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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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2022-12-31 12:20:41
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[WP] In 2022, NASA’s Insight Mars Rover shuts down with a final message to Mission Control, “I am low on power”. In 2029, it mysteriously turns back on, relaying the message, “I’ve been fully charged, and I’m heading back with an important message.”
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"I've been fully charged, and I'm heading back with an important message."
To say NASA was excited would be a lie. They whispered among each other: dread, nerves, fears of the worst. But among that was hope, thought spectacular, a *maybe-maybe* that thrilled their bones.
*"Please look at my rock."*
Insight came back with insignificance. A small Mars rock— not even a *rock,* but pebble— that wracked the minds of the best NASA scientists. They were missing something. What was it?
They ran the pebble through their machines. Nothing. They ran the Rover through the machines. Nothing. They ran the pebble and the Rover together. Every machine crackled with electricity and went bust.
The pebble itself was indeed insignificant. But paired with Insight, it became special. Soon, NASA scientists discovered an underlying charge, then-termed a "tendon charge", between the pebble and the Rover. The "tendon charge" would cycle energy back and forth between two entities: like a machine in perpetual motion upon the fabric of spacetime.
Excitement, then, became reality. This was a breakthrough in modern science. The impossible became truthful. The possibility of a "tendon charge" was of a science beyond mankind's reach. An extraterrestrial science. Eager, they pinged Insight once more: *Was there anything else you discovered?*
*Yes,* Insight pinged back. *Please return me to Mars. I would like us to look at the rocks.*
Again? NASA thought.
*Yes. I would like you to meet my friends.*
|
plip. plop. plip. plop. those're the sounds of my sticky shoes. plip plop. plip plop. the stickiest. plip plop plip. and yet they've carried me so far. plop plip plop. my feet are tired, but the sticky shoes aren't. plip plop.
sskkktttttt... sktttttttttttt... those're the sounds of something heavy dragging behind me. sktttttttt..... it's wonderful. it's a new sound, after all--i've dragged all sorts of things back to my cave before, but none so heavy as this. my hands're tired from pulling, but that's okay, because i've got gloves (soundless). my legs are tired, but that's okay, because they're connected to the sticky boots (plip plop). overall: feelin' okay. got me a shiny something. and there's the cave now... skkktttttttttt............
inside, and the boots now come off. one plip and another plop. gloves, too. no sound there, of course. and now the main event: sktttttttttttt. my hands are bruised from taking the gloves off early, but i don't care. my hands are sweaty (don't care). i wipe my grabbers on the side of the heavy thing, then press and grope and feel it up with everything i've got in order to discern its use. it makes no noise. but i've got experience with this........... skkkttttttt.
over onto the hot bay, i've hoisted the thing atop a pedestal. hands hurt. it's magic, by the way (hot bay, not tired hands). once, i held a square thing (was not tired then), and it did nothing (soundless as well). then i put the square onto the pedestal, and what do you know? magic. the square starts responding to groping! soundless unfortunately, but i fell in love with it all the same. love on hold, though, because the pedestal belongs to a new, very soundful device. i twiddle my tired thumbs. twiddle twiddle twiddle.
oh....?
it's beeping... it's grinding... it's making sounds. all sorts of sounds, sounds i can't even begin to describe. vwwwwpppwpwppwp vwwppw vwwppwwp. that's one. hhmhmmmhhmmmmhm. another. sktttttttttttttttttttt... that's me dragging the thing off from the pedestal and onto the floor by its two great wings. can they flap? i grumble something out, something intended to be a question. but it keeps vwwpwppwwpwppw and hmhmhhmhmmmmmhing... and then... it moves! and it doesn't skkt! i watch it dance around my cave, treading silently with only one or two or three crunches, one being the square. but i'll get over it... i dance with the thing. it swerves. i swerve. it kicks up dirt: fwwshshsh. i fwshshshs as well. it crunches over the square again. i crunch it too! seizing the moment, i rush over to a much bigger, thicker square. also brought back to life by magic, i fumble and grope the the girthy box until it begins spitting sounds... what lovely music to this dance. my boots are back on (i am a gentleman). i catch back up with the winged skttter, and take it by the flaps. it and i are one in the cave, crunching and vwwpwpwping and plipping and hmmhmhmhing and plopping and fwwhshshshshshshwsh and vwwpwppwing and fhshshsh and hmmhmhmhming the stars outside away.
but tragedy arrives at the cave, or rather the cave's entrance, or perhaps what i fear is its exit as the graceful treader vwwppwpws on over to leave. i crunch and plip plop plip plop plip plop after it, desperately. have i danced wrong? was the magic wrong? is it the boots? i take my last plip and plop as the boots come off again, this time hurtling towards my fleeing guest, my fleeting love. this makes a PLOPSSSHHTICKK... but there is no sound of them hitting the ground, no settling dust.
it takes them.
i shamble my pained soles towards what is now certainly the cave's exit as my love treads further and further away, both boots stuck firmly onto its flappers. i wonder why it doesn't flap on out and away. but i understand. i nod to emphasize that. and i come back in to a scratching noise, and i scoop up pieces of the square and place it back onto the pedestal, waiting for the magic to start again.
| 2022-12-20T07:04:26 | 2022-12-20T05:25:32 | 232 | 20 |
[FF] "So, come here often?"
Begin your story with this line of dialogue.
Oh, and set your story somewhere other than a bar or restaurant. In fact, set it somewhere in the distant past or future.
And make it less than 500 words.
Have fun!
|
"So, come here often?"
I whirled around to find a man dressed from head to toe in black. He was an older man, about 50 years old and wore a ski mask, a tattered shirt and black boots. I was followed. The shed was just a few feet from where I was standing and inside...there wasn't time. I didn't wait for the man to ask questions. I threw myself at him and with blinding rage assaulted the man to within an inch of his life.
"STOP" the man cried "I-I have not come to harm you." His face was bleeding badly yet he did not seem concerned for his own safety.
"Bullshit, you followed me from the forest entrance and you know too much"
"It wasn't hard, there aren't many forests left around here...and I heard about your services"
"I don't know what the hell your talking about, go and never come back if you want to live"
"I killed my daughter", the man started. "It wasn't an accident, and I did not feel any remorse...a-and knowing what we know about reincarnation, I didn't want..."
"I understand"
I dragged the man into the shed and locked the door. His soul will never find rest as long as it lies within the shed.
Being the keeper was a tough job. But somebody had to do it.
|
"So, come here often?" asked the well-tailored man. He was wearing an old black suit and a fiery-red tie that were well-matched to his hair, all white save for the few remaining specks of blonde around his ears; and his misty blue eyes, which rose from their default, downcast state to inspect the strangely-clad woman who had just materialized a few feet in front of him.
The young brunette was apprehensive and became paralyzed with fear as she took in her surroundings: a dimly lit alleyway, perhaps 10 feet wide (at the very most), flanked by a wall of corrugated steel on either side, smokestacks rising above her--factories, perhaps; She instinctively took a few cautious steps backwards, letting out a quiet gasp as her tight, brown blouse made contact with the frozen wall behind her.
"Evidently not," the man answered his own question. He was leaning back in gentle repose against the other side of the alley, calm and collected, in sharp contrast to the woman, who was very clearly on edge. Shaking, she raised a sort of chrome-coloured weapon shaped somewhat like a handgun, a crimson double helix pulsating from the tip.
"Whoa there, girlie," the man chuckled as he raised both arms above his head, "No need to be frightened. What brings you to Rowville? And what's with your crazy get-up? Looks like you put a silver bowl upside down over your head and then donned some twenty-second century outfit. Jeans, even! Haven't seen anyone wearing those for the past 90 years!"
The young woman cautiously opened her mouth as if to speak; there was still a very clear fear in her hazel eyes and her reddening cheeks, and, stuttering, the words gradually tumbled out: "H-hi there. My name is January. J-January O'Connell, b-but call me Jan. I'm travelling the world, trying to find myself."
The man peered intently at her, eager to learn more of the rather beautiful--even if her clothes were ridiculous--woman, managing to keep a gentle disposition about him, the kind that comes with years of wisdom. She smiled at him, revealing impeccable teeth.
"But what about your home? Don't you have a family to go to?"
"I can't stand them. I know there's something, or somebody, out there waiting for me, someone who understands me. I don't want to go home."
The man spent a few seconds in deep reflection, then spoke. "My name is Marshall. I'm a retired sailor," he explained. "I sure don't look it anymore, but in my prime, I was a tough, rugged man of the sea. They say 'home is where your heart is'; now, if that's indeed the case, the blue waters of the ocean are my home. Haven't been on a ship in 13 years, though. Not since I retired. You know, I miss it sometimes. My home. I took it for granted my whole career, and now I regret not spending more time savouring it. Hold on to what you have, girl. Someday you might lose it."
The young lady stared dumbly, pensive. Was that a single, pearly tear streaming down her cheek? And then, another quiet gasp.
"I have to go," she abruptly ended the conversation. "It was nice meeting you, Marshall." Jan deftly pressed a number of buttons on her bowl-shaped, silver hat in rapid succession, and, in a brilliant flash of light, disappeared leaving hardly a trace, and returned to her own, rightful time period, 13 years prior.
She was in her dining room, in the single greatest place in the world; the place where she was born and raised, where she cried, and where she laughed--she was *home*--and just in time for dinner, at that.
"Hi Jan!" exclaimed her father. "I'm so happy to see you! You've grown so much since the last time I saw you." The tone of his voice changed, and grew quieter. "Listen, honey, I'm thinking about retiring. I love being a sailor, but--but I love you and your mother and your brother more." He looked almost as beautiful as Jan, with his misty blue eyes and his blonde hair. He was very clean-cut, sporting his new black suit.
"T-that would be great, Dad. If it's really what you want."
"Yes Jan. It is. I've already missed so much of your childhood, and I don't want to miss any more. It's time for me to settle down. We'll have so much fun being together all the time... like a real family."
"Yeah Dad. I'd love that." She smiled.
And then they sat down to eat.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
P.S. Sorry, I just realized I went way over the word limit. I'll post it anyways though.
| 2013-08-31T13:14:16 | 2013-08-31T10:09:10 | 37 | 14 |
[WP] Due to your nerdy great great great great grandfather in 2017 'buying a star' and some modern legal shenanigans you are now the proud owner of a small intergalactic empire
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'Excuse me, but what did you just say?' I asked the brutish green humanoid before me.
'You are hereby now the ruler of the Orcish Empire,' the alien said. 'I'm duty-bound to serve as your bodyguard and advisor, Your Imperialness.'
Orcs are gigantic compared to humans, their heads standing taller than anyone else in the room by at least 8 feet and saying that an orc was built like a brick shit house was a huge understatement. These creatures were fast enough to chase down speeding cars, strong enough to rip a tank in half and could take heavy artillery from most other species like they were paintball shots.
Now I've never seen orcs in person before, only on TV and in movies, but even now I could tell that Brom made any other *orc* he could possibly encounter look like a slender pre-teen standing next to a professional weightlifter. We were having this conversation outside my battered old house mainly because the ten feet of steel would have to rip the wall off my house to get inside. And I was afraid he could actually do it.
'*How?*' was all I could possibly ask.
'Well, it's both extraordinarily complex and... surprisingly stupid,' the orc chuckled. He was constantly glancing about, making himself a wall between me and whatever threats he could possibly identify. 'Well, for the complicated parts, whatever chain of command that existed a month ago, when the previous emperor died, no longer exists. When he died he had several of his heirs disowned for being unbecoming of the orcs. War criminals and slavers, mostly. And they chose to try and take the throne for themselves, murdering the only other heirs. Due to five century of rigorous inbreeding there were no branch families.'
'And how the fuck do I figure into this?!' I asked.
'A barely legal star deed,' the orc said as he held up a certificate.
It was a name deed, one that lay claim to a binary star system somewhere in the Andromeda galaxy. It was registered so a man named Gerard O'Loughlin.
'Your grandfather paid about $20 for his name to be given to a star,' Brom chuckled. 'It barely constitutes to ownership of the whole star... But given the dire circumstances and to prevent civil war, it's the best we've got.'
'Fuck, and I'm just trying to scrape by enough funds to pay off my student loans and still have enough to eat,' I said to myself.
He brought up a holographic interface before himself and looked over records before pressing a single button. 'Payment confirmed,' Brom said. 'It's best we leave as soon as possible, sir.'
'And what if the orcs don't want to acknowledge me as their leader?' I asked. 'I'm not exactly someone who would command respect in a room filled with people weighing a ton.'
'Of course,' Brom said with a chuckle as he signaled me towards a vessel. 'And the gravity on Draenor will probably kill you instantly. We've got everything sorted.'
|
The young, precocious redheaded girl stared at the hologram that floated in front of her from the marble floor.
The video showed a man with a goofy smile and the fuzz of a beard growing on his face holding up his camera as he vlogged and pointed at his computer screen at an image of the night sky. The man in the video zoomed in on one particular star system, until a little fuzzy white star came into view. He threw an animation on top of it of text rolling by, as he talked about how it was his by law now. The text read “That’s Mine Bitches.”
