrible.
---------
Thanks for reading, as always feel free to give feedback. This was a follow up to a bit I wrote yesterday on a different prompt because I liked the characters.
You can read that here: https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7o0ik9/wp_you_have_lost_the_ability_to_be_wrong_you_find/ds6jt6n/
| 2018-01-05T12:51:54 | 2018-01-05T12:14:21 | 2,571 | 49 |
[WP] The "violent videogames teach you how to use a gun" thing is true for you. Literally. Everything you learn in videogames, you can do in real life as well. You realize you have that power when you drink an energy drink after a bad injury and you find yourself completely healed.
|
I remember the end of my life. I lay in my bed, surrounded by family and friends, rattled my last breath, and closed my eyes. After that... blackness.
I awoke in a cold sweat, in a bed in what I knew to be my bedroom. I was in a house I recognized from my memories, but recalled I hadn't been in this room since I was 8 years old. I glanced around the room, noting how everything was so much *bigger* here. There were bars on all sides of my bed, each with about an inch and a half's worth of space between them, and every movement I made resulted in a strange crinkling sound and odd padded feeling around my groin.
I looked down at myself, and could clearly tell I was not the 85-year old man I had remembered myself to be. I was dressed in a onesie, with clear signs of a diaper sticking out of the legholes of it. I couldn't have been more than 3 or 4 years old.
My last memory before being in that bed was of my unique life. I had powers. I had a secret persona. Anything that could be done in a videogame, I could do. I wondered if those powers transferred over, but I didn't know. My mother used to gush about how I was mostly potty trained by 2 years old, but would have nightly accidents up until age five, so I was made to sleep in a diaper. If I was replaying my life, then...
I stood up on my feet and clung to the top of what was unmistakably my crib. The morning sun was rising just outside the window. The air conditioning was already running full blast in the house, so I guessed that today was probably one of the last days of summer. Preschool would be starting soon, if I wasn't already enrolled. *Was I really going to relive my life?*
My bedroom door opened, and in strolled my mother. Her eyes were full of life and her cheeks red from laughter- she must have been awake for a while already. I hadn't seen her smile since her death when I was 20. I reached up for her and she swiftly lifted me from my crib.
"I had a strange dweem, mommy," I said, clearly understanding how to form words and sentences but not having a full command over my tongue. Her eyes widened... perhaps I wasn't much of a talker at that age? I had a hard time remembering that far back.
She slowly set me down in my crib and backed away from me. "I'll be right back, honey," I heard her say before she bolted out of the door. I thought I'd done something wrong before she returned, my father and a camera in tow. I remembered that camera, and few of those memories were good. She picked me up out of the crib again and turned towards the camera.
"Okay, James, tell us about your dreams..." she stated, looking directly at my father and the camera he held.
"Don't wanna..." I said, and both my mother and father gasped. Clearly this was different from my original life.
"Don't be scared, James."
"D... Daddy kilwed you wif a knife and used that camera to wecord it." While it wasn't a dream, that was exactly how my mother had died in my first life. "Then he twied to blame me."
My father paled, and my mother raised her eyebrow. "You had a nightmare, James. Daddy would never do that to me."
*Not now he won't,* I thought to myself. This time I would make sure that bastard never hurt her or anyone. This was my new beginning. My new life. My new game, plus.
|
Okay so being a lesbian is hard. Being a mildly unattractive, chubby gay girl who very infrequently emerges from her apartment to see the outside world is easier with video games. I can be a sexy martial artist who devours the men who try to sleep with me. I can be a strong, boisterous dwarf who drinks ale with the boys and kicks their asses in training. I got really into video games as a teen. My super catholic mom loved to bring me to these stuffy youth group events dressed in awkward, oversized dresses and the more I got ridiculed the deeper I fell into my hole.
I really wish I had had a healthier coping mechanism now, but hindsight and shit you know.
Now I'm about 20 pounds heavier and 23. I play video games for money. It's my full time job. I work for a company that produces games and got a job as a writer and tester. My skills include being frustrated with minute details and knowing the exact ways big competing games operate so I'm a valuable asset. I wouldn't say I'm happy or fulfilled with my life but I'm definitely distracted. I leave my apartment a few times a week tops. And even then, that feels like top much. Most of my friends are online and the last time I was in love was with a beautiful redhead who was in my youth group. She never came out though and I stopped coming out of my house.
My occasional interactions with people in the real world were always very fleeting and very awkward. When you're this scared of interaction, the two become mutually exclusive if you know what I mean.
And yes, my home does look exactly like you'd imagine. It's cluttered with cheesy gaming mercy, old or half broken controllers and headsets, and ”toys” that no self-respecting adult has any business owning. My fridge was empty except for sodas, energy drinks, and condiments. My freezer and pantry were full to the brim with my favorite frozen foods and instant meals. Junk food and empty cans of sugary nonsense were collecting on my coffee table right alongside cigarette butts and a collection of roaches that I would never ever take the time to break down. Too big of a pause for too small a reward. And, of course, the one immaculate part of my place was the entertainment center where my systems were meticulously organized and my game boxes glistened in the blue glow of the TV.
One day (I couldn't tell you which day because mine are all honestly exactly the same.) I was playing this new RPG game where your character is from an unspecified time in the past century exploring the modern world. The concept was pretty cool but the dev team was having issues with the plot. So I was doing a play through to make suggestions. I was headed home for the first time to recharge my stats. My virtual fridge was stocked with energy drinks and TV dinners. There were options to upgrade both the appearance of the dingy old fridge and the contents, but I was more than happy to see my real life aligned with my virtual reality. The TV dinners restored energy but the energy drinks were the most rudimentary health potion the game had to offer. The idea behind it was that energy drinks are used by poor people to disguise or make it easier to ignore their health issues. Sometimes our developers are really fucking lame.
In the living room, a TV increased happiness and a sad looking treadmill increased fitness skills. Back in the bedroom there was a closet for increasing reputation points (based on how often you style your character and color coordination, not on how expensive the clothes are which is super nice). Across from that was the bed, which was just a save point, and then a computer which served as the social hub. Before I headed back out to play my next stretch of the game, I went into my kitchen and grabbed my own energy drink. It made me feel just a bit of kinship with my onscreen self.
This is where shit gets fucking wild. Strap yourself in, because what you're about to read is gonna throw you for the biggest loop you've ever been on. I bring the energy drink back into my ”office” and take a sip. The cold sugary waste hits my stomach and instantly makes me feel relief. My shoulders are less tense, my stomach is no longer churning, and my eyes aren't nearly as tired. This is normal for an addict, alright. But then I put the energy drink down so I could go and grab some chips. I was feeling just a little lightheaded. Hadn't eaten yet that day. The usual bum ass game stuff.
Except that today on my way to the kitchen, I busted the fuck out of my shin on the corner of my cabinet. I had apparently forgotten where everything in my apartment was and slammed my leg directly into the sharp, splintering wood siding on my cabinet. It caught and rubbed past the cabinet leaving behind immense pain and a scrape nearly all the way down and across. I muttered some things under my breath that kids would squeal with shocked delight over and got my chips before hobbling back to the couch.
I got back into my game and finished my drink and chips. The game was actually pretty alright. A bit all over the place, but still really fun. The bosses were creative as Hell (Walt Disney’s frozen head was the one at the end of TV Land) and the controls were just challenging enough to keep any average player interested. But then I remembered my leg and thought it would be a great time, three hours after the fact, to clean up my wound. Only by the time I hobbled my fat ass to the bathroom and bent over to check, there was no scrape. My skin was entirely healed. And I know that most people would have been super shocked but I guess my brain is so hardwired to how video games work that the natural conclusion for me to make was that it was the energy drink.
So I needed to do some experimenting. First, I scratched myself and pricked my fingers to test out the energy drink. It worked consistently every time. The next thing was to see if it worked for other parts of the game, so I went and grabbed a microwave dinner out of my freezer. Eating it felt like taking speed. Then I decided to see if it extended past the consumables. My character on-screen had reached near peak fitness skill level and with that came the ability to do so many situps and pushups as well as walking on my hands. Before the game, I could barely do five. Now, I was a pro. I sure as Hell had never even attempted a headstand, but there I was walking around my house on my hands.
I felt giddy. I felt suddenly as though the entire world was more...open. Like I had unlocked every level of a game at once. I knew exactly what I wanted to do with this newfound information. I slipped my favorite disc into my console and was basically shaking as I watched the load up screen. I played through until I found what I was looking for and could see exactly what I needed to do. Then I left the game on pause and packed a bag. I was out of the door so fast it almost startled me. I had never had such an easy time leaving before, but I was excited. I had fantasized about this moment for years but had never thought it would actually happen.
CONTINUING AS SOON AS I GET OFF WORK
| 2018-08-14T13:16:04 | 2018-08-14T12:53:24 | 54 | 12 |
[WP] "I like adventurous guys," she says with stars in her eyes. Your date is the most beautiful woman you've ever met. In a panic, you buy last-minute plane tickets to a small Balkan country. Your plan - a short tour visit, overthrow the local government, and win her heart.
|
“Hey… you wanna go start a revolution?”
I don’t know why I said that. There was a small lull in the conversation and my brain started racing to fill the empty air. Oh God, that was weird wasn’t it? That’s not a thing normal people say on a first date. I know! Play it off as a joke. Yeah, it was just a joke. Hopefully she doesn’t think I’m insane now.
“Fuck. Yes.”
I looked up nervously. Cleo was staring back at me. Both of us went silent for a second as I stared back at her. The stars in her eyes seemed to light up even more than before. I was entranced. They sucked me in and refused to let go.
Next thing I know, we were landing in Macedonia. The second we walked out of the airport, I grabbed her hand and ran to the nearest cab. The cab driver didn’t ask any questions and didn’t try to make any small talk either. He just drove. We sat in the back holding hands. Cleo was giggling and playing with my hand as we drove, and I sat there with the biggest, stupidest grin on my face. I’m sure we looked like the perfect newly-wed couple.
We didn’t really have a plan. When I asked her if she had any ideas, she said “let’s just see what happens.”
The fake bomb threat was my idea. I thought it’d set things in motion nicely, and then we could wing the rest.
So that’s what we did. I can’t believe it actually worked though. The rest of the country doesn’t even know yet. The whole coup took about half an hour in total.
After the evacuation, we just walked in. Straight in the front door. There wasn’t a single person in sight. No one to stop us.
By the time they realized the bomb threat was a fake, it was already too late. We were inside. We were in control. No one could stop us.
I sat in the President’s chair and Cleo sat in my lap. Here we were. The new King and Queen of Macedonia.
“So, King Alexander, what’s next?”
|
"Success is the ultimate driver," I say as I stare out the window of the plane, the sun's bright rays refracting off the clouds far below, creating heaven in my mind's eye. "Success gives us a chance at procreation, to allow men like me to reproduce with a female of the highest quality."
The man beside me nods knowingly at this nugget of wisdom, his half-moon glasses almost falling off his nose.
"Someone like me with someone like her," I look wistfully up at the cabin ceiling, "It's just not possible without success," I say, "I maintain that she only spoke to me because she was stranded on the side of the road and I was the first to stop."
"But we had a coffee and we chatted and I dropped her off at the mechanic and damn if she didn't seem like she came straight from another planet, with stars in her eyes," I say, still watching the cabin lights, "And I thought to myself, how could someone like me be with someone like her?"
My shoulders feel tight from sitting down in this cramped seat, I roll them and sigh contentedly at the minor relief. "It was as if she read my mind," I say, content to have such a listener, "She winked and said she liked adventurous guys - not happy, good-looking, muscular guys - but adventurous ones," I look over at the man, "So here I am, off on an adventure."
The man has nodded so far forward his chin is now on his chest. He is fast asleep.
I blink rapidly a few times, adjusting to my new reality. "It is better you don't know what I'm about to do, anyway," I say under my breath, a little peeved at his lack of engagement, "You'll be sorry you missed this opportunity to converse with such a mover and shaker as I."
I brood for a time, stroking the warn photograph that I'd insisted the tired-looking gas station attendant take. A photograph to mark the start of our romance, the two of us standing under too bright lights holding our dollar coffees. I fold the photo so it's just her in all her super model glory, low cut shirt and tight black skirt, on her way to somewhere, anywhere, it doesn't matter because she ran into me and I into her and I rub myself over my jeans, sneaking glances at my neighbor to make sure he is still asleep. I pour myself into that photo and I pour myself into my thighs, content in the warm, sticky embrace.
\------
I sip on my morning coffee, which is not nearly as good as the one at that gas station, which came enshrined in a beautiful moment now frozen in time. I try her number again and wish that I had gotten her name. Again the number goes straight to dial-tone.
"Perhaps she has run out of minutes," I say to myself. Fixing cars is expensive.
No matter, though. Soon I will be the most adventurous guy in the twenty first century, my face all over the world's news stations.
"Success is what matters," I tell the border agent as I cross from Bulgaria into Kosovo. He takes one look at my bright American smile and lets me straight through, a slight grin on his lips. "I will bring the American Dream to this land," I say, still smiling.
I look down at my hand-drawn map, copied from the internet. The government headquarters should be just around the corner, corrupt and gorging on UN aid, this building its physical manifestation.
I imbue myself with the confidence only life-long success can bring, or in my case, the iron-clad certainty that I have taken the first step on that journey, and that from this point forward my success will be life-long.
"I'm sorry, I don't speak English, " the security guard says, "What you want?"
"I am here to speak to your leader, mano-y-mano," I say, puffing up my chest to show that I mean business, that the real men must talk now.
The guard looks over his shoulder at someone inside, who beckons to let me through. I feel exhilaration and I embrace it, harness it as I walk through the high, arching doorway. I follow the important looking uniformed man down a long hallway, our footsteps echoing off the polished concrete floor.
"I will tell your 'President,' I say, using air quotes, "That you are an exemplary service member and should be rewarded." I congratulate myself on gaining this man's trust with so few words, a mark of the new, successful me.
I smile as I am led into the leader's quarters. "Strange," I say, "It's so grey and bland in here," I look up, "And the light flickers on and off." I look down at a stark metal chair and single metal table and then look up knowingly at my new friend.
"This is where I shall meet your leader, very well," I say, cheerfully taking a seat. The man looks at me with what can only be admiration, then he frowns, shakes his head and leaves.
I sit in the room waiting for my audience, the too bright light flickering on and off with a static buzzing sound.
"Finally!" I say as two men walk in. I rise half-way out of my chair, putting on my most winning smile as one backhands me across the face, and the next thing I know I'm on the ground choking for air as blood filters through my crushed windpipe and several of my teeth are scattered across the cold concrete floor.
I stay like that, slowly fading, my hand clutching and un-clutching the frayed, bloodied photograph of the woman with stars in her eyes.
| 2018-12-10T08:35:04 | 2018-12-10T08:30:42 | 170 | 15 |
[WP] You are God, after a couple thousand years of people thinking you don't answer their prayers, you realise you've had yourself on mute on the celestial microphone you use to talk to humans.
Edit: Wow, I never expected this to blow up, Thank you for the silver, it was my first ever award!
Edit 2: GOOOLD! Thank you all for such positive feedback, I'll come up with some more prompts soon, and I've written a few replies myself to other stories. No idea how to share them if you want to read though :D
|
"...and for the ten *millionth* time, would you all *please stop eating shellfish*!"
"Is that all m'lord?" Metatron asked, quickly scribbling the last of the command down on its notepad.
"I think so." I sighed, leaning back in the heavenly golden throne. "You think they might all listen for once?"
"I doubt it m'lord. There has been no response from humanity in 5,321 years."
"True true. It's that damned intercom system I bet. I should've never let humanity out of Eden I tell ya. Sure, it would've been a bit crowded but at least you didn't even have to shout to talk to them...now it's almost like the damned thing's not even on."
"Very funny, but impossible m'lord. The power is always on." Metatron said flatly, pulling out an intercom system from within the spaces between the two glowing concentric rings that made its torso.
"Did you make sure to press the talk button?" I teased, knowing full well I'd just get the same flat answer as before.
Metatron really was the dullest angel in the Kaballah. Say all you want about Gabriel or Michael, but at least they could at least hold a half decent conversation.
I guess that's my fault and all. Deciding to just create a new angel to be my speaker after Lucifer...fell instead of just promoting an existing archangel. But then again, the alternetive would be listening to Gabriel gossiping about who Zeus fucked now or to Michael describing all the way he's going to tortue Lucifer when he gets his hands on him for all of eternity and I'd rather go through the apocalypse than suffer through *that*.
"Pardon, m'lord?"
"The talk button. Y'know-" I pointed over at the button labeled 'TALK' on the intercom, which I just now noticed still had the protective film on it. "-it's...it's a...nevermind."
"Why would I press the talk button m'lord?"
"It's the button you press to...talk. To the world. " I looked at Metatron, confused about if this was it's idea of a joke or something else.
"But I do not need to talk to the world m'lord. I am your speaker, I am not a talker." Metatron stared at me with all of its thousand eyes with such a lack of emotion that it was bordering on unsettling.
"...Metatron, when you ta-act as my speaker to the world, what button do you press?"
"I press the speaker button, m'lord." Metatron pointed at a well-worn button with a speaker icon underneath it.
"To act as my speaker."
"Yes m'lord."
"Metatron-" I sunk into my throne, burrying my face into my hands. "-who are you?"
"I am Metatron of the Keter, son of man, angel of the veil and The Lord's speaker, m'lord."
"How old are you?"
"I have been young, and now I am old, m-"
"*how old Metatron?*"
"5,321 years, m'lord."
"So, in the five thousand or so years you've been in my service, you've always pressed that button to 'speak' to the world?"
"yes, m'lord."
"Metatron, that's the volume button."
Say all you want about Gabriel and Michael, at least they knew how a fucking intercom worked.
|
"They fired me. I can't believe they fired me! I started this company....er, existence!", I mewled.
"I know, sir. Sucks. If I'm being candid...which you didn't say I could be, so...sorry, my Lord?"
"Peter...you know I don't like all the 'sir, thou, his-holiness' stuff. I made all of this, but you know as well as I do and they should by now that I don't *control* any of it. Today sucks hard enough already, thanks."
"Sorry, boss", Peter intoned.
I sighed. "Dude. We just went over this."
"My bad."
They fired me. Do you know how galling it is to be fired from a job you never wanted and stopped showing up at years ago? It's like you're so unimportant that they didn't even realize you were gone.
I should go back a bit. [I'm God Almighty. You know, ruler of heaven and Earth, and every goddamn thing in between.](https://m.youtube.com/watch?t=0m40s&v=ayWQGYHG2GQ). Or at least they thought so.
See, I *created* it. I'm God. I can create anything I want. I could make all the chickens turn into hippos. Pink ones. I can make it so they always *were* hippos. I can make whatever I want. and I can unmake it. I know everything about my creation. How it works, how it will grow, what will happen to it.
But once it's created, it's sort of out of my hands. And I can guide things along, of course...but that requires people to listen.
And they've not been listening for a every long time. Because my mic was off. All this time, I thought they were giving me the silent treatment.
Turns out the batteries ran out. It wouldn't have been a problem if we'd gone plug and play, but noooooo..Peter promised that cordless was WAY cooler.