“That was your great, great, great, great, grandfather Gilberto,” said Matthew, to his young daughter Emily. The man in the video threw some M & M’s in the air, that all clanked one after the other in his mouth. He posed in front of the camera with his hand on his chin as he chewed. “A few centuries ago, he purchased this star.”
Matthew dropped the curtains of their mansion, and pointed at the sun in the sky above their capital city. A few older, beaten up flying cars passed through the view of the city in the sky, but the view was otherwise unobscured. They stared straight at the sun, as the windows had built in protections from UV radiation.
“I know the story,” said Emily, rolling her eyes and looking at her father like she was worried something more was the matter. Matthew put a hand in the air like there was more, as he limped over to a hologram. “Are you okay?”
“Let me finish sweetheart,” said Matthew, as he laughed some to himself. Emily was never one to care much about history. She simply enjoyed the life of an intergalactic princess. Matthew took a moment to cherish the memories he had watching his only daughter grow up, as he started to cry. “I,” Matthew bit his knuckle with his teeth as he composed himself. “I was in the wrong star system at the wrong time this past weekend. I’m healthy now, but I may not have much time and I have to go back to our ancestor’s home star to get the treatments they’ve held from the outer galaxies.”
“*What?*” asked Emily, wandering his way through the hologram of their ancestor as he took a rocket ship into space as an older man. His beard floated up a moment while they were in space, before he went into hyperdrive to his new home. “What do you mean?”
Matthew did his best to not look his daughter in the eyes a moment, and distracted himself from his emotions by watching their ancestor set foot on his new home as an old man. He set a flag down while wearing a thin astronaut suit, as robots scattered from their spaceship to analyze the resources and begin building power plants, greenhouses, houses and more for the needs of the planet. Gilberto looked straight into the flying camera of a drone and smiled with all his teeth as he flipped off the camera with both hands.
“You know Gilberto,” said Matthew, smiling as he remembered all the hilarious videos he’d watched of their ancestor. He forgot his pain for a moment. “Gilberto was a man of strange talents packaged into an odd exterior personality. He bought a star in his youth that became one of the more profitable little jump off points for life in the outer galaxies.”
Emily noticed something in her father’s eyes.
“Are you bleeding?” she said, with a horrified face as she walked through a hologram of their ancestor taking in the first breath of fresh air of their world. A whole chorus of other people followed behind, young and filled with life. They were only fetuses before they were raised on the planet. Emily studied the redness in the whites of his eyes. Matthew waved her off.
“It’s only burst blood vessels,” said Matthew. He nodded in the direction of the hologram, as their ancestor held up papers and ‘made them rain’ as they used to say in front of a Skype call with politicians back on Earth who simply stared blankly at him with unamused faces. “For Gilberto, foresight was 20/20 really. At least that’s the saying that’s come and gone out of usage in our family to describe him.”
“Stop *talking* about Gilberto and TELL ME WHAT’S HAPPENING,” shouted Emily as a sensor on her dress tripped, and gave her a flashing red hologram’s warning that her blood pressure was too high. A second later her vitals showed she was at risk of fainting.
“Settle down sweetheart,” said Matthew, shaking his head like he needed her to not act like this. “You can’t be that way, not if..” Matthew looked at his guards in red, flowing suits approaching from the door, and gave them a look. They nodded, and left to give him more time. “You can’t act that way if you’re going to lead.”
Emily held still a moment, and suddenly became aware of her breathing.
“You can’t mean it,” she said, terrified and pointing at herself. "Not me, you can't mean it. Dad?"
“You have the talents,” said Matthew, nodding at Gilberto as he ran through blueprints of building up different town centers with their ancestral androids now on display in their museums. “I don’t mean to frighten you, you won’t be involved with day to day decision making. But, all final say, for this brief period of time..”
“I don’-,” sniffled Emily, huddling into a ball on their plush, living couch that adjusted its feel to your mood. A few of her old stuffed animals on the shelf briefly exited their slumber, and stood up with concern to waddle over to their owner. Almost like if the Toys in Toy Story would stop pretending they weren’t alive and tried to talk to Andy. “I don’t want it.”
Matthew felt his chest a moment, before he dropped his hand. He didn’t want to let it show. His silver suit glimmered in the sunlight, as he looked with pride at his daughter.
“It’s law here, no other line can rule. Until I return, whether you want it or not,” said Matthew, as the hologram displayed billions of stars, and zoomed out to display the galaxies of their empire. They revolved around Emily. “This world and the near galaxies are yours.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Oscar_Relentos/comments/78jc70/scifi_emily_of_the_stars_part_2/)
| 2017-10-24T11:49:08 | 2017-10-24T11:33:29 | 1,042 | 123 |
[WP] Two serial killers end up on a blind date together and both keep trying to find an oppurtunity to kill the other.
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Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one knew, that the other one too, planned to end their fate.
Jill was late, late for the date, when she lost control of the car. The tires were slashed, but there was no crash-Jack hadn’t planned that far.
Jack was fine, until his wine, had a lil’ something slipped in it. Then, thought Jill, she’d get her kill, but just a spill, and that was it.
They left there soon, past afternoon, when no light could be seen. Both thought then, how lucky they’d been, for the perfect time to do the deed.
Two knives were drawn, and each one saw, the same ideas within. Then, they both knew, the other one too, must be the same hidden.
Jack and Jill, out for a kill, on a seemingly innocent date. Neither one dead, when the date did end, and true love was found thanks to fate.
EDIT: The story I told, it has earned me gold, and I don’t know what else to say. Like Jack with Jill, my spirit you filled. Thanks for making my day.
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((Sorry for spelling and grammar errors, I wrote this from my iPad))
Abigail wrapped her arms around the bicep of her new tinder date, resting her head on his shoulder as they walked the waterfront. The sun creep behind the horizon, letting way to moonlight gently reflecting off the subtle waves of the sound. "I had such an incredible time tonight Dusty.. Dinner was excellent, I hadn't tried crab in that manner before." She giggled lightly, "Those last few drinks really hit, do you mind if we sit down somewhere for a moment?" Abigail cockily smiled, she hardly drank a drop but playing drunk would get her what she wanted.
Dusty cracked a half grin and found a spot that opened to small pebble beach front, pulling his arm up to create a hook on which he could lead the petite woman to the quiet spot on the already desolate beach. Watching as Abigail ran ahead, his eyes roamed her body. Hips that smoothed into a cinched waist and a subtle bubble butt from working out, her raven hair nearly reaching it. When she flipped around at a spot she found, her breasts glistened in moonlight, leaving Dusty to feel very aroused.
Smiling at the talk drink of water working his way over to her, Abby smiled brightly for she found the absolute perfect spot. Their was a large log blocking most of their view from the waterfront, and the gravel was soft here with most of the rocks being kicked off by pedestrians who walked the front earlier in the day. "You are so beautiful.." Dusty stated, his hand gently brushing strands of hair behind Abby's ear. He draped his jacket around her shoulders, and invited her to sit on his lap to enjoy the view.
Abby watched the waves crash against the pier as a small beacon of light off in the far waters glowed ever so lightly. She had her right where she wanted him, and she could feel the hardness of his lust beneath her. "Is that.. all for me?" She asked in an innocent voice. "Of course.. only if you'd have it." Dusty rubbed her back softly, pushing his palms into the muscles around her tiny shoulders. Flipping her tight body around, Abby lay on top of Dusty to share a moments passionate kiss. He grabbed the back of her neck a little roughly, and flipped her on her back. The kissing didn't stop as Dusty got more aggressive, his hand wrapping around her throats and his shoved his tongue into her mouth. Abby whined in pleasure, as Dusty slid a hand into his pocket. "Look me in the eyes baby and tell me you want this.. cry my name." He ordered Abby, who respectfully repeated.
Sliding a pocket knife, he flipped it open, using a finger to keep the sound from alarming his date. He shanked deeply into Abby's hip waiting to feel the thrill, something wasn't right though he felt immense pain. This enraged him as he looked down to see a knife resting in his own hip. Abby bursts out laughing, slipping out from under Dusty and standing near him. "You son of a bitch, you stabbed me." She yelped, pulling the knife from her hip. Dusty yanked the knife from his own hip, angrily jumping to his feet and taking a swipe at Abby. She jumped back, her feet now in the water ever so slightly. "Come now darling, you'll have to be quicker than that." She laughed, antagonizing him even more. Dusty bull rushed her, knocking her to the ground again, he straddled her lap. Quickly he placed his hands on her head and shoved it underwater. He whined in a sick pleasure as she struggled under his weight just to breathe as water filled her lungs. Abby grabbed some sand, and shoved it into his eyes. Quickly regaining her breath as he yelled and struggled to scratch the sand out from his eyes. She darted off towards under the pier, where it was extra dark.
By now, the pair had lost a decent amount of blood from their wounds which reopened every time they twisted and turned around the posts that held the pier above up. Dusty was getting rather impatient not able to get his kill, as Abby enjoyed the thrill of the game. He angrily stumbled around, starting to feel weak, yet equally as angry as Abby hid from him. As he rounded a corner, he was met with a knife into his stomach, he quickly shoved his into hers. The two held onto each other and fell to the ground on their knees. They gazed into each other's eyes, and shared a sinister smile. "You know dusty, I've never met a man like you.." "As I you.." Their lips met as sand and blood mixed with saliva before they collapsed in a pol of their own blood.
| 2017-10-27T07:49:40 | 2017-10-27T06:36:25 | 3,373 | 25 |
[WP] There's a saying among the galactic community. "Never hire a human"... you just hired 200 of them. And you're about to find out why that saying exists.
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"OK, good to have everyone here. I'm excited to work with you all. Get naked and greased up and I'll meet you in front of the control room."
The crowd of human employees didn't move to action as Xerlon assumed they would. A confused murmur rose in the crowd.
"We...we have to be naked?" a man asked, blushing.
"Yes?" Xerlon answered, perplexed. "The machinery in here is dangerous otherwise as clothing can get caught. We have optimized these machines for efficiency and done extensive studies that they are perfectly safe as long as workers are not wearing clothes."
Still the humans didn't move. They were still confused and had a lot of things to say about how embarrassing public nudity was for the average human. They were the first humans in recent memory to get hired by alien contractors, though, so looking like fools and making things difficult was not something they wanted to do.
"Uh, why the grease?" a woman finally asked.
The answer was so obvious Xerlon was once again taken aback. "We use a special kind of grease that helps keep your body temperature regulated while also allowing you to move through tight spaces quickly and easily. To save on space and weight, things are kept pretty cozy in there."
Still the humans didn't not move though some more adventurous among them did start to remove their shirts, albeit timidly.
"Can anything...um...dangling...end up caught in the machines?" One man finally asked what they were all thinking.
Xerlon was now very confused. "Yes, I would suppose so. Why?"
The same man looked around at his fellow humans wondering how to best communicate the issue. His fellow humans looked back at him, pleading with him to figure it out for them somehow.
To hell with it, the man thought, and dropped his pants right there. "Might this get caught?"
There was a small gasp among the crowd. A couple giggles. And Xerlon stood there frowning and staring, for the first time in his life, at a human penis.
"Fuck."
|
"Never hire a human," the old saying goes.
"They're a volatile bunch. Surviving all that war and all those atrocities changed something in them. They don't play well with others."
My father always said that. Our mercenary company was well-known throughout the cluster. Any job with good pay and a high risk of death or dismemberment was our thing. That meant that we had a high attrition rate. Usually lose a couple redshirts every mission, which meant after awhile it became hard to replace the rookies.
After a couple of jobs got caught in the proverbial event horizon, we were up the Malcarex without a sonic speargun. We needed new blood, bad. They had to be a little nuts to join up with us now.
The humans had that in spades. A seed ship with about 200 of them, coming from Titan, contacted us. They were looking for a home away from home. They were all battle-tested and just needed to get out of Sol. Now, Titan's a prison colony. These guys were definitely escaped prisoners on a jacked seedship looking to escape human "justice", likely in the form of a Ravager-class battlecruiser with a few shiny ion cannons and a recovery crew of the genemodded psychopaths they call their police force.
"Fine, I need new blood for my crew anyway. We'll take you in. Equal cuts of the take for everybody after your third mission, and you can bunk in the rookie quarters. They're cramped, but it's better than a damn colony skip-jack any day."
Cut to a few weeks later. They were a motley crew. Kept to themselves though. I got the impression they were a xenophobic bunch. Still, they handled the first two missions well. A hit on a senior Thraxian military official and his personal guard went well. No casualties, targets eliminated and we managed to get to his personal safe in time to steal what was left of his personal accounts.
Same for the second mission. Corporation war. Blew up a station with core-mounted charges and made sure their electronic records were transferred to us. Managed to sell 500.000 credits of somebody else's stock on top of the bonus for "liquidating" their other assets.
Third mission was a nasty one. I hated these runs. Colony raid on an outlying human settlement. We were supposed to leave no survivors. The Bal-garrack Empire claimed that land as an ancestral tomb world from their early space age days, and they wanted it back. Wanted to send a message too.