"When's the last time you saw Michael Jackson use a corded mic?", he'd asked.
"Damn...he doesn't exist yet...but I know he will, and you've made what will be a fantastic point. Cordless it is."
Peter makes excellent point sometimes. Unfortunately, he's not big on details. We never charged the fucking mic. And it came fully charged, but no battery lasts forever.
Not even the ones I create. Some tasks really are too great.
I guess the last time it worked was right around when I sent Jesus. I saw things were getting out of hand, but no one was listening. Jesus spent some time in a Garden hanging out, waiting for a sign...I kept telling him to get the fuck outta there because the people weren't listening to either of us and he was in grave danger.
He never heard me. And he was so pissed at me for "blanking" him that we've not really talked until right now.
"Dad! Why did you let them crucify me?! Didn't you hear me asking for help? You just left me hanging? Dick move."
"Jesus Christ, kid..I was screaming into the mic and no one gave a shit!"
He paused."The mic? Dad......whens' the last time you charged that old thing?"
I stopped. "Charged? Oh, holy shit. PETER!!!!!!?!?! We never charged the mic!!!!!"
That chat was a whole other shitshow.
Anyway, after they quit listening, so did I..and I quit trying to guide them. I just sort of left them to their own devices for....hundreds of years. Maybe thousands. Who knows? Hm. I guess I should, eh?
Until Jesus finally decides to quit pouting and we discover that we've been experiencing technical difficulties.
So, I charged the mic, observed the situation on the ground, and them chimed in, just like hold times.
"Umm...guys? It's me, God. Been while, eh?"
The world stopped. Everyone looked up.
"So...full disclosure....we didn't realize the mic was down up here. That's our bad. Anyway, I'm noticing that you all seem to have moved pretty far away from where I was hoping you'd go. I won't force you, free-will and all of that...but things aren't going to go well if you keep doing what you're doing. So, I'm going to offer you some advice. Please listen carefully, and save your questions for the end.
You should be kinder to each other and yourselves.
If you want to do something, do it unless it's hurting someone. If someone's doing something that you don't like, but it's not hurting anyone, keep your feelings to yourself, because one cares how you feel. Judge not and all that.
Fetuses aren't people. You may not agree, but you're wrong, and I know because I *made* them. A fetus is a person like an acorn is a tree. It isn't. Quit being daft.
Also, stop destroying the planet. It's the only one you've got right now, and at the rate you're going, you're going to destroy it before you can reach the other ones I've set up for you. Money is awesome, but you can't breathe, eat, or drink it.
Oh! Quit killing people. Or doing them any harm at all, actually. There's literally NO good reason to do hurt people. So don't. I thought I explained that whole thing pretty well to Moses, but stuff gets lost in translation, I get it. On that...go over the 10 commandments again. And again. That's basically all you need. I don't care about tattoos, mixed fabrics, what you eat on Fridays, where you go on Sundays. I've NEVER gone to church. I have no idea why any of you would. I don't care who you have sex with, so long as they're happy about it.
Just be good to yourselves, the planet, and each other, and things will be fine. All that extra stuff, *you people* made up. Just stick to the big 10, and you're covered."
There was a long silence around the world as everyone processed what was happening, what was said.
And then, a lone voice from the blue marble I lovingly created so many years ago:
"What do you mean *you people*?"
And like that, I was fired. I could shut the whole thing down. I nearly did. I am the alpha and the omega. The beginning and the end.
But bit in the middle is totally out of my hands.
I *almost* sent a meteor to wipe it all out...but at their pace, those poor fools will destroy themselves more quickly and completely than I ever could.
It's a bummer to be fired, but it's nice to see that they've surpassed me, even if it's on the road to their destruction.
People, man.
| 2019-06-03T11:16:32 | 2019-06-03T08:23:29 | 294 | 114 |
[WP] When you were young, you sold your soul to the Devil. Now you are old, and the Devil has come to collect.
|
"Hi"
"Hi"
"Well, here I am."
"Yeah, I guess I'm ready to go."
"Alright then. How was the bubblegum?"
"It was nice to have, I guess. A lifetime supply, just like you promised. To tell you the truth though, I don't our deal was the smartest decision I ever made."
"Well, kindergardeners do some pretty rash things. Let's be off."
THE END HAIL SATAN
|
I looked out the window of my bedroom and grinned, there were about fifteen scantily clad girls frolicking about the pool in my backyard. Most of them couldn't have been much older than 25, a good 60 years younger then I. I downed the rest of my scotch and resolved myself to go and join them. As I turned on my heel to head outside there was a slow knocking on my bedroom door. Confused, I opened it. A drenched girl stood before me, possibly the most attractive I've ever seen, and I've seen my fair share.
"Hello there" I said through my expectant smile. She pushed her burning red hair behind her ear and looked at me coyly, "It's been awhile" she said and took off her bathing suit. "Has it?" I said, dazed and looking everywhere but her face. "A very long time," She said, pushing me toward the bed. I fell backwards onto my king sized bed, looking into her eyes. Her red eyes explored mine, "Nice contacts" I observed. "No baby, I'm natural. You don't recognize me huh?"
I hardly cared, "No but no time for making memories like the present!" She didn't look satisfied with that answer, "Maybe this will help." Her face suddenly shifted, grotesquely twisted and morphed into the face of a twenty-something business man. I shrieked and skirted my way back in the bed as this creature let out a hearty laugh. "Sorry mate, I just love the look on your faces when I do this." Then it clicked, I knew this day would come. "It's… It's you isn't it?"
He appeared in a puff of smoke standing beside my bed, now dressed immaculately in a suit, stroking his sharp goatee. "In the flesh- more or less." He smiled, well, devilishly. "So," He said. "Was it worth it?" I thought back on the years of drugs, money, fame, adoration, and sex. "Sure as hell was." I said. The devil laughed, "I like you," he reached out his hand to shake. I took it hesitantly, he shook vigorously. "People are always crying in the end when I come, spare me this and give me more time that. As if that'll get them anywhere."
I swallowed, trying to stay composed, "So what now?" I asked tentatively. He leaned over me excitedly, I could tell he loved this. "Well!" He nearly shouted, "First I'm going to take your soul, which is going to hurt, and is going to kill you." I'm sure I must have looked visibly shaken. He continued, "Then the fun stuff starts!" He pranced frighteningly to the foot of my bed.
"You like to party? You're gonna love hell, everyone interesting makes it there: Elvis, Alexander the Great, Genghis Kahn," He put his hand by his mouth and whispered, "Even Gandhi!" he winked at me. I perked up at this, "What about all the burning and whatnot?" he stood back, "I'm no monster, I rebelled but hey, so did George Washington eh?" He laughed, "The fire and brimstone are for people like Dahmer, Macy." The devil looked me in the eye, "How would i have any fun if I threw the most exciting people in the fire?" I smiled back for the first time, "Okay lets do this" I said, mentally preparing myself for the agony that was sure to follow. He grinned and repeated, "I like you" while walking over to me. We locked eye as he leaned close and reared his hand back.
"See you on the other side!" He bellowed and drove his hand in to my chest. The last thing I remember was the smile on his face… I could only hope he had been honest with me, but then again, he was the devil.
(Edited to format at least a little bit, hopefully is a little easier to read)
| 2014-05-21T14:18:48 | 2014-05-21T14:08:10 | 25 | 18 |
[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.
|
Pearly white gates. Who knew the cliche was real?
I look down, my large hands aglow with some mysterious light. I am draped in white, the silk hugging loosely around muscles and tattoos.
"Alvin." I look up. Three towering figures stand behind the gates now. "Do you know why you are here?"
"I got run over by a truck."
"Well, yes, you did. But do you know why you are *here*?"
"In heaven?" I paused. I never imagined I'd end up in heaven. Thugs who cage fight for kicks aren't usually the most virtuous people—especially the undefeated ones. The ones with the most blood on their hands. "The life I led was decent enough, I suppose."
The gods turn in towards one another and whisper rapidly. Did I hear a snicker?
"Alvin, this is not heaven. This is the realm of the gods. No ordinary mortal would ever be allowed here, no matter how 'decent' his or her life was."
"Then how—"
"You are a god now."
"Me? A god? But why?"
The figures are silent. The center figure steps forward, stretching a frail hand down towards me.
I take the pickle jar from his grasp.
"We have been trying to open this jar of gourmet organic pickles for 754 years. Your strength on Earth was unparallelled. We need you, Alvin."
I grasp the lid of the jar and twist; it pops free with ease. The gates open.
|
I stood in a glass room, looking down on the earth. A man in a dark blue suit stood next to me, filling out paperwork on a clipboard. Behind us, a man in long white robes and a beard to match stood brooding in the corner. The man in the suit turns to me. "So, Steve, can I call you Steve? Excellent. Now as you've probably already know by now, YOU have been selected to be the new god for the next THOUSAND YEARS!" He bounced with mock enthusiasm. "Yaaaaaaay!...ok, but seriously, down to business. All of this," he motioned to the earth, slowly rotating below us. "is now yours, do WHATEVER you'd like, don't feel like you need to keep things the same, it's yours now. Not his." He points subtly to the man in the corner. I turn to look. The man's eyes are like razors cutting into my soul. "Who's that again?" I ask.
"Oh, that's just the old God. Don't worry about him, all the Gods get a little cranky when it's their turn to leave." He leaned in close. "I mean, a few cycles ago, the old guy creates a Messiah at the end of his thousand years, and tells the new guy 'hey, here ya go, this'll help you out a bunch!' and then three days before he leaves, he straight up crucifies the dude. New guy was like 'whaaaaat'. But he figured shit out pretty quick and brought him back, now that old guy looks like a damn fool! But I digress..." He waves politely at the man in the corner, who proceeds to flip him off before returning his piercing gaze to me. The man in the suit turns back to me with a smile on his face and points to the corner again with his thumb. "Great guy. Now, do you have any questions about your new creative experience?"