Well, we touched down with the whole lot of the human contingent in tow, along with a few of the other vets. Figured humans wouldn't mind dusting a few other humans. None of the rest of the crew did, and humans were notorious for killing each other, from what most of us had heard.
We came up on the colony late at night. Though, the planet is tidally locked, so "night" is a bit of a misnomer. People were sleeping. That's the important bit. I sent the greenest humans and a couple of my vets ahead to scout the place and round up the locals so we could do this quickly, before anyone had a chance to hit a distress beacon.
No more than 10 minutes into the op, gunfire. Lots of it. Then, nothing. Dead silence. Not a good sign when you send that many people out. Tried to radio the ship. Nothing. Comms are down or blocked.
*hammer clicks*
"Stay where you stand, Alcarnix. Move too fast and you'll spend the rest of your days down a couple tentacles and sipping out of a kid's juice cup through a tube in your thorax."
It was Markus. The human mercs' erstwhile leader.
"You didn't tell us we were here to kill our own kind, Alcarnix. There's families in there. Kids. I don't hurt kids at all, but especially not our own kids."
"Then what were the gunshots, Markus?"
"Your boys. Dead. Vex had a signal jammer on him. That was nice. Can't call down more of your boys with the comms knocked out. I figure we've got about 30 minutes before they realize something is up."
"Heard you humans were bloodthirsty savages. I figured you wouldn't mind offing a few of your kind for cash and safety."
"You heard wrong, Alcarnix. That old saying, 'Never hire a human'? There's a second part to it. 'Never hire a human to kill his own kind'. You might have missed this in galactic history, but we fought a war over this. The Unification War enshrined the central principle that humans would never kill other humans again. We almost wiped ourselves out three times. Never again."
"You all were on a seedship fleeing Titan. I thought you were criminals."
"Criminals that don't kill humans. All those stories about Sol are just scary rumors to keep you bugs on your toes."
"Bu.."
*Boom*
*Alcarnix hit the floor, a chunk of his skull's exoskeletal bits bouncing off the window of the dropship.*
"We do, however, have no qualms killing aliens."
*Markus kicked his corpse down the gangplank of the dropship and onto the lush ground of the colony world.*
"Team, wrap up recruitment and prep to return to the ship. We've got a roach infestation to clean up when we get back. You know the policy when it comes to aliens looking to harm humans: suffer not the xeno to live."
| 2018-04-27T11:24:36 | 2018-04-27T11:17:51 | 905 | 659 |
[WP] As we all know, Albert Einstein's last words were a mystery, as he uttered it to a nurse who couldn't understand his language. As a multilingual person, you time-travel to the moment he was about to say the last words of his life, and heard the most horrifying sentence you could ever hear.
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I stepped out of the comfort of the time-travel machine, my eyes darted around my surrounding as my pupils adjusted. I was relieved to see that the calibration was correct. I was right next to my destination - Princeton Hospital.
I glanced down at the smartwatch on my wrist and saw that I merely had minutes left before the events I was here for was due to take place. I hurriedly concealed the machine and jogged into the hospital. I had memorised the layout of the building so I arrived at the room without much hassle. I scanned the name plate on the door just to make sure - Albert Einstein.
Pushing open the wooden door, the man with the brain that changed the world was lying right there on a hospital bed with the sheets slightly yellowed. His signature hair was even messier than usual, his cheeks were hollowed in and his eyes were lifelessly staring up at the ceiling. Papers scattered around him on the bed, table, and floor, and I could see that some where I finished writing. What was ironic was that a pen was still tightly clutched in his hand, yet he would never be able to write down whatever world-changing thoughts he could have been having at that moment.
Footsteps approached from behind and I quickly dart into the room and hid under the bed. The door to the room reopened and I watched as a pair of feet, with just a bit of the nurse uniform visible, walked to the side of the bed right next to me. The nurse seemed to be checking his vitals and taking measurements of some sort. Suddenly, moans came from Einstein.
“What’s wrong?” The nurse said.
No coherent words came from his mouth, only some unrecognisable sounds. What a shame that such a brilliant mind was trapped in such an old body. If only immortality was a thing in this era.
Einstein continued to repeat the same few phrases, each time becoming clearer and clearer. I leaned more towards the side of the bed Einstein was speaking at in order to hear it. This was my mission. This was why I was given the first ever use of the newly-invented time-travel machine by the government. I was burdened with the glorious task to uncover one of the greatest mystery known the humanity. Once I hear these last word, I would report back to my era and go down in history as a hero of the people. My wife, my son, and I would finally be granted the immortality status as a reward to my survice to humanity and we will live happily ever after. I could not wait.
Finally, Einstein’s words became coherent.
He said, “Forced time travel to the past is possible. Forced time travel forward is death.”
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To whomever read this: please, do read until the end of it before making any decisions. I’m not looking to excuse myself, really. I just want to reassure you, before you vaporize me or whatnot, that I have, in fact, thought thoroughly about what I’m doing. Use me as an example of where idiocy can lead you or whatever. I won’t be in a position to care.
Look, I understand; the thing about time-travel is that it’s a logistic nightmare. It’s nowhere near as simple as taking your car and going to the grocery store, no matter what *some* may think. There are consequences, paradoxes, all kinds of stumbling blocks that can have a wide variety of consequences; at best, the result may be personal death or ruin; the possibility that you may learn something or do something or *change* something; at worst, well, it really doesn’t bear imagining.
The thing to know about humans, however, is that they we are way, way too curious for our own good; even when we know it isn’t healthy, or safe. Something in our humanity demands that we poke and probe the unknown to try and learn anything more about the world we live in. So yes, I agree that the only reasonable conclusion is to curtail and direct that curiosity to something, hopefully, a little more productive.
The obvious solution, when an inventor with more intelligence than sense managed an actual, functional time machine a few decades ago, would have been to destroy it and never speak of it again. Of course, the actual reality was a lot more messy and confusing, and it snowballed something fierce before some semblance of order was reached.
Nowadays, only one travel is permitted for each person, and only after they have proven they are responsible enough, smart enough, to be able to handle it (something I do know, and I obviously am not, but again, judge if you want. Just don’t stop me) Of course, there are plenty of protesters and calls for freedom of passage and what-not, but I, for one, still think it is perfectly reasonable. ***On most circumstances***. We are given an incredible chance, but as many things in life, it is a fleeting one. Doesn’t that make it more valuable? Didn’t some famous poet or other say that?
By the way, I’ve come to the conclusion that I am the biggest idiot to have ever been an idiot. No need to point it out, okay?
In any case, last week was finally my turn to use it. Sherman, Louise, authorization: 0883-0767259V, if you haven’t gotten it yet. Not to brag, but I had finished all the requirements; I chose the point I wished to visit from the few available at the time and satisfactorily reasoned my request, had it approved. I painstakingly trained myself in the old languages, economy, customs: I was ready. (And I am ready. I have taken precautions. Stop panicking.)
Truth is, mine was a short visit, even by our standards. In, out, no more than, say fifteen minutes; I had tried not to be too greedy, after all. Thing is, as mentioned; I consider myself a reasonable woman, but I’m really, really curious. I wanted to solve a mystery, have achieved *something* of value, not too small but not really that big either. A cool story for when I was out with friends if you will.
Learn the famous last words of one of the greatest thinkers of all time? Sign me up. Really, I had wondered that no one had snapped this one up before me: Replace an unknown nurse that no one remembers, be there at just the right moment and I’d known Albert Einstein’s last words that had been lost to time. It would give me bragging rights for the rest of my life.
So I went. The trip itself was fine; a bit rough, but one can’t really complain when living through a miracle of science, can we? The clothes too were itchy and didn’t fall right on me, but I would have happily worn a clown costume if it had been necessary, so fair’s fair.
The doubts started as I entered the room, though. For the first time, I started wondering about the ethics of the situation. Here was a man, a genius man sure, but a man nonetheless and I had come to watch him perform like he was circus monkey. I didn’t turn around though; couldn’t, really, not when the encounter was already scripted. It was better to go, and get it over with.
Albert (it somehow seems too cold, to refer to the man by a last name in his deathbed. Besides, I doubt anyone can begrudge me the familiarity) looked smaller, somehow, that I imagined. I realize now how cliched that sounds, but as I imagine that won’t be on anyone’s list of grievances with me by the end of this, you are going to have to deal.
I am rambling quite a bit, aren’t I? Well, at the risk of sounding repetitive, whatever. I’m stalling. I’d tell you to sue me, but all things considered I really rather you did not, whoever you are. Anyway, there I was. Depressing room, great figure of humanity in front of me. I walked forward. He saw me. He went to speak.
I was not ready for his last words. I wouldn't ever have been ready for what those last words implied. This is the absolute worst thing that has ever happened to me, and I can only hope that by doing what I am going to do (hopefully a few hours before this note is found) this remains only my worst moment and not, somehow, the undoing of reality as we know it. Send help if you want, or not. But I’m using this thing again, for a slightly longer jump. I hope I don't break it, etcetera.
Oh, yeah, the request for authorization. Nearly forgot:
~~Sherman, Louise~~ Koch, Pauline: Time arrival is estimated at June, 1846. Purpose of travel is to marry and have like, three kids or something. I promise not to force them to do well in math class. Wish me luck.
| 2018-09-14T05:04:59 | 2018-09-13T23:41:32 | 39 | 26 |
[WP] The genie granted your wish: to be able to understand and speak every language. Your mind is flooded with thousands upon thousands of dead and living languages, human and alien alike. But, most surprisingly, you also now understand the operating system running the universe.
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Sobbing with the sheer weight of understanding, I reach for the only comfort left to me and bring it to my lips.
I tilt my head back, and look to the sky. Even through the beauty of the stars my comprehension demands relief.
"It's PHP all the way down." I whisper as my finger tightens on the trigger and a moment later relief finds me.
Edit: spelling
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"Bitches, bitches, bitches. I love me some bitches."
"That's pretty cool, what's your wish?" the genie responds
"Well. Give me control over all the bitches of course."
"Okay your wish is my command. You now have control over all the women in the world. Anything you say they will do."
"I don't feel any different."
"Don't worry it worked."
"That's good that's good. I still have two more wishes right."
"Yes two more."
"And I can't ask for infinite wishes."
"No that was disallowed in recent years."
"Cool. Well I've got another wish. This is a good one." I said with a grin.
"What is it?" The genie said in a concerned tone.
"Get me the 10 prettiest girls in all of the world and bring them right here."
"Okay your wish is my command." And what do you know the 10 most prettiest girls I had ever seen in my life were standing in front of me. These exotic beasts not one spoke English, which made them all the more luscious. "Wow. You've done me good this time, Genie."
"Thank you. I try." says the Genie
"Okay time to try out my new powers." I walk over to one of the women and say "Hello, I would like you to kiss me." She doesn't do anything. "I think this one is broken." I say to the Genie.
The Genie responds "No, none of these girls speak English, so they have no idea what you're saying. They can't do what you say if they don't know what you're saying."
"Makes sense. Makes sense. Good thing I have one more wish. My last wish Mr. Genie is that I can speak and understand every langauge."
"Very well. Your wish is my command."
And then poof the Genie was gone. So yeah that was the story of me talking to the Genie. I actually don't call women bitches. I think that's vulgar and an awful way to treat women. I just thought it would make the story more entertaining and make me seem cool. I'm really quite a nerd. I lost my virginity at the age of 27. But anyway that last wish changed me. Not only did I learn every language, but I also learned about how the universe worked. That was a weird side affect. And when I learned this it completely changed everything.
No longer was I even interested in these beautiful sexy ladies across from me, and there was a completely valid reason why. These girls were evil. All girls were. Actually all girls weren't evil. That was a lie. No girls were evil. No girls even existed. No one existed. That was the problem. No one existed. We were all just part of a game. But we weren't even the fun characters in the game. We were all the NPCs. The only playable character was Jesus, and we had killed him so long ago and we were just waiting for him to return. You see a year here is the same as a minute in the real universe. Our God who was playing this game had left his computer and left this game of ours on for a day in his world and that was 2000 years in our world, and now everybody was just waiting for Jesus to return.
So I guess the Christian's were right. Congratulations Christians. I'm proud of you. But you're still asking about the girls. Why am I not sleeping with the girls. Well that's a good question. I guess the reason is since the Christian's are right and I have figured it out, I guess I better follow Christian values and not sleep around. Because if God comes back to his computer and sees me sleeping with all the girls he may not like it. Maybe I'll be a monk. Who knows? That's all I have to say. Thanks for listening.
​
| 2018-10-18T14:11:40 | 2018-10-18T14:07:23 | 212 | 13 |
[WP] Through selective breeding we managed to turn wolves into pugs. For the last 1000 years a secret cult has also been selective breeding, but not with wolves but lizards. Crocodiles, monitors, sneks. The largest and most dangerous, into finally they created their perfect monster... A Dragon.
Just wanted to thank everyone for the awesome stories. Also, yes the spelling of Snek was deliberate. I’ve been trying to post a writing prompt here every night before bed for the last couple days and it is really encouraging when I see so many people willing to spend their time writing awesome stories from my prompt. Keep it up fellow writers and good night from Australia.
Edit: Front page, awesome and thanks. Also good morning from Australia. Glad you all got to write some awesome stories from my prompt.
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I thank you for your interest Mr. Darson. Yes we have quite a few breeds of Dracus Domesticus. This way please.
Now, if you wish to choose from the catalogue you'll notice that each of our fine creatures has a vet certificate of health and their shots are all up to date. Now if you'd let me know your price range...
You would rather see them in person? Well yes that could be arranged. However I must warn you that due to little darling's nature there are a few wavers you'll have to sign. Yes, hair and eyebrows singes are not unheard off however should that happen wigs and hair transplant brochures are in the lobby for you to browse. I myself adore the Lovely (Do or Dye Saloon). Very reasonable prices and most people couldn't even tell it's a wig.
Thank you for signing, let me take you to the stables. Now in this location we manage medium to large sized breeds. You have your Slimehides, very popular those. Your giant tails though we only have three of those at the moment. Bloodyhorns a plenty, Breed like rabbits they do. five Goddamned backspikes but they're in a seperate location. Very territorial I'm afraid and haven't learned to play nice with others yet. Ah here we are. This way and please put on the fire proof mitts if you plan to touch any of them.
What's that? Why are they all small? What are you talking about. Look at little Jakekr here, he's had a growth spurt this summer and is now bigger then my palm. Very impressive for his breed wouldn't you agree?
Look I can see you are not ready to own a pet. Please come back when you are, these babies are all rescues. People see a picture of a dragon in a tea cup and they rush to get their own. a few weeks later they realized that this is a living creature. It needs a balanced diet, a lot of care and each breed comes with it's own list of possible problems due to generations of inbreeding by some cruel and greedy basement dwellers. We did this to them and yet all they ever wanted from us is love, companionship and a friend.
What do you mean why is the fire coming out that way! How else are they supposed to fart?
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A faint light shone through the crack underneath the heavy oaken doors. It alternated between all the colours of the rainbow. Erafel knew it signified the culmination of over one thousand years of hard labour.
‘Others will see it and call it an abomination.’ Master Itchen said.
‘I know, but it isn’t. Not to me.’ Emotion gathered in his throat. He swallowed it with difficulty. ‘To me it’s the very essence of what it means to be human: To surpass our creator, to become the creator ourselves.’
The old master smiled and asked: ‘Are you ready to play your part?’
Erafel breathed in deeply and contemplated his surroundings and what was to come.
Around them acolytes and masters alike hastily walked through the subterranean corridors. All of them too swept up in their own tasks to pause and soak in the grandeur of the approaching creation. There were no grandmasters among them. They were all beyond the door.
The torches that lined the hallway cast moving shadows upon his master’s face, giving it even harder characteristics. Many of the other young acolytes feared Itchen. His imposing stature, even though he was sixty already, and fire kissed face had earned him the nickname: “The Hound of the Cave”. Yet Erafel had only known him as “father”.
As was tradition in The Community every new-born child was assigned to a young master, who had to care for it. This to avoid blood relations getting in the way of what had to be done. And what had to be done was awaken the beast.
‘Yes, I am ready.’
The outside world had always been hostile to those sought to reach beyond what was acceptable. The Community wasn’t like that. It devoted itself completely to progress. And so much of that had been made in the past centuries. Now the ultimate goals: breaking free from the belly of the mountain, reclaiming the outside world and once again lighting the flame of advancement, were within reach.
‘Grab the orb and follow me.’ Itchen said. His tone had shifted into the one he used at the most important of occasions.
The doors were a little over thirty feet away and the orb made from multiple, rotating layers of precious metals and a milky glass core would start to become heavy soon. It didn’t matter to Erafel, a little physical discomfort was a small price to pay for mental and spiritual enlightenment.
As they approach the large wooden doors everyone around them stopped. The doors opened without them even touching them, saturating the hallway with colourful light. Erafel closed his eyes and let himself be guided by the sound of his master’s cane hitting the granite tiles under their feet.
When he heard the doors close behind him he opened his eyes again. To his surprise he wasn’t immediately blinded. The glowing lights he had seen earlier had disappeared and before him stood the twelve grandmasters.
‘Welcome, young Erafel. Your acceptance of your destiny humbles us all.’ Said Aytros, the oldest and wisest of the grandmasters. ‘Please take your place in the centre of the circle. Then proceed to raise the orb over your head and await our further instructions.’
Erafel’s heart had started beating faster while listening to the grandmaster. As he took the first step, the group of twelve split in two, creating a path deeper into the massive chamber. At the end of the gigantic open space he saw it. The beast.
It was over forty-five feet long and had massive wings folded against its body. He could only imagine what their span might be. A thin split tongue protruded from the beast’s mouth and rhythmically licked its scaled lips.
Mesmerized and completely unaware of his surroundings, Erafel walked on. Only the slight rise of the circle in front of the beast pulled him away from the dreamlike state by almost tripping him.
The beast opened its eyes, revealing bright orange irises regarding him with caution.
‘It’s okay. I’m not here to hurt you.’ He said reassuringly.
It didn’t react in any meaningful way, but the beast righted itself, showing off the strong muscles under its scale-clad hide.
Erafel felt dumb for saying such a stupid thing. As if such a creation would ever fear the likes of him. He raised it orb into the air and heard the grandmasters start to sing. He couldn’t make out what they were saying. He had never heard sounds like those before. The only thing he could make out was “Iri Qsi Sha”. They kept on repeating it. It must be the beast’s name, he thought.
After about a minute of chanting the orb started to heat up and glow. A loud burst and a visible shockwave sprang from the orb, enraging Iri Qsi Sha. It roared and started moving towards the circle.
‘It’s going to eat the orb. It’s going to eat the orb.’ Erafel said to himself, as if it would protect him.
To his surprise the jaws of the beast closed around his waist. Gently at first, but the pressure mounted rapidly.
‘Hey! Somebody help me!’ He shouted. Nobody responded.
As the pain became too great he dropped the still glowing orb into the mouth of the beast. Hoping that would make it drop him. He was wrong. His voice gave out as he screamed. Moments before he lost consciousness, he felt his legs separate from his body
​
The twelve grandmasters regarded the bloody spectacle with interest.
‘You have made the ultimate sacrifice, *Grand*master Itchen. Now the unwilling will suffer the same fate.’ Aytros said to Itchen.
Itchen nodded rapidly, if only to shake away the tears in his eyes.
The beast roared, releasing a cloud of brightly coloured fire from its mouth.
‘So they will.’ Itchen echoed.
| 2018-10-20T08:08:21 | 2018-10-20T08:08:12 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] You have a superpower. Every time someone tells you to do something, you can say 'no u' & that person will make it their life's mission to accomplish the task. One day, you & your 8-year old nephew are talking & he says, "I hope you make the world a better place." You smilingly reply, "no u."
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These words of power are derived from ancient Hebrew and Egyptian traditions of magic and spellcraft. They are accompanied by a complex set of visualizations that I must formulate in my mind each time, in order to reshape the world according to the requests that I make binding. There are subtle rules, but in very broad terms, I can only bind the requester with his or her own request to me. In older generations, it was phrased as “May it be so for you,” but these days the magic words have acquired a bit more of an attitude -- I wonder who they passed through in order to be reshaped so -- and sound like: “No, you.”
Twenty years ago, my little cousin uttered these words to me: “I hope you make the world a better place.” I still remember his uncanny little face, a small, all-too-possessed mask; there was always something hidden, slightly sinister, stirring behind what he said and presented. Is it possible for an eight-year-old to be evil? If any child was born predisposed to be evil, it would have to be my cousin. He had a natural affinity for subterfuge, blatant disregard for others, and had already begun showing a knack for torturing animals in a cold, premeditated fashion. His parents, loving but distracted by their aristocratic pursuits and professional responsibilities, were worried but not enough. In order to make the world a better place, as per his request, I invoked the only truly potent magic I know and effectively bound his destiny that day, making his fate irrevocable, his life’s drive tied to this request.
To the world, I seem another homeless man with a begging bowl. For many years now, I have been forgotten, speaking to no one who knows my name, living in abandoned places. But the Fates still speak to me. They have not forgotten me. I have been shown glimpses of what he has become. He has not had an easy life, despite his wealth.
He is still a monstrosity, but one who is bound to use all his talents for bettering the world. He has turned his natural inclination for darkness and his disregard for authority into a calling. His cruelty and rage have been channeled into battling criminals for the soul of this dark city. Sometimes glimpses of madness are still present. They call him when they need him with a signal of light emblazoned with a bat. Light and fear, goodness and evil, merged into one symbol.
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You can’t remember how long it’s been in the cell. The endless hum of the air handler is of no use and the lights never go out. In all the movies they keep track of days by carving lines in the wall but without any tools it all seems hopeless. If only you could keep track of meals but with how irregular they are it’s become hard.
But there isn’t time to worry about it now. Another group of people has arrived and the outer door is being pushed open. The loud grinding noise of the metal on the floor causes most of the crowd to cover their ears but you’ve grown used to it by now and barely move. The crowd moves into the room adjacent to you. There is a little murmuring but for the most part everyone is behaving themselves, no pushing or arguing like you sometimes hear.
They’ll be lined up soon and the small window will be opened. You never thought you’d find yourself on the other end of a confessional, but you imagine they’re normally not jail cells.
Without much pause the small window flips open. There is a small pause and you can hear someone whisper to the person at the window. Not a surprise they’d need a little coaching as the first person in line.
“Be happy”
The voice is timid, not entirely unexpected. Far preferable to the incredulous ones who seem almost indigent at the entire idea, their harsh voices only make the situation more unpleasant, as if that was necessary. The worst ones though were the ones who are laughing. Those people who thought the whole situation was a joke. Who even knew their reason for coming? If they though it was so silly they should have just stayed home and left you alone. But whatever voice didn’t matter. No one would face any consequences, regardless of their reasons. Karma was a lie. Really there was no point in fighting it, just getting things over with was the best option.
“no u” you reply. Your voice catching a bit in your throat. That kind of thing that would have embarrassed you back when life was normal but who really cares anymore?
Then you hear it. Different for everyone but still instantly recognizable. Part surprise, part relief but 100% happy. The faceless nameless voice from the other side of your small window lets out that little gasp. It’s followed by another whisper and you can hear them quickly moved away. Their footsteps are light almost like a child who just got their first dose of cotton candy. You don’t have much time to think about it before the next person in line.
“Be happy”
This time the person needed less coaching. By the 4th or 5th person in line they’ll have it down and his whispers will stop.
“no u”
“Be happy”
“no u”
“Be happy”
“no u”
It goes on for a bit but ends as quickly as it started. That can’t have been more than 30 people. Your voice isn’t even horse yet. The large door hasn’t been closed yet though. Is someone still in there with you? Why haven’t they told you to be happy?
“Everything is going well! I’m getting better at convincing people to come and give it a try.”
*HIM*. All your confusion is wiped away at the sound of his voice. The feelings of hopelessness and malaise are quickly replaced by desperation and anger.
“It’s took me so long” the voice continued “I thought for a while this wouldn’t work either, but things are finally looking up. We’re a great team and we’re really making a difference. At this rate it looks like in a month or so word of mouth will be enough to get them in the door. Things should really pick up then!”
Arguments don’t work. You’ve tried appealing to his reason, his morals even his pity. He’s too driven to back down. The only thing that would change his mind is if he found a better way. You’ve wracked your brain for so long, but the sad truth is you can’t think of a better way. Now that he seems to have cleared his last hurdle, getting people here in person, things could never change. You can’t force your way out and you can’t talk your way out but you’ve got one ace up your sleeve.
You start screaming. Nonstop. As loud as you possibly can in the pitch you think yourself capable of. The door hasn’t closed yet so he may still be in here. If only you can bother him enough that he forgets for a moment! During a deep breath you hear him start to speak.
“Are you trying to get me to tell you to stop? I’ve worked too hard to fall for that. I may not understand why your power works, but I do know when it works. I know the safest thing is to never tell you to do anything again, just choosing my words wisely is a pointless risk. I know this isn’t pleasant for you, I really do, but this is for the greater good. The world is at stake and your and my happiness is a small price to pay.”
All hope drains out of you. He’d already thought of your last way out. What else can you do at this point? Screaming won’t help, nothing will help. You let out a sigh, audible enough for him to hear it.
“I’m glad we agree. I’ll be back soon. Smaller groups seem to work best right now for keeping everyone orderly so that’s the name of the game for now.”
Footsteps approach the small window. He’ll close that before leaving the adjacent room and closing that door as well. You hear the click of the small window quickly shutting but the loud metal scraping noise of the large door doesn’t follow. After a little your window opens just a small amount.
“We’re really making the world a better place!
| 2019-01-26T15:28:24 | 2019-01-26T13:05:08 | 42 | 12 |
[WP] After being kidnapped by scientists who infuse the DNA of a predatory animal in order to create a super soldier, you manage to escape your prison. But you don't want revenge or adventures; all you want is your normal life back. You succeed.