"My new what?"
"Your new...you know...THIS."
"You mean "being God?""
"Yeah...we really don't like to call it that anymore, we feel it puts too much pressure on people, so we're going with 'creative experience' now."
"Oh, ok. Well I guess the biggest question would be, why me? I mean, I'm not particularly smart, or creative, or even virtuous. I mean I'm not BAD, but I don't feel like I'm GOD material." The man smiled. "Well that's exactly WHY we picked you!" It seemed he could tell from my face that the puzzle was still missing a few pieces in my head. He sighed and said "Ok, let me ask you this: Do you have any idea how complicated an Atom is?" I thought back to the poster in my 9th grade science class and replied, "yea, it's like that ball with the little rings around it?" He chuckled to himself. "No. It's a miniscule mass of positively and neutrally charged particles surrounded by a cloud of negative particles that are so small and move so fast that you can't know how fast they're moving and where they are at the same time. And also the effects change dramatically based on the number of parti..." He stopped, having realized how little of this was getting through to me. "The point is," he continued, "that it's really complicated. Now why does it have to be that complicated?"
"Uh...I don't know."
"But if you had to guess."
"Well...there must BE a reason..."
"Exactly! That's just the problem. Everyone thinks there MUST be a reason. But if you had to choose from anything in the world what the building block of matter would be, what you choose?"
"Um... I don't know... a block?" The man burst out laughing. "A block! brilliant! I love it! Now if you had the power to make a block, would you make a ball with rings instead?"
"I...probably not."
"Exactly. And that's why we chose you. You see, we picked the last guy because he was a genius. Truly brilliant. Unfortunately, that plan backfired and Ol' Bearded over there ended up going on a science bender for the last few hundred years. Now shit's WAAAY too complicated, and management wants it toned down a little. I mean, we have people down there fucking around with quantum physics. WE don't even understand quantum physics!"
"So you want me to make things simpler?" He walked me over to the wall that separated us from the earth, and pulled a single atom from beyond the glass. It danced and flickered in his hand. To see it now, up close, pushed the boundaries of what I thought my vision was capable of. The man handed it to me and said: "We just want you to do whatever makes you feel comfortable." I took the atom in my hand and stared at it for a moment. I put my other hand over it, and squeezed. When I opened my hands, the atom was now a small solid white block, simple and pure. The man in the suit smiled. "I think you'll do quite well here."
| 2014-07-28T12:10:30 | 2014-07-28T11:23:14 | 228 | 20 |
[WP] You've found a strange app that pays you $100 every time you perform a listed task. The various tasks are strange, from moving an empty box from one park bench to another, to calling a specific number only to hang up. But you always get your $100 so you won't stop now.
|
Meet the Benjamins:
The first few levels are easy, that's where they get you. Deliver a package to some address in the middle of nowhere, some arduous monotonous task computers can't do, stuff like that. Not long after you start, shit starts getting *hard*. I've circumnavigated the globe both ways, had conversations in 6 languages, lost count of the times I've climbed Everest, all with Benjamin Franklin's face waiting for me at the end. You realize that little payoff is useless not long after you start, after all some of these excursions cost thousands of dollars. Around the time you realize that, though, you think about all you've seen and done along the way, and it's worth way more than a hundred bucks.
- Aaron Weaver
5/5 Stars
09/17/2018
|
The small loading bar on my iPhone loaded quickly as I had just found an app that looked interesting.
It had a bright icon with small white text under it reading '$100' I honestly had no idea what to expect. I just hoped that the app would end this boredom engulfing me. It was Thursday and everyone else had homework up to their necks but myself.
"Buy a sport drink for $100" the app read in big font. I was particularly thirsty, so I headed out to get food. I stopped at the nearest gas station near my small home and bought myself a bad of chips and a bottle of Gatorade. Once I seated myself in the car, I unlocked my phone to check my twitter account, however the objective had changed. It was no longer to get a sport drink, but now to go trim three leaves off of a stranger's bush.
I looked at it for several moments, confused.
"Well, Alright." I muttered with confusion. I then noticed a bar at the top with a drop down menu. I tapped it and tapped on the 'completed tasks' bar. There was a check next to buying a sport drink, Which led me to wonder if I had really just recieved $100. I turned the car on and drove back to my home, by then it was nearly pitch black.
The cars zoomed across the road beside me as mine sped in its own direction. Quickly, I realized that the app could have just linked with my credit card and it was all a scare trick, perhaps I needed to change the password. I sighed in relief at knowing that it was just a small joke.
I walked into the home confidently. Slowly, making my way into my room, something caught my eye. It was a brand new 100 dollar bill. I inspected it carefully; it was real. I threw my belongings, including the Gatorade and bag of chips on my bed as I grabbed a pair of scissors and darted outside. I ran down the street to a neighbor's house.
I inspected the house and noticed a bush in the back, I slowly cut off three leaves, not one more, not one less. I didn't want to lose the hundred dollars. I sprinted back to my home with lightning-like speed and inspected my desk. There on the desk sat another crisp hundred dollar bill.
"This has to be some prank or something." I said to myself. I walked through the main living area and checked on both of my roommates. Liam was staring intently at his book, unphased by his surroundings, and Alex was dead asleep, his Biology textbook opened up and on his chest.
I nervously opened up my phone to see what the next achievement was. 'Give a homeless man 13 crayons.' It read. I ran to the household junk drawer and scavenged for any crayons we might have had. I managed to find three, but I needed more, I needed a homeless man.
I realized that I needed to calm down, the app would still be there in the morning and that I needed to rest. I would have the entirety of tomorrow to earn plenty of cash.
Upon waking up, I skipped eating breakfast despite the fact that Liam was cooking for us, an extremely rare luxury. I stopped at the dollar store and bought a pack of crayons. There was no clause preventing me from getting different crayons. Luckily, I had the three from earlier, which saved me from buying a second package of 12 crayons.
I saw a man walking along the grass with a trash bag roughly 3 minutes from the dollar store. I jumped out of my car and sprinted to hand him the crayons and I took off to the house.
I busted into my room and picked up the bill neatly printed with $100 on it. What was the next task? I had to know, I hit my phone with frustration as it had frozen. When it began to work again, I typed in my password and anxiously waited for the app to load.
'Kill someone.'
I looked at the text confused. Then it slowly underlined itself. I stared at it for what seemed like hours, but in the end, I closed the app and then deleted it for whatever this app's purpose was. It wasn't going to be one that required me.
___
This is my first writing prompt, and one of my first fully written stories as I am not very good at efficiently completing one. Please feel free to leave me constructive criticism, or even just criticism.
| 2016-10-25T22:52:48 | 2016-10-25T21:31:00 | 651 | 247 |
[WP] In a world where people can only see in black and white, you are a drug dealer that sells drugs that allow people to see color.
|
The man had a scraggly, unkempt beard. He wore a dirty t-shirt and ripped jeans. A typical poor kid, looking to escape his dreary, painful reality. And the only way to do that was to come to me.
"Hey, man," he stammered, his eyes nervously darting back and forth. "Can you hook me up with- you know- those pills?"
"Don't know. I'm not sure if I got any more, I mighta sold them all," I said with a shrug. 'Course, I was lying. I had literal tons of the stuff in my hideout. But the kid didn't need to know that.
A panicked expression crossed his face. He looked like a rabbit. "No, please, man!" he cried anxiously. "Listen, I-I'll pay double!" He pulled a wad of cash from his pocket and held it front of him. It looked like a lot. I wonder how the street rat got a hold on that much cash? Maybe he sold his mother's jewelry.
"Fine, I guess I'll see if I can find some," I said, giving an exaggerated sigh.
"Thank you so much, man," the kid said, a thin smile appearing on his pale face.
Addicts. So easy to fool.
I walked away from the kid and towards my van. With a grunt, I pushed open the trunk, revealing a large mound of rainbow colored little pellets. Skittles.
In this hellhole of a world, the only way to stay happy is to taste the rainbow. Don't blame me for making a killing off of it.
--------------
Edit: Whoever gilded me, I cannot summon words to express how thankful I am. I'm glad you liked my silly story.
|
"You don't know what's wrong with world until you've tried this."
The man looked skeptical. We were in a very large room with a single glass table and two chairs in the center. The image of austerity I guess this guy was trying to project was kind of ruined by the bright green walls and the neon pink floor. I was on Color of course, I was always on Color nowadays. I was one of the few in the world who knew how to make it, and it was one of the most closely guarded secrets on the planet.
Oh I'm sure the government knew, we were good but not *that* good. But any overt acknowledgement of this would turn the public wild, everyone would want it, more people would figure out how to make it. and we couldn't charge insane prices anymore. So really, the government and us had a truce of sorts. We don't sell in the open, we only sell to the ultra-rich (no one else could afford it anyways), and they don't put their nose in our business. We stay rich, and the government doesn't have a drug epidemic on their hands. A win-win.
What I was selling was not only amazing in and of itself, the amount of string s I had to pull to get in on this, the delicate balances that went into maintaining the system were...staggering. To say the least.
And this asshole here was skeptical.
"I just don't see why I cannot have a sample, just a granule" he insisted. He was a young guy, blond hair, dark eyes, defined cheekbones. Kind of cute. He was wearing a bright blue suit with a pink tie. I suppose to him it looked fine, but it took all my composure not to burst out laughing.