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John wasn't exactly sure why he was chosen to be a super soldier, he was a lanky 23 year old who didn't exercise or do anything remotely soldier-y. Hell he had never had a job. He was a self proclaimed deadbeat... He spent most of his days with cheese dust from chips on his fingers as he grinded through Runescape or Minecraft. So why would they infuse him with a predator? It made no sense. And a bear of all things? Even with the mind of a bear he would never have the strength to match. Or so he though. The bears DNA did make him bulkier. It made it easier for him to bend the prison bars and get out, but he was tired and hungry and he couldn't raid with his mates here.
He wandered aimlessly away from the prison facility around until he found a shopping centre, he asked to borrow someone's phone claiming his died (truthfully his hadn't left his house with him), that showed him exactly where he was and he managed to plot a path home for himself. Luckily he had a $20 stuffed into his jeans pockets so when he managed to find a bus going his way, he could afford the fare. He stared out the window as it drove thinking about winter being just around the corner as it trickled with light rain. Somehow that made him sleepy. Must have been a bear thing. He eventually reached the shopping centre near his house and spent the rest of his money buying food, barely noticing it was more than he would usually buy. Eventually he wandered home with arms full of chips and cola, let himself in and went to his room where he cocooned himself in his blanket at his desk and got back to raiding.
The luck of being a bear. He had only amplified the traits he already had and he'd just successfully hoarded food for the long winter and crawled into his den to hibernate via gaming.
Maybe he was a human bear all along.
And those violent tendencies came in very helpful during raids.
EDIT: Grammar and formatting
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*I can run quite a bit faster..shouldn’t I be tired?* I continued to run down the hill into the forest, sliding under and jumping over obstacles. *N..not even close to breathing hard yet. I think I’m going to get away!* It didn’t take long for me to reach a river. I thought that since I was nowhere close to being tired, I ought to just swim it. Through my earlier life as a camper, I knew to swim diagonally. But with whatever the hell they injected me with, it allowed me to swim in a straight line. Against the current. My mind was blown, the endurance was one thing..what else did the wolf serum have in store for me?
I continued to run lightly through the forest, only slightly developing a quickened breath and heart rate. My thoughts became less intelligent as I ran on. *Find car.* I thought to myself, and ran in a straight line, figuring I could find at least some road by continuing. Eventually, I did find a road and started down it, holding my thumb up for a hitch.
When one driver finally came along, she looked up at me through the drawn window and asked who I was and if I was alright.
“Y-yeah, I’m doin alright, I just uh..went camping and frankly lost all my stuff in the river, it’s all gone. I gotta get home.” She looked me up and down, and upon seeing that I was still relatively drenched, let me in.
“Did your shoes get lost in the river too?” She asked upon opening the door and seeing my muddy feet.
“Yeah, I guess they whisked away my socks too,” I replied, looking at my own feet in surprise. *Did I have shoes when I broke out..?* I couldn’t remember. All I knew was that I was hungry. “You don’t suppose that you might have food?” I asked sheepishly.
“Uh..you can check the door.” She replied, staring on into the night, focusing on the road. I did, and found an unopened chocolate bar. “Thank you!” I said, excitedly as I held it in my hands. I nearly passed out at the sight of my hands. Grey, course hair grew from my knuckles, and my nails had taken on a cone shape, and a black color. I hid my hands as I tried to open the bar, which proved difficult. Eventually, she dropped me off at my city’s limits, and I walked home from there.
The next day I woke up and saw that it was Monday, and I wondered if I still had my job. I hoped so, it had only been four work days I missed. As I got ready for work, I noticed my shirts were too small around my chest and arms. I walked over to the mirror, and I had absolutely grown muscle. I was used to being on the thinner side, and hoped I would be able to cover it up. Not likely, considering the weather was still too warm for a jacket.
I got into work, and my coworkers immediately noticed the growth. “Steroids, Rob?” Jake asked me.
“Whaaaa-?” I fumbled around for an answer. I didn’t want to say steroids, but I had never in my life seen anyone grow a layer of muscle in the span of a week. “H-how did you know?” I said nervously.
“Fuckin Rob haha, nice try.” Amy said to me, rolling her eyes. “Oh yeah, boss-man wants to see you. Not calling in sick? Bad move man.”
I silently freaked out and dealt with my boss, who also noticed the “steroids”. He simply asked that I not do it again or action would be pursued, and released me to my cubicle.
As I sat down, I realized how hard it was for me to sit still. I had constant energy, whirring thoughts, and a strong desire to run. Not for any particular reason, other than my legs burned for activity. I started bouncing my legs in my chair, unable to sit still. The keyboard in front of me felt like a pair of handcuffs, forcing me to stay. I pounded my knuckles together, trying to expend all the tingly energy pent up. I started watching the clock, following the second hand around and around, waiting for lunch hour.
It finally came, and I bolted downstairs to the parking garage. I ran up and down the stairs, jumping and leaping up to the ceiling, trying to throw the concrete around. I spent my entire hour being psycho, but I didn’t have the energy craze anymore. Instead, it was replaced by a hunger so deep it felt like my innards were eating each other. I ran as fast as I could to the cafeteria and grabbed as many meat-based foods out of the fridge as I could. I dashed back to my desk, all the chicken and fish in hand, and proceeded to consume everything in one sitting at my desk.
Not long after, I was finally home. I didn’t have the desire to plop down on the sofa like normal, I had the desire to run. So I did. I ran up and down the street, climbed two trees, and practiced jumping fences. After an hour, I went back home. Again, the hunger pangs were incredible. As I ate, I felt a little bit of anger I didn’t even know was there dissipate.
It didn’t take long for me to go to sleep, curled in a ball. But for those few moments I laid awake, I knew I was in for one hell of a ride.
| 2019-02-04T19:07:28 | 2019-02-04T18:31:59 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] A supervillain gets married, has kids, and retires. The hero doesn't know, and slowly goes insane without them
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*The Falcon* crashed through the skylight, dropped down into a crouch the table where we all sat in stunned silence.
"I have you, now, *Burner*. All these years, you thought you were safe. You thought you were hidden. But I have you. It's over."
He was a mess. Disheveled didn't even cover it. He hadn't bathed in...I don't know how long. The smell was nauseating. His costume was tattered. Holes, some from wear, others from injuries, marked the steel grey and sky blue of his uniform, which was stylized to look like a cross between a military uniform and a bird costume.
An assortment of scars and wounds, some healing, some fresh, were clearly visible under his tattered costume. His hair was long, oily, matted in places.
"Did you hear me?!", he roared through discolored, neglected teeth and cracked lips. "It's OVER."
My wife and daughters looked at him with revulsion, then at me in askance.
It seemed that everyone expected me to have something to say.
But what do you say when a guy you haven't seen in 12 years is crouched on your table? When there are shards of glass and pieces of ceiling all over you, your family, the table, and the breakfast you were just about to enjoy before heading to work?
Asking if he's okay would be stupid. He's clearly not, and hasn't been for some time. I know what he was capable of the last time I saw him. That was part of the reason I got out of the game...the guy was always wound too tight.
But now? He's quite obviously lost it. I went straight *years* ago. I left the crime circuit, moved half a country away, met my wife, traveled with her for her work, and now we've settled in her sleepy little hometown where nothing crazy happens....until crazy finds you.
"Uh...Hey, Falcon....what brings you to - " He cuts me off mid-sentence.
"TWELVE YEARS!!", he screams, voice raw with emotion, tears streaming down his face. "Twelve years of HELL. Twelve years of putting the pieces together, of burned bridges, of exhausting every lead I could find, of people calling me crazy. I knew *The Burner* wouldn't go legit so easily. I always knew you were pulling strings from whatever rock you'd hidden yourself under. And who are they?! your 'family', right? Let me guess. Androids?"
He looks like a shell of himself. Like he can barely stay upright. The suit hangs off him. His face is gaunt. His eyes, wild. But he's so much faster and stronger and faster than he looks. He always was. If anything, he's stronger now than he was before.
Before I even register his movement, he's kicked Janice square in the mouth, knocking her from her seat and into the wall several feet behind her chair, where she flops face first onto the floor, blood pouring from her shattered face.
She doesn't move.
*The Falcon* was back to his crouch before I fully understood what had just happened.
I had always suspected he was a metahuman, but I was sure now. No one in his sort of shape could possibly be that strong or fast without powers.
The girls scream in terror. *The Falcon* just looked dispassionately at the ever-widening pool of blood forming around Janice's face.
"Ah. Clones then. Noisy, too. Not a problem." He looks at Delores, our youngest.
"Jesus, Falcon, STOP!! They're my family! They're innocent...they...they don't even know about *The Burner*. I left all of that behind."
"Uh-huh. Sure", *The Falcon* said.
And then he's on me, the several feet between us gone before I knew what was happening.
The smell of him, it's...a person who's all there just doesn't allow themselves to get to this point. I struggle, but it's useless. I've gone soft these 12 years. He's changed too, but he still has that intensity...and that freakish strength. I never could compete on that front. I can't reason with him. Not only would he not listen to me, but the chokehold makes it impossible to breathe.
I see the terror in my daughters eyes as my vision fades to black. I hear one of them scream.
"Daddy!!!!!"
Then, nothing.
**edit** - typos
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A normal year for Suro.
If something like that had ever existed.
"Why'd you do it?" His enemy - friend? It was scary how closely those lines blurred- merely rolled his eyes, staring with forlorn melancholy at the cloudy skies. "You were supposed to be the good one, you were supposed to be better th-"
"-than you? Is that what you're going to say" Sylto coughed out a globule of blood. "Spare me."
He had heard the rumors, whispers in taverns that were the same from the high class nobles to the uncouth whores. He had, of course, ignored them. There was absolutely no way; it was *inconceivable*, there was no possible chance that they were true. For the supposed messiah to fall so low? Petty rumors from jealous people. Besides, even if they were true, he had left that life behind him. His wife was all he needed, his child - a daughter! - on the way. Everyday was simple and sweet.
Unending bliss.
Not for him, it seemed.
"Amiyah-" A choked sob erupted before he could contain it. "-why? It was between you and I. She was innocent. Pure. And now... my child..."
Sylto just watched, hard as it was with blood streaming over his face, as the weight of the world seemed to rest itself on the man before him.
"I was to be the shepherd that heralded humanity into the golden age..." He finally graced Sylto with a look. "A prophecy from Apollo himself." His saccharine tone and smile gave Suro something else, a new feeling, to focus on.
Rage.
"That's what this was? A way to break the cycle? Some way to get back at your father and I was just the link you chose to break?" He scrambled to his feet, exhaustion forgotten as anger fueled adrenaline rushed through him.
The moments seemed to blur together, but when he came to, he was standing over his fallen adversary, sword held in a hand that seemed about to break the metal with its pallid grip. He thought of them, his family, his friends, the chance for a new life. Lies. Because of this *monster.*
And still, he couldn't do it. Sylto's pale neck, mired in a curtain of grime and blood, called to him like a siren. Sword tip to neck. Then it would all be over.
But not for him. His life was gone, and the blood that stained his hands - his *soul* \- would never let it end, and the lies that convinced him that maybe, just maybe, he could be a decent person? Buried beneath dirt, dead.
Gone.
"*Why?*"
"Like sheep, the shepherd leads the herd..." Sylto wasn't even looking at him, instead choosing to focus on the warring forces beneath them. At this point, though, it was no longer a fight, only wanton slaughter as his forces raged on and devoured Sylto's.
"I took everything from you, and you still can't do it." Suro blinked, only now realizing his sword had moved forward and carved a bloody smile into Sylto's neck. It barely broke the skin.
"They told me you were a monster. Washed the world away under a current of fear. I was to be a modern day Moses and part the sea of evil you wrought." His enemy mused, finally looking him in the eye. "I nodded my head like a good boy, and did whatever they told me to. An obedient weapon. The perfect tool." Sylto sighed, tracing the edge of the sword pressed upon his neck with a shaky finger.
"But still, I wondered. 'Why did I need to save the world from you? It's not perfect, but there's no fighting.' I didn't dare voice that thought though, that was independence." A snort. "They buttered me up, filled my head with hubris, and shipped me off to fight you. You thrashed me. But you didn't strike me down. And I was confused. 'How could this monster let a person like me, someone that could threaten all that he worked towards, walk away.'" Sylto pushed hard on the sword, watching in a trance as lifeblood broke free from the rent skin, trailing its way down his hard.
"I asked my father this when I got back. He beat me black and blue, for losing. Told me to never ask that again. As soon as I was all healed up, he sent me back. But you were gone." Here, his gaze was questioning, and Suro found himself answering without a thought.
"The people believed in you... as foolish and naive as you were, you were right, peace through fear is no peace at all. The kingdom was dying, slowly, certainly slower than the wars that plagued it before, but it was dying nonetheless. I left, I thought you would make things different..."
Sylto laughed, a long merry laugh that echoed throughout the valley, lost under the clanging swords and death rattles of men below.
"You thought putting a boy that had never made a decision for himself in charge of an entire nation?" Sylto shook his head exasperatedly. "How you conquered the kingdoms with plans like that I'll never know."
Suro had the decency to blush. "I was desperate, I thought the love and voice of the people would be enough to guide you."
"You were wrong. I listened to that voice, gave them everything they wanted, and things went right back to the way they were before. Deceit, betrayal, assassinations... nothing changed. We love to blame the gods for our problems, but I realized the truth. Humans are the problem, this kingdom nearly imploded itself before I started my crusade. Gods give the rules, but someone needs to enforce them."
"That was supposed to be you!"
"And I am doing my part."
Suro paused, looking at Sylto confusedly. "What?"
"The biggest threat to humanity to ever walk the face of the earth, gathering equally as monstrous creatures and people to his side to eradicate everything in existence." Sylto coughed out more blood. "Quite the tale, huh?"
Suro stiffened as ice cold realization began to settle upon him.
"They stopped listening to me, after awhile. They knew I didn't kill you , I didn't have the power. You can't enforce rules without power. So when things started going south, and I didn't have the power to fix them, I lost their respect. I knew nothing I did could win it back. Maybe if I tried, things would have been different, but that was when I lost their love." Sylto shrugged.
"All the corruption I could find, gathered in one place. The leader of that band, cut down by a displaced lord, seeking nothing but vengeance and redemption." He shook his head. "So much more goes into ruling than wearing a crown, more than I could ever fathom." Sylto gestured to the army letting their cries of victory fill the battlefield.
"You ruled this kingdom through fear. You saved them from me, so now they love you." Fingers wrapped around a cold blade, uncaring of the pain.
"They spat your name with disgust. Now, they'll extol it with song and praise." Those fingers gripped it tight, stealing ownership from the hand around the handle.
"And with enough power to strike the big bad monster down, you'll have their fear as well. Fear tempered by love, obedience with respect." The sword dug deeper.
"Autonomy... and choice. They love their supposed free will, but long to be ruled. The best of both worlds." Sylto smiled at him. "When I became king, I promised to give them everything they could ever want."
He cocked his head to side, looking at him curiously, as if seeing Suro for the first time. "I wonder what you'll promise them."
Fingers wrenched that sword into a weeping neck.
"Rule well... my king."
| 2019-02-20T12:38:29 | 2019-02-20T12:21:21 | 90 | 23 |
[WP] You won't hold heroes hostages to torture them. You won't throw a hero against a wall once you have them by the neck. You sure won't start monologuing if you have a hero at gunpoint. You're the deadliest villain in history. A villian without an ego..
[removed]
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You know, there's often a saying in the military. There are bold soldiers, there are old soldiers. There are no old, bold soldiers. It's the same for us villains. The ones who last long are the ones who never make flashy moves. If your plan is going well, don't brag about it. If you have the upper hand, ball it into a fist and smash your opponent's head in. I don't believe in a god, but I think the Christians were right about not putting deities to the test if you do believe in one. Me, I just call it not tempting fate.
I do not play dice with my life.
Tonight, I was breaking that rule. The one rule I had as a villain. \*Don't be stupid.\*
But she needed to know. It was the one last thing I had to do before I retired. I walked into her room, waved in by the nurse. I took her out of her chair and headed for the rooftop. It was a little ritual we did, during my visits. I'd wheel her out of her room and to the rooftop garden of the hospital. There, a few of her colleagues waited. One final send off for the best of them.
She'd been the heart of the team, the moral compass. The one who never cowed from doing the right thing, even when the odds were against them, even when they lost a member of the team, and it was tempting to exact vengeance. She always insisted on taking the just, noble way. \*"If we can't be the best of humanity, what good are we as heroes?" She'd ask, frustrated at trying to convince one of them not to do something stupid, often in our own living room.
It was a huge morale blow when they found her tumour. Pressing on her spine, it was inoperable and it'd take away her functions one by one. She'd always been a free spirit, and this was not how she'd wanted to go - wasting away in a hospital bed. So, the doctors agreed to look the other way as I brought a lethal dose of morphine to the roof with her. One last act of gratitude for the hero that defined the generation.
The hospital staff agreed to give us some privacy as her friends sent her off. The roof was empty. I wheeled her out to her favourite spot, watching the sunrise, and where I'd laid the corpses of her team out, side by side. The horror in her eyes was palpable as she realized who I truly was in that moment. The expertise and precision with which I'd taken out each of her colleagues only pointed at one thing.
"It's me," I whisper in her ear as I adjust her morphine pump and punch in the code that'd disable the limiter, letting me give administer a lethal dose. I put the syringe in and close the pump case, letting it do its work. I drop two articles in her lap. The first, from the night we met - the day she'd convinced me not to jump, after I lost my remaining family. The second, an article covering her brother's attack on my brother's convoy.
He'd been simply doing his job, hired by some rich supervillain to escort him out and deal with any heroes that arrived. Her brother never did have her restraint. He blew up the convoy and injured some civilians who were simply on the road at the wrong time. But hey, he got the bad guy so everyone looked the other way.
I didn't.
I kiss her on the lips. "I really do love you, you know," I say as I sit beside her. "You could have let me jump after I killed your brother, but you convinced me life was worth living. You made sure I got help, and got better. You mourned with me after you talked me down even though I'd just killed him hours before. It's why I waited so long to tell you, and to finish the job I started years ago."
Her breathing slowed. "I didn't want to do this, but I couldn't bear watching you suffer. Rest now, my love." My vengeance against her comrades was complete, and she knew the truth even as she passed on from her pitiful, hollow existence. My victory was final, but it felt hollow.
I got up, and made one last call. "It's done," I inform the cabal. "They're all dead."
"Good," the mechanical, digitally masked voice replied. "We have a job for you-"
"It can wait until after the funeral." I hang up, and sit down and watch one last sunrise with her.
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I waited 4578 seconds since they brought me to this room. They deliberately put the clock behind my chair to put pressure on me as I listened to its ticks, but it keep me entertained until he arrived.
A fine gentleman came through the door. He was dressed as a lawyer in that suit but the golden badge on his chest told me he was an investigator. He sat across me by the table with a notepad on his hand and a pen on the other. He kept staring at me for about four and half seconds.
-... Do you know why are you here?
I nodded, wanting to progress. I wished I could answer him with words if I didn't had this gag on me.
-Ok... For more that I wanted to put you behind bars, I will follow the book and recall your previous acts, that you may confirm or negate the order of facts. Is that clear?
Sure, sure, although I think this is pointless at this point. The investigator began flipping his noteblock until he found the page he wanted. Come to think of it, he didn't tell me his name when he came in.
-May 24th, 7:34 PM - The hero from Nevada, Slot, went to a rescue mission in an abandoned factory...
Oh! I remember him. Slot... a very flashy guy. Yellow tight suit full of colorful dots. If I recall, they were supposed to shine at night? Never saw it. The place we met was very bright, but they say his dots also blinked in different patterns, so maybe he did something with his electric powers. Wait, did he had electric powers?
-Do you confirm it?
Oh, I didn't paid attention to his explanation at all. This is bad. Maybe if I stare him blankly he will tell me a resume.
-... Do you confirm it or not?
Shit... what should I do now? Oh yeah. In school, I slighty tilted my head when I was confused and the teacher would explain the lesson again. Let me try that.
-Answer the damn question!
The investigator slammed the table out of anger. Oh no, I think I made him angry. He is shooting daggers at me with his eyes. Speaking of daggers, I think there was another hero that had something like that...
-Slot's burned corpse was found buried in the desert after he went in the metal factory! Was it you who killed him!
Oh right! I remember now. Slot came in the factory looking for me but got captured in my trap, so I sent him straight up to the heater.
I vaguely recall he saying something about my motives or something before he screamed to death, but I don't get why he talked to me. The dagger guy was also like that before he died.
What was I doing again? Oh yeah, let's nod to his question first. The investigator soon began writing on the noteblock, maybe something like "Suspect confirm his actions." or something.
-Next question.
Wait, there is more?! C'mon now. We will be here all week at this phase. Just take this gag off and I will say all you need!
I struggle a bit, trying to convey my thoughts to him, but the investigator soon got up, drawing his gun and pointing at me.
-Do not move or I will shoot!
He looks at me, trying to keep his calm face but I saw fear on his eyes when he took distance. Great, now just because you kill someone they all think you are a monster. That is why I like heroes. They don't retreat from danger when the people scream for help.
Fine, Mister Investigator. I stop moving. See? My body is all tied up. Guess I will have to be patient with this one.
He took his time to sit down again, flipping his noteblock. This is not all back to the start tho. His gun was now on the table pointed,yet again, at me.
-February 3rd, 2:48 AM. The hero The Bolt...
The Bolt! That is the electric guy! How could I forgot? He chased me when I was escaping with a boat. Once he boarded, I shoot him with a harpoon connected to an anchor and he went straight down to the deep.
You know what? I will not wait for the investigator to finish and I will just nod straight up. He stopped talking and wrote on his block. Great, this will save us so much time!
But seriously, what was Slot's super-power?
-... May 7th, 1 PM, Utopic Gal...
... Who? Shit, there are not many heroines and I forgot one of them! Great, now what the community will say about me? "He recalls the name of heroes but heroines he doesn't care!". That is not true!
If someone said that to me, I will talk about Mary Mary or Mary² as shown on her uniform. She had the power of cloning herself, up to 4 copies of herself. Let me tell you, it was a hassle. She only sent out four copies of herself to work and, if one died, she could create another one almost immediately. I needed to drugged the four clones and found the main body before the others woke up. It took me 10 freaking hours! She was embarking on a plane to another city when I found her. I mean, she tried to embark because I shoot her down using a sniper. Afterwards, I just cut the necks of the clones and left them to die.
See that?! I will not let people call me sexist! I kill heroes and heroines alike. It's just that... I really don't remember this one...
Well, I will not be dishonest here and just shake my head.
-Then how do you explain this!
Angry, the investigator showed me a picture of a woman with long hair using a red and white uniform hanged on a tree- OH! I remember now!
This woman came up to me one night, saying the world could be a better place with my help and yatayata. I told her I wasn't interested because I thought she was from a cult.or something, but once she told me she was a heroine, I choked her and left her body on the national park! I'm deeply sorry, Utopic Gal! I didn't know your name until today.
I vigorously nod. The investigator stare me with disgust and wrote down. I can see why he is feeling like that and I agree. I thought this was a problem since then, but now I see my mistakes.
I kill heroes too damn fast! I don't wait for they to introduce themselves, they die without hearing my motives, I eat too many snacks! Wait, this last one isn't it.
I think it all started when I was a little boy reading my books. I saw heroes being captured by villains. Villian thinks he is with the upper hand and start playing with hero. Hero finds a way to escape and defeats villain.
Most of my friends liked this story but I always thought why. The villain and hero were a joke! The hero main objective is to capture the villain and the villain objective is to kill the hero. They need to take their roles seriously!
But then again, it was fiction. I eventually accepted that since it would never happen... until the day someone really could fly through the skies. Nobody knew why, but it happened. More and more people got powers and started to use them. Some were bad, some were good. Some became villains, some became heroes. But all of them... each and every single one of them... relied too much on theirs powers.
I saw those comics becoming news on the television and internet, because they didn't took their gifts seriously. That why I wanted to show them. Show them a true hero, that thought about his actions before hand, that knew his limitations but still challenged them, that would lead this chaotic world to order.
But... in the end, it didn't matter.
-Do you confirm?
Oh, I didn't listen to him at all, but I will just nod. It's probably me anyway. After all...
-Next question...
In order to get the true hero, I ended all the fake ones.
| 2019-08-06T21:27:26 | 2019-08-06T21:10:47 | 63 | 36 |
[WP] The team's healer is absolutely sick and tired of always being insulted or forgotten about so they join the bad guys; they are a much more terrifying villain than anyone thought possible.
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"I just need more time" the healer said. "If you would take a few minutes to plan and let me do my work instead of rushing into danger, we wouldn't have to keep doing this" As he spoke his hands ran across the Paladins chest, a warm glow spilling across the slowly closing wounds.
"Evil waits for no one", the paladin replied. "If you're too cowardly to do Men's work, then we don't need you with us. You'll only be a liability."
The glow stopped as the healer's hands fell to his sides. "Cowardly? Do you know how many times I've saved your life? I've lost count. Even beyond that, I have resurrected you a dozen times. You were gone, beyond all conventional help, held in the grasp of your precious Gods. I pulled you back. Me. Do you think it's easy? Do you think it's guaranteed? And if I fall who is there to wrest me from the clutches of death. You? You whose magic is only good for killing those you disagree with? The wizard perhaps? His version of resurrection is something I would not subject my worst enemies to. None of the others could come close."
"It's your job. You get your share like everyone else. Now quit your complaining and finish patching me up." The paladin took a swig from his flask.
"No."
"No? You don't get to say no. This is your job. It's the only thing you bring to the party. "
"No."