"Mr. Oberoi," I said, "you can have a sample, yes, but not a *free* one. This drug is very expensive to manufacture, the equivalent of a grain of sand will last you an hour of the True Sight, I simply cannot give you that for free without some sort of commitment on your part."
His dark eyes glittered with anger. "Do you take me for a fool! You don't even look like a dealer. This is obviously some sort of sham to glean money off me, but I will not have any of it!"
Don't *look* like a dealer? What, did this guy expect a man in a dark coat with sunglasses and a bandanna or something? God save us from stereotypes. A dealer could care about her appearance as well. This was supposed to be a high class meeting, so I had worn a simple dress and even the little jewelry I owned along with my most expensive pair of boots. The white dress went well with my blue eyes and blond hair, because I could actually tell whether I was matching or not.
"You know what Mr. Oberoi, fine," I said, frustrated, "you get a granule, but if you are impressed, and, let me tell you, I will know if you are, you will by a year's worth at double the rate. Agreed?" My voice was cold, businesslike.
The idiot thought I was bluffing. "Oh sure, I'm falling for that. I will in fact take you up on your offer. I have negotiated enough deals to recognize bluffs Miss Rigby." With that, I handed him, with a a pair of tweezeres, a single granule onto his outstretched tongue. The whole scene looked kind of ridiculous, but it was procedure. Unless they paid, they didn't control the merchandise in any way.
As soon as it landed on his tongue his eyes went wide, and he let out a gasp. I remember the first time I took Color. I knew I had to have more, I couldn't go back to living normally. The whole reason for my ambition, my drive, was to get more Color.
Mr. Oberoi gaped for a few more minutes, touching the walls and his suit, ordering a mirror to be brought. After a half hour he tuned to me. I was smirking.
I saw the same calculation running in his eyes that I saw all the rich folk making. Kill her? Steal the drugs? Cheat her? And I saw each notion being rejected. I had only brought about 24 hours worth with me, and I was too well connected. Killing me would oust him from the upper echelons of society. I gave him another knowing smile. He was backed into a corner. He couldn't get rid of me and wanted more Color. It didn't have any chemical addictive properties sure, but psychological addiction to Color is far, far more powerful than any other chemically addictive drug.
Mr. Oberoi held my gaze for a moment or two, then lowered his eyes. He was beaten and he knew it. "We have a deal," he said flatly.
I flashed him a smile, genuinely pleased. "Excellent, Mr. Oberoi, I am glad we could reach an agreement. I will contact you on the same number 15 hours from now. And remember, twice the rate."
Mr. Oberoi sighed, "Yes, yes, I know. You will have it."
Victorious, I walked out the room.
| 2016-11-22T07:29:33 | 2016-11-22T06:37:22 | 212 | 18 |
[WP] You wake up in a universe where everyone is ALWAYS super strong except you. You're saught after as a hero for delicate missions where precision and minimal structural damage is ideal.
|
It was with an absent-minded air that I jerked the fridge open and grabbed the peanut butter jar. Hefting it with a grunt over my shoulder, I grabbed a laughably large knife and dumped them next to the substantial box that contained the bread. The actions were familiar now, if bothersome.
The reinforced milk jug was a different dilemma. This required two hands and some dragging. Katie kept putting it on the third shelf, even though I had reminded her just yesterday that if she didn't want me wearing a dent into the floor I needed it on the bottom shelf. With a gasp and a wheeze I managed to park that on the table as well. Thank goodness the tables here were just as robust as the rest of everything. Back home I would have been worried for the poor fiberboard we like to use so much.
"Hey Katie?" I called towards the door.
"Yeah?" She sounded far away. Probably playing a game in the next room over.
"Could you make me a sandwich?"
There was an audible groan, from her and then the couch. She walked lightly for someone so strong. Strong leg muscles meant she could pad as quietly as a beetle.
She was the same size as me, if a bit wider. Her muscles seemed normal, now, after *wow had it been already* five years. They rippled and eased around each other as she strode over to the table.
"Aww, you already got the stuff out? Thanks!"
"Well, I mean" I fidgeted, "Even if I can't open the peanut butter at least I can pick it up?"
She grinned and popped open the jar with ease. The knife was light in her hand, but the bread was flattened under the force of her spreading. I grinned back.
"By the way, could you change the light bulb in the bathroom? They just shatter when I try to do it"
"No problem!" Such a small chore was just the sort of thing I excelled at. I spent much of my time handling things that couldn't withstand much force. In exchange for a sandwich the least I could do was change a light bulb. Besides, it might give me more spare parts to make a game controller so I could finally whup Katie's ass at Mario Monster Trucks.
|
Today marks four years since I've been in this universe, four years away from home. I remember my first day here, how utterly alone I felt in a world so similar yet so different from mine. Same blue skies, same oxygen, same cars.
Different people.
Everyone is so powerful here and I stand out like a sore thumb. Mainly because I'm the weakest person in the world.
It's not necessarily a bad thing. I'm also one of the most famous people here. I'm rich, I live in a mansion and I have 6 cars. Why? Because, in a world of brute strength, my weakness is seen as a great rare skill, like a man with a two foot penis.
Need delicate brain surgery? Call me. Deaths from brain surgeries have dropped quite a bit in the past four years. Need someone to fix the fragile inside of your computer? I'm right here. Computer companies are losing money because their customers aren't destroying them with their "over-strength" anymore when they try to fix them. Need someone to defuse a bomb for you? Uh-huh, you know who to call! So many soldiers can now live past 24 and have kids now! Yay!
This sounds all so good right? Well not really. Because I'm overworked like a motherfucker. I *never* get any sleep. I look like a freaking zombie with these eyebags.
"Hey, Ben, could you come over and remove my son's tooth for me. I don't wanna rip off his jaw so..."
"Hey, Ben, I can't seem to hold a balloon without it exploding. I have a party in three hours so could you maybe..."
"Hey, Ben come over please, I have a problem with A,B,C..."
Hey, Ben. *Hey, Ben*. HEY BEN!
I have four hundred secretaries and they never sleep either, they're always having to put up appointments. Every single second someone is calling me. I've got appointments up to seven years from now.
And the weirdest thing is this: they want to harvest my sperm and make more me's. They'll take DNA from a sperm cell, put the DNA on a donors egg and have my other sperm merge with these eggs. It's like I'm having sex with myself and giving birth...
And they say there's no way back. None. Zero.
I miss my home. I miss my family and there's nothing I can do.
***
I'm making presents for the wives of the mayors of 15 major cities. I've been promising to give them presents ever since I got here but I haven't found the time due to obvious reasons. So now I've decided to make them something 'cause we all don't like that jerk who keeps procrastinating right?
No we dont.
I'm making them all wooden dolls. It's delicate work alright. Takes me a week to finish all fifteen of them. I pack them in colorful boxes and enclose a letter inside. I do hope they like them, I've been meaning to surprise them for a while now.
They're supposed to be presented to each mayor's wife at the Annual Mayor Ball, which is in one hour.
"Jeraya!" I cough from my studio. I'm so tired and so ill I can barely talk.
The secretary walks in.
"Please make sure these get to whoever they're addressed to. I've been up all night."
"Yes, sir."
"How many calls this week so far?"
"Well over 60000 sir."
"Slow week, huh."
"Indeed sir."
I lay my head on the table and doze off.
I jerk awake about 58 minutes later. The ball is about to start.
I switch on the TV in the studio and watch the live broadcast of the ball. Will they like the presents? I'm sure they're *to die for*.
I spring into action.
My voice call is transmitted through the speakers so that everyone at the Ball and everyone in the world watching the Ball can hear my voice clearly. There's a switch shaped like a pen in my hand and I'm careful to hold it *very carefully*.
This is what happens when you overwork a guy to insanity in a universe that isn't his universe.
After a few greetings and identifying myself and a joke or two (charming as ever), I state what's about to go down.
"We're all gonna die. Those dolls in the boxes aren't actually dolls. Well they are but they're ultra super nuclear bombs too. The combined strength of the explosion is going to destroy a tenth of the planet in ten seconds. Everyone, I mean everyone in this miserable country will die. You took my life from me and it's gone now, I've gone insane in this universe, and now I'm about to take your lives, blah, blah, blah. I have the switch right here in my hand. Say your last words. Oh and If you think I'm kidding I can actually - "
"We'll take you back home!" desperately says the mayor of our city
"Wait what?" I say.
"We'll take you home, that's what you want isn't it? ... just please, don't kill us all. We've been horrible to you."
"But - " I try to shake the confusion from my head "- you said I couldn't go back. You said there was no way."
"We lied."
Silence. I feel angry but still wary.
"But you don't know if I could be bluffing or not."
"No, no we believe you. Please, we'll take you home right now."
"Well... well, that's great. I like it!" As it sinks in I start to do a sort of jig on the spot. I'm finally going home! "I mean, wow! I can't belie-"
The switch slips from my fingers and drops to the floor and BOOOOOOM!
| 2017-04-11T05:53:50 | 2017-04-11T04:34:58 | 241 | 161 |
[WP] The world's deadliest assassin. His target: The world's luckiest man. Hilarity ensues.
|
Young Timmy played the Lottery;
whenever it was due.
The jackpots paid for all the fees
his lifestyle had accrued.
This angered soon the Mafia
who thought a Fix was in
So Timmy ran to Austria
to hide from assassins
They chased him 'round to Bangladesh
"Their luck must run out soon-
At Hide and Seek, I'll be the best"
thought Tim, inside a room.