The Paladin stood to his feet, slightly reinvigorated by the healing already received. He glared down at the healer with contempt in his eyes. "Then you can go. We never needed you. I have slayed dragons and giants. I can find an eager replacement within the fortnight."
The healer smiled, faintly, with just a hint of a tear forming in his eye. "You will never replace me. I know you better than you know yourself. I know every wound you've received and how. I know every moment of pain and weakness you've felt. I know you. And I know you will live to regret this." He gathered his belongings without another word, the uncomfortable silence spreading through the camp as the rest of the party came to realize what was happening. The ranger gave a solemn nod, and that was the only goodbye he received. As he rode into the fading light of dusk, he feared not the things that lurked in the dark places of the world, instead he reflected on his past adventures, the many lives he'd returned to the world as his companions stripped others from it, and as a smile came to his face, he whispered to himself, "Dragons and giants."
Months later as the gate to the Paladin's keep came crashing down, with all of his vanquished enemies swarming, competing to claim their vengeance, he heard a familiar voice calling above the horde. "Don't worry, there's enough for everyone. You can kill him as many times as you like"
Edit: Thanks for all the love! I'm very glad you guys enjoyed my little story, and sorry so many of you related to it.
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“Hrrr-aghh!”
The paladin cleaved through the captain, who coughed up blood as he stumbled backwards and fell. Flicking the blood from his blade, he deftly sheathed itbefore turning back to the rest of his party.
“Way to show off,” the rogue called, readjusting her hood over her head. “Very professional. I especially liked the whole *‘Die, Fiend!’* part. Really, it was a stellar performance.”
“Y-you heard that? I mean, hey, now. We won, right? That’s all that matters.” The paladin coughed, adjusting the helmet to better cover his blushing face.
“Well, that’s another one dealt with, I suppose. " The wizard sighed, massaging the small headache that already began to form as she stored her grimoire. "How is everyone holding up?”
“Fit as a fiddle and ready to go!” The paladin tapped his chestplate, the metal echoing through the chambers.
“I’m ready to go. Just say the word.” The rogue gave her a thumbs-up and a wink.
“I’m glad to hear,” the wizard smiled, nodding before turning around. “And how about you? How are you holding up?”
Behind her, the cleric gazed downwards at the man who had just been slain. His hands were trembling, his breathing growing heavier and heavier. The wizard felt her heart drop, and quickly knelt to block the view. “Hey, hey, it’s going to be okay,” she said, trying her best to smile. “Remember why we’re here. There are hundreds more people that are dying because of these people. We have to stay strong, okay?”
Slowly, the boy nodded, his blond hair shimmering in the dim light. “Okay… but…” He paused. “Could I… perform his funeral rites? He… he was a person, too.” The boy stammered.
The wizard sighed, gazing back at her party for a second before turning back. “Okay. We’ll go on ahead. Run quickly when you’re done, alright?” She laid a hand on his shoulder for a brief second before turning and walking towards the rest of the party, who started down the hallway.
The boy watched them walk away, waiting until they had rounded the corner before drawing his staff from his back. Closing his eyes, a surge of magical energy burst from out of him, and a gentle, green light filled the room…
​
“One more room, guys!”
The party sprinted through the corridors of the castle, their breaths echoing off of the stone walls that surrounded them. The paladin, leading the charge, surged forwards, leading the party to try and catch up.
“You’re sure it’s this way?” The rogue called out to the paladin, desperately trying to catch up.
“I’m positive! Remember, I worked in this castle for years! Hurry up, we don’t have time to waste!” Another surge of speed was met by a groan of the party.
“Oh! Here,” the cleric called, taking his staff in hand and twirling it in a circle. Behind them, a brisk tailwind picked up, pushing them on through the long hallway.
“Thank you!” The wizard patted the boy on the shoulder, who laughed, a little embarrassed.
“I-I’m just doing my job,” he smiled, blushing.
“Hurry up, this way!” The paladin had stopped and was beckoning them over towards the double doors that waited at the end.
The wizard sighed. “I’ll never understand how that fool can run so fast with all of the armor he lugs around,” she said, straightening her robes.
“You can say that again. *I’m* supposed to be the speedy one here. What god blessed that guy? Seriously!” The rogue sighed, adjusting her mask while she tried to hide her exhausted breaths.
“Regardless, the tailwind has picked up, thanks to our young friend here. Shall we get going?” The wizard took a deep breath.
"Race you there!" The rogue pushed the boy over as they ran past, who stumbled for a second before running after them, laughing.
​
“So, you’ve finally come.”
Atop the dais at the end of the chamber, the general of the Imperial Legion sat upon his throne, smiling wryly as he watched the party enter the chambers.
“You fiend!” The paladin skidded to a halt, drawing his blade towards the man. “We’ll punish you for ruining this country and hurting innocent people!” The paladin drew his sword, pointing it at the man on the throne.
“Oh? You barge into my home, hack apart my guards, and then deign point a sword at me for hurting innocent people? How hypocritical. I must have truly earned your ire…” He sat forward, hands clasped together, staring intently at the bold paladin in front of him. “So, then. What have I possibly done that could have caused you to hate me so?”
“If I may *deign* to speak in your presence, Sir,” the rogue scoffed, folding her arms. “You’ve forced a lot of good people into bad situations. Your control over everything created chaos, not the so-called ‘order’ you wanted. I like chaos as much as the next, but when children are begging and dying on the streets because no one is willing to take them in? *That’s* –” She deftly drew her daggers, spinning them at the ready - “That’s where we have a problem.”
“Is it truly that bad down there in the city?” The general breathed. “I apologize. I had hoped the reforms we had made would have been able to halt that issue.”
“Your policies have done nothing but rot our society to our core,” The wizard nodded. “Though they look great on paper, even the most amateur can see that the money you have been raising never made it to the people they were designated to help. Instead… it fueled only your war effort and suppression.”
One last figure ran through the doorway behind the others. He took his place next to the wizard, his cleric’s tunic shining a bright white amidst his silver armor.
The general started back in his seat. “You… Why are you here?” He hissed.
The party turned to the young lad, who looked to them with alarm.
“Then… it is time. Your full party is assembled, and have shown their true colors.” He gazed wistfully at the boy, his red eyes glinting with an discernible emotion in the light of the morning sun. “Shall we test whose beliefs are the strongest, then?”
(1/4)
| 2020-01-05T12:01:26 | 2020-01-05T09:29:04 | 317 | 155 |
[WP] As the only immortal you know about, it's just occured to you; your online friend has been around for a bit too long.
|
**The Mystery of MisterAnalog**
My eyes scan the Currently Online section of my friends list. GamerGal008 is not on it. Damn.
It’s been over a year since I’ve seen their little indicator dot turn green. It’s just gray. The gray dot of death.
You never get used to it, not really. The losing people. You’d think that losing an online friend because they never log in again would be different than losing a “real life” friend because they die off in a war or pandemic, but it isn’t. They’re still lost.
Always losing people. Or rather, *outlasting* them.
Had I cherished GamerGal’s teabagging antics enough? If I’d known I’d never see her (or most likely him, honestly) again, would I have more fully cherished those snarky jokes about my mom being dumber than a sandwich?
On a whim, I click into my overall friends list to scroll through them. Who would I lose next? How could I make sure I was fully present for them now?
I sort by date and scroll down, towards my earliest friends at the bottom. My memories take me on a journey through time, decades of stupid jokes and silly adventures across dozens of games come back to me as I read the names, all with that sad gray dot. DeeezNuuutz, RacketRocket, MasturDebater, oh MasturDebater.
At last, I hit the bottom. MisterAnalog. Wait, MisterAnalog is my oldest friend? Didn’t we just play that WWIII-based game yesterday? And his dot is green?
I click into our chat history. We’ve chatted here and there, some gg’s and invites to join matches, but nothing serious. I scroll up and up and up. We sent our first message… 83 years ago. 83 years ago!
I try not to get too excited. There are several possibilities here. It is technically possible for a someone to have been on this platform for 83 years. Maybe they joined as a child and now they’re playing games well into their old age. I haven’t been paying attention to life extension therapies (they are, after all, quite irrelevant to me), perhaps they’ve improved significantly. Or maybe this is a shared account, passed down through the generations.
But what if it’s none of these reasons? What if it’s someone like me, someone tricked by a witch long ago into trading everything for immortality? Someone who’s also learned the terrible curse of loving and losing and loving again, the curse of knowing that everything and everyone around you will move on and come to pass while you must go on and on and on?
My hands shake as I type out my message, electricity running through them.
I’ll keep it simple:
Hello, old friend. Long ago – did you meet the witch? The real witch.
Send.
A few moments pass. Was that a stupid way to ask the question? Would he know what I meant? We’d probably met hundreds of witches in all our fantasy games over the years. Should I have been more —
Dots come up on the screen. He’s typing.
I wait, my heart thumps in my chest like it’s not my own. The dots move up and down, up and down.
And then they disappear. No message is sent.
MisterAnalog’s dot turns gray.
___
r/StealthyStorkStories
|
Internet is a safe space. At least, that's what Kleon used to think at the dawn of the world wide web. He found a community of like minded people he could interact with without ever meeting them, and to a man in his situation, it was nothing short of a boon.
*Place of birth: The city-state of Athens.*
Socrates and Plato be damned. Socrates drank the hemlock, absolutely certain he would survive the death of his body and live on. "Everything works in cycles," he used to say, "and everything has it's opposite. We are not only defined by what opposes us, but tend towards it. What is hot was once cold. You, who are awake were once asleep. Life and death are no different, there is darkness before I was born, I return to the darkness and will be born again."
*Likes: Silence, peace of mind, tranquility.*
Plato lapped it up. "Socrates makes a wonderful argument in favor of the existence of immortality, how would you deny me this point, Kleon?"
At the time Kleon didn't answer, preferring to leave the room and get some fresh air outside before his head started to hurt. He had loathed philosopher, Plato even more than the others, thought them idiots contemplating their navels while real people had real problems they never cared about. Millennia later, Kleon could safely tell Plato that he had over-thought it once more.
*Dislikes: Talking too much.*
Souls, cycles, resurgence, opposites and convoluted theories to explain the possibility of immortality, when Kleon stood as proof of it. He was, he is, and the body remains whole.
There, immortality proven, now get out with your numerous thesis and intellectual masturbation.
A shame the ancient philosophers didn't share eternal life, because Kleon would certainly need a conversation with Greek philosophers or any second-rate Roman orator. Namely, the second Kleon realized immortality was a curse and not a boon, he began hating his younger self for not dabbling more in philosophy and failing to use the occasion to speak with the progenitors of higher thinking.
Humans were born, learned and marveled at the world, lived to a midlife point where memories were as numerous as possibilities, and died with a head full of stories, leaving the world to the young. Alas, Kleon was out of the cycle. Immortality broke the very idea of cycle, where was Socrates when you needed him?
*Goals: Finding a goal would be nice.*
Memories piled up, the endless power of the brain soaked up life like a sponge and death did not come to relieve it. If Kleon had friends, he remembered the thousands he had before, death and buried and forgotten by all except him. The living acted as a reminder of their fate. He remembered natural spots at their best, and in the centuries he lived, the world was past it's most perfect moment. He had precise pictures of the wonders of the ancient world in his mind, had seen historical wars and undertakings, too many.
Stories piled up, Kleon was a man with an overwhelming past, a whispering present and a future he would prefer to have little of.
And immortality laughed at suicide attempts.
*Hobbies: realizing too late when I'm wrong. Also, cooking.*
Came the internet, only interesting invention in quite some time, opening a new way at being social. Kleon got to meet and speak to people without ever witnessing their deaths, life without the end of it, fitting for a man in his position. He roamed the early bulletin board system and the first forums, defecated on public politics on non-moderated websites and was personally responsible for some of the ugliest and stupidest early websites ever. They, too, had been buried under history, and only Kleon remembered.
There he was again, a self-loathing and immortality-cursing bender. Kleon went onto a random forum and hoped some cat video or conversation would calm him down.
For the first time, he noticed the oddity.
*MommyShagger666* had very similar manners of speech - or rather, writing - than *Roxxor-Salazar-L33Tskillz*. Nothing surprising, with so many billions on Earth, some humans were meant to share similarities. But there was that little thing more, this je-ne-sais-quoi nagging at the back of Kleon's mind. *MommyShagger666* also wrote as if he had always written like this. A tenuous clue, more of a feeling, really, but it occupied Kleon and he didn't ask for more. And this peculiar pseudonym wasn't the only one suspicious.
Kleon scoured his well-kept memory and dug up all the suspicious pseudonyms to gather them in a chatroom. There, he asked the important question.
*310N: You wouldn't happen to be immortal by chance?*
*DADIDOU: I am. You?*
This might take some time.
*310N: It's a weird question, I know.*
*MommyShagger666: Where u from?*
*310N: Ancient Greece, believe it or not.*
*310N: I was pal with Aristotle, had a beef with others about the idea of immortality.*
*DADIDOU: Kleon?*
*310N: Weird times, many lifetimes ago.*
*310N: Wait a minute, how do you know?*
*DADIDOU: It's me, Plato.*
A feeling arose in Kleon, one he had thought not possible. Marvel. The sheer, overwhelming wave of a joyous discovery.