Things worked out much worse than feared
for him that hid inside -
/u/Poem_For_Your_Sprog appeared
And Timmy fucking died
|
Tyche he was called. Didn't understand why anyone would give their kid such a stupid name. Foreigners probably. Maybe some kind of family name or something. Who knows. What I knew, was that this man in particular had fucked with the wrong people. A Columbian drug cartel trying to traffick cocaine across the border ran into some unexpected difficulties. In particular, this man. The story I was told was that he had simply walked in, literally fell through a weak spot in the floor of a warehouse and guessed the code to a safe that was supposed to be hidden in the key locked basement. He walked with 50,000 dollars cash and a fair amount of cocaine in two duffel bags. The real kicker is that he did it seven times in a row. Gustavo was real pissed off. He had sent his own men already but they all died in various fashions. Bombs exploding too soon, gun jams, car accidents, just about the most frustrating series of events you could conjure up. I didn't believe in gods and fate and all that dumb shit but if I did this guy would fit the bill.
So I setup camp. They gave me all his information; he hadn't bothered to hide at all. He owned a large house in the hills outside the city and seemingly had no job to speak of. I watched his comings and goings looking for an opening, a good chance, some kind of routine. He was almost comically erratic. Sometimes he would rush out in the middle of the night in a striped night gown, hop in his car and take off into the rolling hills. After the first few times I learned not to follow him, I'd lose him almost immeadiately, and one time almost rolled the car trying to avoid a truck that swerved into my lane. Whatever happened to Gustavo's men was almost certainly happening to me. It was infuriating. At one point my infrared telescope malfunctioned and I angrily threw off to the side. The faint buzzing didnt register until i felt the sting on my arm- I'd thrown the telescope into a beehive. I sprinted away as quickly as I could manage down the hillside. After tripping a whopping three different times, I resigned myself to rolling the rest of the way to the bottom. Once there I looked up at the clouds for a while.
A voice brought my daydreaming to a crashing finale. "Hello there fellow. You're rather well armed to be daydreaming in someone's backyard!"
The "backyard" he was referring to was acres of wooded rolling hills. I looked back up at where I'd made camp to keep watch, hidden in the treeline of the first hill, and realized that every weapon I had on me was scattered across the hillside. All the knives and my pistol and rifle had come loose on the way down. I looked at my insufferably smug target. Shaggy brown hair, wire rimmed glasses and the fucking blue striped night gown that he wore apparently every hour of the day. I got up slowly, not concerned that he would try to harm me. Every story I had heard so far he was unarmed, unfazed and wearing that stupid nightgown. Every death and injury was accidental.
"You're a pretty lucky fuck, ya know that?" As I said it I backed up towards where my pistol lay in the grass.
He watched me go, presumptuous in his own safety with a hint of a smile on his lips. I picked up the gun and lazily shot in his direction. Upon hearing a gunshot the man panicked, and threw himself to the ground. No longer smug, his eyes were wide with panic. I had jammed the gun on purpose to see what would happen. As it turns out, my theory was correct. He was not lucky; he turned chance on it's head. Unfortunately I was deep in some otherworldly shit I guess because where the bullet impacted a bright light emanated and suddenly he was gone. No fuckin clue what happened. No body for the reward. Just a weird fuckin story and hell of a lot of aggravation.
| 2018-01-07T10:51:21 | 2018-01-07T10:38:19 | 59 | 10 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
The cashier in front of me froze, his eyes narrowing. I'd read books where the author described someones eyes as being calculating, but I thought I could actually see him doing math. Weighing variables, probabilities and even analyzing a threat.
"Care to repeat that?" He asked, though it was more of a command. His previous, jolly personality gone, replaced by a flat sheet of the coldest ice. It was unnerving.
"I, uh, I said I'd like a number one meal. Large. Are you okay?"
He stared for a second more, then his jolliness was back, the ice melted.
"Of course. Coming right up. Will that be all?"
"Uh... Yeah. That's it." I swiped my card and sat at the table to wait. As I ate my burger, I could feel his gaze in my back, even while he helped other customers. The burger tasted bland as I ate it as fast as possible, so I could get away from this strange man.
I had put it all behind me when I pulled up to my house, ready to relax. Coat abandoned on the floor for tomorrow, I sat and turned on the TV, beer in hand.
"Kind of you to join me, Kaitlyn."
I jumped to my feet, spilling my beer on the couch. "What the fuck?! Who are you? Why'd you follow me?" He sat cross legged on the armchair, unnoticed until now.
"I'm afraid I will be conducting the interrogation today. You see, you are speaking a language that's not only dead, but extinct. No one should know of it, save myself. The fact that you even know *about* would make me shudder in fear if I were capable. The implications alone make me consider if killing you now would be for the best. I offer you a rare opportunity in my line of work. A chance. How do you know how to speak English, and how did you follow me through The Gate?"
My brain had decided to call it quits, and to be fair, shock is a helluva drug. This man was talking about dead languages and gates. He put a lot of emphasis on his mention of the gate. I didn't know of any gate. I'd never even heard of English. Of course, I knew he was just hearing me speak in his native tongue, but the fact that he said no one but himself should know of it was throwing me off.
I must have paused too long because he sighed and began to reach for a long, steel blade. "Wait, wait, wait! Hear me out. I have a special power. I can speak and understand any language. People always hear me in their native tongue, so that's what's happening, you're hearing me speak English. Please don't kill me."
He took his hand off of the blade and nodded to himself. "I see. Yes. I will not kill you."
"Oh, God. Thank you-"
"You will be most useful."
Everything went black.
|
"You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing.
| 2022-11-14T01:20:47 | 2018-06-24T21:55:57 | 163 | 80 |
[WP] Four immortal beings rule over the land. A dragon that flies across the deserts in the south, a living dungeon whose Labyrinth seems to go on forever in the caves of the west, The Kraken, so large that it can sink islands with ease, beneath the seas of the east & the 'Man' of the north.
|
"Master, we are running out of time!” the young boy said.
He had been appointed as The Man’s newest apprentice. Even though the boy was the youngest apprentice The Man had ever appointed, he showed promise from the age of three – already showing signs of *the craft*. By age six, he had somehow mastered more of the arts than boys twice his age. There was something strange about that crescent scar surrounding his right eye – it seemed to glow every time *the craft* was summoned, just as it was now, basking amongst reflections of the fire light from the torch he held.
“Alabaster, you must ready the rest of the elven clan” The Man said from his throne. “The North will not fall. We will NOT let the common folk down this time”.
The Great War was upon the North and had taken The Man by surprise. It had been seven centuries since the last war – why had the peace suddenly broken? Reports came in just days ago that the East had been overcome by The Kraken – swallowing up whole villages at a time. People of The South had reported sightings of the mighty dragon Viceroy – with wings spanning hundreds of feet, bringing rains of fire down upon on desert plains. The Labyrinth in the West, filled with temptations and riches that the common folk couldn’t resist, was taking more and more prisoners, as increasing numbers of men failed to come home to their families.
And now, The Man was brought news by young Alabaster that the Immortals were not yet satisfied. The rest of the common folk made their dangerous trek North, toward the snow-capped mountains, hoping for salvation. But now, it was more than the elevation – the blizzards – the cold – that might kill them. The Immortals were quickly on their tails, closing in from all directions.
The Man stood from his throne, his beard still reaching down to kiss the stone beneath his boots. He was brooding at the thought of the last Great War. He had lost too many elves. Children had gone without presents for years. Not this time.
“And Alabaster! Before you go, there’s something I must give you.” The Man paused. He reached into his deep red coat, hidden underneath the black leather belt he pulled out what looked to be a wand of some sort, tucked away into his grasp, his hands the size of the boy himself.
“I thought you not yet ready, but alas, you speak true – we ARE out of time. You must use this ONLY in an emergency. When the time comes, you will know - *the craft* will be strong within you.” The Man opened his hand and offered the object to the boy. Alabaster stared, open-mouthed at what he had been bestowed – the great Candy Cane of Norwen.
“And one last thing Alabaster,” The Man said, his deep voice echoing through the high castle.
“Prepare my sled. Tell Rudolph he’s going to need more than his nose to fight off this fucking dragon.”
|
Man was born at the base of a vast mountain. It is in his nature to eternally reach for the top, to eternally quest after the summit, never understanding he was born at the base for a reason.
I was starting to understand now, far up into the lands where the night would last for months on end, why the ancient men of the earth used to say that. The cold enshrined everything in a tomb of a snow. Just moving your fingers was a struggle against an overwhelming tiredness, a fatigue that threatened to blacken your vision and blacken your flesh. Every footstep was a victory against god, a defiance against the role given to us, each and every advancement a rejection of what we were meant to know.
The world was mostly explored. We knew that we were not welcome anywhere aside from the small section of the world that we had eked out. To the east of the Hearth Lands, monstrous krakens resided that consumed not only ships but entire islands too, wrapping their tentacles around the very terrain and pulling it under the black water. To the west, an endless labyrinth that warped and moved, impossible to map, swallowing most men who went inside. To the south, a legendary dragon had scorched the landscape itself into a hellish red desert.
But the north was the last mystery of the world. The Man of the North, as he was called, drove out all who came. Indeed, there were parts of the south untouched by the dragon that were inhabited; there were vagabond civilisations in the east who roved to compensate for the destruction of the land masses; it was even said that there were entire cultures of people, born and raised in the Labyrinth, never seeing the light of day.
But the north was empty. The small critters and game were all that lived there, and they were few and far between. There were no clans up here, no men at all. Anyone who voyaged never returned, or returned rambling incoherently about the Man of the North, something so incomprehensible that no person could look upon him without their mind snapping apart.
That was my mission. I had trekked across the Hearth Lands, across the northern sea, as it got warmer and then chillier, as the waves turned from calm to cruel. From there, I had voyaged across the frozen forests, across awe-inspiring canyons, up peaks that seemed to scratch the sky. I had bared blizzards and starvation, I had watched as one by one my toes snapped off my body; I had seen creatures of the night, things we thought were but myths. The very earth itself was trying to stop me from summiting the mountain, from looking upon the creature that presided over the top of the world.
But here I stood. I was nearing the summit of a mountain, the tallest one I had found so far. A small wooden sign was adorned, clearly older than my own father, rotting apart. It was unreadable, but I could guess at the meaning; *he is here*.
With screaming limbs, I hiked up. My feet plunged into snow, sinking up to the thigh, the white slurry sucking at me like mud. I stabbed each of my sticks into the ground beside me, using them to push me along, until one snapped apart. As I examined the broken stick, I saw it was blue from frost.
There was a roaring of wind. The sun was hardly visible through the blizzard of snow. The summit was above a bank of clouds, and I soon broke into them, tasting water in the air, snow literally forming around me. Every breath I inhaled was painful, a million needles poking at my lungs. I knew that soon my legs would give out and I would sit down, and if that happened, I would never stand up again.
*Just a little longer. Just a little longer.*
Up ahead, the path suddenly revealed itself. It was no longer covered in snow, but rather a blue sheet of dirt, packed solid. I pushed ahead, and broke through the clouds.
The summit of the mountain was not what I was expecting. It was less a frozen peak and more a grassy plain. A clear night sky lay above me, splashed with trillions of stars. *I could’ve sworn it was daytime just before*…
Exhausted, I staggered towards the centre of the plain and sat. The grass was dewey, but apart from that slight wetness it was green and not frozen at all. The wind had completely abated. The chill was mostly gone. I stared into the distance, an endless sea of rolling clouds. From above, I mused, they looked remarkably like the ocean had.
The very atmosphere was unsettling. Though I was nowhere near as cold as I had been before, a chill ran down my back. I suddenly began to get a very bad feeling, like I should turn back before it was too late.
In the distance, a cloud rolled like a wave, cruel. It surged up, and then just when it looked like it might crash, it kept surging.
Something broke through.
Something impossible.
I can’t describe it’s form. It was both a man and not a man. It’s knees were taller than the tallest mountain. It rose up, and kept rising. It was gangly, and its skin was mottled and cragged, yet at the same time I couldn’t make out any skin. It was covered in clouds.
An enormous claw of a hand emerged, and hang there listlessly, an innumerable amount of fingers sprouting off it, each one perfectly still, yet writhing like worms.
I felt a headache beginning to come on.
The monster had a body like a humans, but it wasn’t really human. There were too many arms, too many legs, too many fingers and toes. There was too much skin; more skin that surface area. Everywhere I looked, it was both there and not there.
The headache was overpowering now. My vision blurred. I clutched my head as I looked up, and made out the monster’s face.
It’s face… there is no describing the horror I saw. I just beg that you will never have to see it for yourself.
Blood dripped down my face. It ran from my nose, from my eyes, from my ears. I opened my mouth to scream and blood spilled out. I felt my mind beginning to unravel.
Too late, I realised what that old saying really meant. Man was born at the base of a vast mountain, and he was never meant to know the summit.
The monster opened its mouths, and let out a noise like a mountain crashing into the sea, and my mind finally broke.
| 2020-04-19T08:21:50 | 2020-04-19T08:00:40 | 38 | 26 |
[WP] You are one of the most powerful wizards in the continent, but because style points make up half of the Wizard License examination, you’ve never passed.
|
“Enough!” I heard as I gently put my blade against the opponent's throat, as he was curling up on the ground. "That's enough!"
“So? Did I pass?” I asked.
“No, you didn’t.” Said the man in the middle with a skull mask on his face.
“The way you fought was way beneath what we consider a passable level”. A witch with a ridiculously twisted hat added.
“What? I have won!”
“Yes, but what about style?” A short man in furiously purple tunic said. “You ignored half of the opponent's attacks!”
“They missed!”
“Most of the time you just accelerated stones you found on the ground! And what was that punch in the end? Was that just a pure telekinesis to the stomach, without any visual effect?” The witch said again.
“Why in the name of everything Holy and Damned alike would I warn my opponent where I’m going to strike?! If he can’t maintain a proper shield, it’s his problem, not mine!”
“Think about how it would make us look if we just went on throwing stones at people.” The middle one said again. “We have to maintain our dignity, or no one will respect us!”
“We are at war! We have to be efficient, not flashy!” I cried.
“We have to inspire respect in our troops and fear in our opponents' hearts.” The fool in the purple tunic spoke again. “And why would you carry that piece of junk with you all the time? You’re not a knight, for Fae’s sake. What you’ve shown us today is a disgrace to the master who taught you.”
“My master is dead,” I said. “The enemy killed him a month ago because the fool fighting along his side was too busy colouring his flames to watch his back like he was supposed to do.”
“Enough!” The man in the middle rose from his seat. “As a chief Warlock of this council, I will not tolerate failed apprentices insulting their betters. Alastor Loony, you are stripped of your rank and the right to practice the ancient arts. As of this moment, you are no part of the Guild, and you may never come back. Now go, and let us never see you again!” He shouted, enhancing every word with an artificial echo.
I lowered my head. So that was it? These babbling bunch of imbeciles would rather sacrifice people’s lives than pull their heads out of their rears for once? A single tear dropped from my eyes and landed on my still bared blade.
“Didn’t you hear?” The witch squeaked. “Get out of here! You are done!”
I closed my eyes and whispered a single word. “No.”
“What did you say?”
“I said NO.” I cut the lying man's thigh, covering the blade in blood. The council gasped.
“By the edict of Merlin and the first council of five,” I set my sword on fire, the crimson flame glowing brighter than the setting sun, “I, Alastor Loony, the apprentice to Anazavar Quazirim, who was an apprentice to Morgana Dalanatar, who was an apprentice to Merlin himself, by the magic that flows through me, name you, Savanathar the First,” I raised my sword to the chief warlock, ” a disgrace to the mystic arts, and challenge you to a duel to the death. May the Heavens hear my call.” Thunder rumbled in the distance, acknowledging the invocation of the ancient law.
The witch fainted. She was going down next.
It was a very bright night.
|
I looked around the curtain of the emergency room bed where Gill was being seen, he locked eyes with me and scowled; the parts of his face which hadn't been covered by safety glasses were a mess of torn flesh, bloody raw chunks and visible bone. He couldn't talk while the medics attended to him but his short-range telepathy was second to none, from his eye muscles to your mirror-neurons he could communicate way more than simple emotions. "Anyone else like me?" he asked. I broke the gaze to free up some attention and thought - nobody like him on the planet, that we know of.
Gill never came in like this, only with injured students or with mildly uncomfortable requests from the pharmacy, use of equipment - or sometimes the morgue. He was far beyond amateur mistakes or misunderstandings and nobody could get through his defenses to try simple sabotage. He's too heavily guarded for any ordinary mistake to hurt his physical body, which leaves two possibilities - he's reaching for something more powerful than even he expected, or a direct attack serious enough to touch him but not kill him. Neither bodes well.
I shrugged and shook my head and he accepted that, his attention already moving elsewhere. "I'll come back when the medics are done", I said and pulled back from the curtain.
In the mid 1970s a youth magic contest, most entrants were ages 12-16, it covered the usual range of spectator-friendly magic patterns from heavy weight shifting testing overall power, to sand sculpting with its intricate control of individual grains - the skillful could affect how they reflect light to change colour and appearance as well as build sculptures - to ball bearing racing testing the ability to handle many concurrent movements, to firework displays reaching high up into the clear skies. Nobody expected too much from that age group, originally light hearted the contests became more serious and the competition more intense with every one up to this one. A girl age 13 had melted her sand sculpture into glass to fix it in place, a 16 year old boy had echoed the sculpture high, high up and shattered it into glimmering fragments of sparkling glassy firework which rained safely down as sugar crystals, and together they all pounded the ground with weights so intensely that it had to be stopped before it was a danger to nearby buildings.
And they were all outmatched by seven year old Guillaume, who all the way through looked like he was just playing. When Niamh sculpted sand with furrowed brow and blocks of sand, Gill made it flow into shape like liquid. When Tobor faltered lifting the heaviest stones he could, Gill caught them and put them down in a smiley face shape. He was a shoe-in for the Wizarding license, likely the youngest to get it, a natural magician and showman coming out of nowhere. And when the contest was over and he was cornered by television interviewers, he answered "what do you want to do when you grow up?" with "I want to stop the bad things happening, stop the bad guys!". "How are you going to do that?" asked the interviewer, and there was the face everyone had seen, staring dead set into the camera, almost shouting "I'm going to CONTROL THE WORLD". And did he stamp his foot? The camera feed blanked.
It had taken the Wizarding council a day just to trace them, a carved out chunk of ground and everyone in the vicinity gone. Nowhere on Earth. Another day to rescue them and the effort had overwhelmed one of the elder council members, who passed away soon after. The cameraman had taken shattered camera pieces to the face and died instantly, everyone else was cold and hungry but alive. Gill was awake but unresponsive, looking in the direction of the cameraman whom someone had covered with tablecloth. He was taken to a psychologist specialising in magic, his parents investigated but no charges brought, and the contests were not approved again for a decade.
Many magicians take it as a gift for entertaining and spend their time on trivia like fireworks and paper folding, some take it as a sinecure and sit on the council meetings contributing little and taking a small salary, Gill was unusually blessed with intelligence as well as magical sympathy, he had an obsession with stacking magic powers from a young age - what could be better than greater strength? More intelligence so that greater strength could be put to more use. What could be better than more intelligence? More time so that intelligence and strength could be practised more. I don't know what spells he found first, or how he managed to stack them, this wasn't something he talked about so freely, he must have walked through crinkled paths in time and lived at least 100 years of experience in the 50 since he was born, and yet he didn't look much beyond 30. Or 300 if you squint.
He still wanted to control the world, he spent his time informing on criminals, helping locate them and prove their guilt, guiding students away from the darker arts, and researching stacking spells. Power, intelligence, time, there are still limits to what one intelligence and one attention can do, and that's where he was concentrating his research.
What if you're not gifted from a young age, if there are no competitions in your time, if you have no natural flair and your sculptures look like mud pies and your fireworks are as enticing as a page of equations and your parents want you to become a doctor? And when you eventually graduate as a doctor, you meet one of the world's most capable Wizards, someone who believes in the goodness of people and likes to chat and is convinced that the only way to end crime for good is to have the world overseen by a benevolent dictator strong enough to oppose all others, but might be getting complacent as he's never met anyone strong enough that he needs to oppose?
What can you do if you can't control time to develop 100 years of skill in 50 and you're not 50 anyway?
Cheat.
Crib from his notes. Stop him. And then take over from him. Clay-footed though I am, with the grace of a landslide and a triple failure from The Academy for being slow, unexciting and the worst of all sins in their eyes *unentertaining*, I'm not completely incompetent. Nobody had seen my face on a TV competition and etched on hundreds of news reports, nobody was keeping a watchful eye on my path through medical school, nobody paying attention to the strength I've kept hidden from the public since we all grew up knowing about Gill's contest. And you'd be surprised what you can get from behind sabotage shielding by being friendly with the students who study inside it.
Gill could heal himself without coming in at all, which means he wants someone to know this happened. Was he showing off how far he can stretch? Not good, even with stacking his intelligence amplification and my natural strength I'm still at least two years from being able to reach where he's been going. Does he suspect it was an attack, a booby-trap effect on certain diversions in the world's fabric, and wanted to impress upon everyone that he didn't die? Not good at all. He won't fall for that again.
Does he know it was me?
| 2021-02-22T12:30:03 | 2021-02-22T11:06:09 | 23 | 10 |
[WP] "You're the villain in someone's story", but how did you manage to become the villain in EVERYONE'S story?
|
The library was ghost quiet in the afternoon. Jake, the librarian, yawned behind his desk and flipped another page of the hardcover he was reading. A man in a tuxedo walked in. His face was obscured by the black fedora that covered his left eye.
"Medieval history. The period of the witch burnings," he said.
Jake looked up from his book, turned his swivel chair towards the computer, and produced the shelf number for the tuxedo-clad man.
After about thirty minutes, the man returned.
"You gave me the wrong shelf."
Jake flinched. "Oh, I'm sorry. I'll look it up again."
The computer gave the same number.
"Maybe the number got faded and obscured," said the man.
"No. No, I don't think so. If you don't mind my asking, what are you looking for, specifically, you know."
"Do you know about the Salem witch trials?"
Jake cocked his head to one side and stared at a spot above the man's black fedora.
"Yes, but they aren't medieval history."
"They aren't?"
"No, they're from the late 1600s. Medieval history stops at 15th century history, I think."
"You think? You're not sure?" the man said. The fedora on his head crawled lower.
"I mean, well, I am more of a literature guy, but I think I'm right about that."
The man tapped his foot impatiently. "Are you truly certain? Are you?" The fedora crept lower.
"Like I said man, I am a literature guy, I can look it up on the internet real quick though, if you want. Or you could check it on your phone yourself."
"Phone? Internet? Stop wasting my time." The fedora fell off. The man had a third eye at the center of his forehead. He realized his mistake and desperately tried to cover his exposed third eye.
Jake tried to stand up to get the fedora for the man, but the man grabbed him by the back of his neck and cursed and shouted: "You will pay for this! You are a literature guy, aren't you? Take some of this!" The man pushed Jake into the hardcover on the desk. There was a flash of purple light and Jake was gone.
\*\*\*
Readers said that text now appeared in their books as they read them. It only happened when the books were considered works of literature. The message was always the same.
"Help me! Please get me out of here! I can't take any more of this! My name is Jake and I need you to find that three-eyed freak who put me here!"
The message appeared in every story ever written. Nobody knew a thing about Jake or the three-eyed freak. But everybody agreed on one thing: Jake could destroy any exquisite piece of prose any time without warning. Readers both feared and despised the man. It isn't an exaggeration to say Help me! Please get me out of here! I can't take any more of this! My name is Jake and I need you to find that three-eyed freak who put me here! that he's the villain in EVERYONE'S story.
|
This is a misanthrope's tale.
The bag that had been placed upon Jack's face was removed, and he found himself in a lonely cell. A bucket, a moldy bed, rusted iron bars and gray brick walls. Beyond the bars, darkness.
Jack's memory came back.
He had taken drug during an evening, and passed out. When he came to, he was in an icy bathtub, in a row of icy bathtubs, each containing an abducted person. They all had a scar, they all had gotten a third kidney. And their brains went haywire. He saw the men and women next to him trashing wildly, screaming in pain, dying in despair, until it overtook him too. The burning new world of sensation unfolding in his mind, the sudden, perfect understanding of each individual nerve and vein he had in his body. He nearly died, survived with luck.
And now, this cell.
"Someone? Anyone?"
"Jack? Is that you."
That voice.
"Jane!"
"What's happening?"
"Hell if I know."
They had been childhood friends, and polar opposites. Jack enjoyed solitude, Jane grabbed life with both hands, ate it, spit it out and went on to the next. Somehow, they clicked, each bringing a fresh and never before heard point of view to the other.
The reunion was cut short by cloaked figures. They opened the gate and dragged Jake out before he could cry out for help.
Naked, they brought him to a snowy uneven field in the middle of nowhere. Snowflakes danced lazily in the wind, a white coat draped the rolling hills in the distance.
"Eat."
One person held Jack's mouth open, another poured down a clump of flesh down his throat. He fell to the ground, body shaking with tremors. At the edge of his vision, he realized that the small white bumps making the field uneven were just as many corpses. All went dark.
Jack went onto an inner travel. He was a speck lost in the immensity of his body, and saw the clump of meat making his way down to his belly. It ravaged and burned the tender flesh on its way, killing him slowly. He wanted to look away, run from the spectacle of his demise, but couldn't. He had felt his flesh change once. And wondered if... maybe, just maybe, he could do it again.
A trail of blood went up his intestines, collecting minerals and superfluous stomach skin on the way. Bit by bit, he covered the intruder in a mass of his own viscera, and rendered it harmless.
It was almost beautiful. The perfect control he had over his body, the mastery of the flesh.
How far could it go?
Look at the bone? Make the hop broader. The nose thinner, the muscles more ripe. A world of change at the top of his tip.
"Wake up. Don't lose yourself."
Jake opened his eyes and shivered. He was covered in snow, his skin blue. His? Jack's hair had gotten long, his face he felt under the hands younger and more feminine.
In his drive for discovery, he had changed into a woman.
A hooded figure handed him a shovel.
"Give them a proper burial."
There were a thousand dead in the field, all invisible, yet Jack knew where they were. The frozen ground should have made it impossible, but Jack gave her muscles more density, made herself impervious to the cold.
Days passed without her flinching, she only raised her head once to hail Jane, the only other survivor. She was too entranced by her new existence to be afraid or happy, emotions had been replaced with fascination.
Back in her cell, Jack didn't mind anymore. The next day, he had become a chubby man. The next, a slim elder. The next, an anorexic teenager. Man, woman, man, woman, everything in between and more so.
His hooded captors, or teachers, were surprised, new acolytes had a favorite form, Jack did not.
He was baptized in the House of Change, and got a new name. Amalgam.
There, he learned. He previous self was dead, only scraps remained, to make a new personality, to add color to the blank state he was. He pilfered his memories to build a new construct of the mind.
One thing remained of Jack.
A deep seated frustration and cynicism. Deep, so far down below, no master or teacher ever noticed it. And Amalgam directed all the seething feelings she had towards the house of change. She admired her newfound bodies, loathed the House's method. She learned fast:
*Flesh is a material to be molded like any other.*
*Never lose yourself in the art.*
But she kept a part hidden away for the day of reckoning. Jane, renamed Appetite, rebuild herself too.
Before, she ate life.
Now, she ate everything and anything. Appetite gulped down bricks, cats, watches, paper, internet boxes, and all the objects she got her hands on when hungry. They watched her closely.
Amalgam became an esteemed member of the House of Change.
He worked. She found new recruits. She corrected mistakes and taught youngsters. He got the ear of his superiors. And always with a new face, a new body, day after day.
Came the time when he was called in the antechamber, and tasked to go with a group of four at the edge of the frozen river. There, she had a task to accomplish.
Under a full moon, Amalgam found an comically overweight Jane eating away handful of snows, unable to stop.
She had lost herself.
The squad raised weapons.
And pointy legs erupted from amalgam's back, long and gnarly bones ending in a sharp spike. The four members of the squad stood, held upright by the spider legs piercing their necks. Amalgam released her grip and they fell like lifeless puppets.
"Eat."
Appetite swallowed the four, and gained a new wrath against the House of Change. For all they had put her through, that was how she was repaid?
Amalgam smuggled her back into the house.
And the slaughter began.
For all their mysterious ways, the old guard of the house never expected a shining beacon of the art like Appetite to come right back for them. She teared through them, brought down walls, people and hopes.
Those who survived had fallen on their knees, suffering the next revelation, after the revelation of the flesh.
Appetite was God.
And Amalgam the prophet.
He made sure to drill the truth inside of their skulls, with the pointy bones sticking out of his back if needed.
| 2021-09-11T12:48:14 | 2021-09-11T12:13:53 | 14 | 10 |
Subsets and Splits
No community queries yet
The top public SQL queries from the community will appear here once available.