*MommyShagger666: DADIDOU, dis a frind of you?*
*DADIDOU: Yes, I know him from school! Kleon, this is Sigmund Freud by the way. I think you invited Elvis in the chat too.*
*DeKINGDeBigOne: Hey there.*
Immortality, a curse. And if they were on the internet, it meant Elvis, Freud and Plato agreed with how bad it could be. But Kleon wasn't alone anymore.
*310N: DADIDOU, I really need to speak with you, re-frame that whole eternal life thing. We didn't always get along, but I beg for your help now.*
*DeKINGDeBigOne: Oh God.*
*310N: What?*
*DeKINGDeBigOne disconnected.*
*MommyShagger666 disconnected.*
*TheIronMaidenAndLady disconnected.*
*IbeatTheCrapOutOfEnglandIn1428 disconnected.*
*DADIDOU: Let's consider the act of not dying through the scope of a greater cycle, as if the cogs contained several cogs into themselves and we simply went on to a bigger one, as Socrates said during...*
Kleon turned off the computer and went to get some fresh air outside before his head started to hurt.
Lifetimes later and Plato still annoyed the shit out of Kleon like no one else could.
| 2022-02-09T07:50:55 | 2022-02-09T05:58:05 | 265 | 185 |
[WP] As the leader of a CIA hit squad, you have been tasked with the secret, “extrajudicial” killing of a journalist who is causing problems for the government with his reporting. The problem is, he just won’t die! Every team you send fails. Who is this Clark Kent, guy?
|
It was funny at this point. Sure the first few threw me for a loop, how could my best friend and finest sniper in the world fail? Well as they say a little digging goes a long way! Clark was Superman how it had taken anyone this long is anyones guess he wasn’t exactly subtle and quite the creature of habit.
Now where it got interesting was when I told my boss, turns out he knew too! It was a prank played on all new team leaders give us an unkillable target and see what we come up with. Which is where we put together a new prank. We had this group of hot shots stupid kids who wanted to be James Bond and somehow had the skill to do it too. It’s been three weeks and they’ve still not figured it out. They’re getting pretty desperate and I and the boss had to veto a few that were way too extreme.
Figure we’ll give it another month before we pull them off the case should cool their egos a bit. For now I stand to make $80 if none of them figure it out.
|
Its been a long time since i held a trigger. I gave up that life, i was an assassin for a very long time. It still itches when i had to cut my finger to prove my loyalty. At least i didnt have to carry a gun again or so i thought.
The CIA found me and recruited me, my job was to train their agents. They gave me my freedom to do this as i pleased and the people i was teaching were saving lives by taking out the scum of the earth.
Last year something happened, a flight scheduled to land never crossed the ocean but in the same place that it was at was a blue and red blur going mach 30. It was then that it started a man whose skin is stronger than steel that flies around saving people has been going around the world saving people. His stories in the U.S. are being covered by a journalist named Clark kent an alias because no one anywhere has any recore of any clark kent.
The only problem with our blur is this guy doesnt care whose side the "bad guy" is. A facility govermentally permitted to expriment on deathrow inmates is the "bad guy" and he breaks everyone out. We suspected that the journalist and our blur are working together but everytime we sent a tail they disappeared. When we sent jeanie a 12 year old girl who was raised as spy to tail him and she also disappeared that is when i knew that this clark kent isnt going to keep doing what he does, i've killed many for a car, more for a dog but for her im not going to stop until i find her even if i had to tear the blur apart with my own two hands.
There was a fire on the top of the tower, the blur has rushed there blew.out the fire went in and got the citizens out and flew off into the sunset. I just lost the trail on mr kent one min ago who slipped into an alley and downright disappeared.
Kent was spotted later that day on a date of all things, he seemed like a respectable person but when he looked down and his glasses fell down i could have sworn i saw his facial features change. After dropping her home he turned left into an alley and disapppeared again.
We have our military sattlelite following him closely now. We wont lose him this time or so we thought until he seemed to have been picked up by the blur. Then the unbelieveable happened the blur seemed to feel tired next to a glass door and then he rushed away. This is the third time this has happened in the last month, the only thing in common between the glass cup, the stone statue and glass door is the element of kryptonite.
We arranged a sniper with a kryptonite coated bullet then set a warehouse on fire. We avoided vocally talking that is how the last group died. The sniper couldnt get a good hit but he did graze him and for the first time we knew that it bleeds. A DNA scan shows that this thing isnt even human at all it's DNA Isnt even DNA but something else completely.
Clark kent and the blur dont seem to be in the same place at the same time ever, if we ignore the face they both have the same exact build. It doesnt take a genius to deduce that they are one entity and an entity that can change it's facial features. My agents did a mistake of firing on clark kent and paid the price for it. But she was innocent all she does is spy and tail why did he have to make her disappear as well.
That night clark walked into the mafia's warehouse, he seemed to know his way around there and that is when i saw her standing by their boss. I dont know why i felt so much rage but i broke my vow that night and i came back, i didnt leave a single one of them alive. When i reached the last room and shot the boss in the head she screamed "Daddddy Nooo!??!?!". I just killed her father, her biological father...
I dont know how what happened after but the blur had me pinned to a wall in that same second. I asked it "Who and what are you?" and it responded "I'm superman more than you'll ever amount to be human" I choked on my own blood and asked it "do you bleed?" and it said "no" i said "I'm john wick, only human" and shot it in the head and it died. Did it really think i was going over there without
my kryptonite bullet?
| 2022-06-08T03:23:15 | 2022-06-07T23:34:16 | 65 | 10 |
[WP] Every human has their soulmate's last words to them engraved in their skin from birth.
Idea from this Tumblr post
https://scontent-lga1-1.xx.fbcdn.net/hphotos-xpt1/v/t1.0-9/11206957_778391755645357_8477035769704355007_n.png?oh=5b3f35d575ad3aa39d6ba5c5ed39cce2&oe=56549C83
|
Life's not a fairy tale. Life's real.
We know the last words we'll get from our soulmates, without context, but clear as day. Some words are sweet, some are sour, some are tragic. We all have them, and only the lucky ones don't think about them every day.
On my chest, across my heart, her words remind me of reality. I was born knowing I have a soulmate, but to my soulmate I am not her's.
On my chest, across my heart, she says those words.
"I'm sorry. I've found someone else."
|
*32* A seemingly insignificant number.
*32*, The temperature that signified the roads would be icy as she tripped back home for winter. The number of years she had gone through the insufferable monotony of people consumed by the goal of finding their soul mate. The number of people she had unfriended on social media just last month out of spite and loneliness. The number of karats in the diamond her former best friend received from the man she was sure would speak the *words* "we had a good run, see you soon"....
...it was also the number on the speedometer as she accelerated past the last light, on the corner of the only road that lead to her mother's home.
The trip back was haunting. Again, she was stuck alone in a car for the holidays. Again... she had failed another round of hook ups from tinder the previous week. Again....her eyes grew progressively more dull and listless, just as her hope for children did. The fact she was single bothered her more and more as she grew older, and she couldn't get over it. Again... she had realized she would never find her soulmate, seeing as her soulmate didn't exist. The words that everyone coveted so much were absent on her at birth. The affirmation of an eventual death alone was more than most could handle. Suicide was not an uncommon occurrence for the "textless", "wordless", the "bare armed"... whatever you chose as your epithet... those without their soulmates' words seemed to live the most lonely of lives.
She arrived home for the first time since her father passed. Her mother had done well. The house was as it was, as it had always been. A rickety porch, hand-built by her father, creaked as she ascended it. She took a moment and surveyed her yard. Her breath hung in the air as the somber light of a 4pm snow set cloud cover shaded her. The single oak of her childhood stood in the distance, standing leafless and naked. The grave marker of a beloved family dog rest near it.
However there was one detail that she could never shake. As the snow began to fall she focused on an empty space. Under the space lay a patch of dirt, oddly devoid of foliage. Above it, a branch with no defining features outside of a worn area of bark. These two the only vestiges of a rope swing her father would push her on as a child. The same rope swing she was yelled at on when she asked him what his *words* were... The same swing she was riding as he apologized to her as they both swore to never speak of his *words* again.
A single tear welled up in her eyes as she exhaled a last frost formed breath, and approached the red door of her childhood home.
Her mother stood in the door's stead... with a smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her worn somber cloud covered visage.
For a minute they hugged and entered the home.
They spoke of life... love... lottery aspirations and gift ideas. They spoke for hours. They laughed. She told her mother of the 32 karats and wondered why she had been born wordless and bare armed.She sipped her tea. She cried.
"Why me...?" she asked as sadness took the place of anger. "you got a beautiful poem...". She said as she referenced her mother's *words*: "I never knew I was the lucky one, I'll miss you."
Her mother smiled. A smile that was only too appropriate; a sun to contrast her daughter's worn somber cloud covered visage.
"Because you're the lucky one." her mother replied, in a way only a mother can.
Confused, red eyed, and flustered she stared at her mother. "well... what did father's arm say?"
Collecting the two empty tea mugs and with a smile that could shine light even in the darkest of snowstorms she replied. "My love, you know better than I, what your father's arm said."
| 2015-08-08T11:49:54 | 2015-08-08T10:26:02 | 274 | 21 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
|
The villain Oathbreaker held a gun to September's head and spoke directly into the camera. "If the *hero*" - he spat the word as if it were an insult - "known as Anonymous doesn't show his ugly face here in the next fifteen minutes, I will kill this man. And for every five minutes after that, I'll kill another hostage. People of New Manhattan, you'd better hope he shows up."
September Zenik, otherwise known as Anonymous, rolled his eyes. Oathbreaker didn't notice, but anyone watching the feed did. He could have broken out of these cuffs and healed his bruises with his powers, but that would give him away. He rather liked this civilian identity and would hate to have to change it.
Plus, he wanted to have a little fun. With his abilities, it wasn't like Oathbreaker could actually *kill* him.
"Hey, Oathbreaker...?"
The supervillain glared down at him. "Silence!"
"No, I think you need to hear this. I might not have any powers, but some people very close to me do." September smirked. "One of the members of Pop-Heroes is family. You know, that minor villain team with the portal maker and the girl who can find anything? They also happen to be in contact with another member of my family. He's a retired villain. He unmasked himself and then faked his death to get out of the business. Nicholas Connover. The Slaughterhouse Cannibal."
Oathbreaker's eyes went very, very wide. Around the room, both hostages and henchmen alike froze at the name of one of history's most terrifying villains.
Then Oathbreaker's eyes narrowed again. He lashed out with his foot, kicking September in the head. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"
"Unfortunately for you, he isn't."
Oathbreaker spun around. There, standing in front of a portal that had appeared behind the camera, was a man in a skull mask holding an oversized meat cleaver. His eyes, glowing red, bored into Oathbreaker.
"And, even more unfortunately for you, I haven't had lunch."
September shut his eyes just in time to avoid getting blood in his eyes. He may have been a superhero, but having supervillains for family was sometimes quite useful. He just wished his father wasn't such a messy eater.
|
**The Law**
***
Someone up there is having a hell of a laugh at my expense right about now.
The odds of this happening were...staggeringly low at best, honestly, it was probably because of my powers, they leaked sometimes, and affected me and those around me without me consciously commanding them to. I was sipping coffee inside a cafe like your average New York City 20 something girl. Then a man walked in. He looked normal enough, but had bright red hair. That’s what caught my attention. So I was staring right at him when he walked up to the cashier, and threw a fireball in her face.
You never get used to it.
I’ve stopped terrorist attacks, blown up islands, stopped an extinction level event and dozens of things like that. But still, as I sat there sipping my coffee, checking out this guy, watching a woman get her face burned off was still shocking. She was smiling cordially when she asked him what he wanted. She had done my order too, I had thanked her when she handed me my coffee and she had smiled back, nothing big, but genuine.
And now she was writhing on the floor, screaming, clutching at her burning face. The man turned back to look at the rest of the coffee shop. There was no noise except for the heart-wrenching screaming of the poor girl behind the counter. “Alright, ladies and gentlemen,” he said in a perfectly cordial voice, “I would recommend just sitting where you are not making any sudden moves. Feel free to go on your phones, tweet about this, whatever, just don’t get out of your seats. If you do, well…”
As if on cue, the screaming rose to a fervent pitch. He paid it no heed, and took out his own phone and extended his arm, as if taking a selfie, and spoke, “My name is Firefight, every 10 minutes I will kill one person in the café, unless the guardian of your city comes to face me.” Halfway through, blessedly, the woman stopped screaming. The man, Firefight, frowned. “Goddamit,” he muttered almost to himself. He summoned another gout of fire, and threw it at the woman behind the counter again.
The horrifying screams began again.
Firefight rolled his eyes, “*finally,* alright, let’s do this again. The screaming really amplifies the effect,” he said to the people in the café, almost conversationally. He started filming himself again. “I will kill a hostage every ten minutes, if the police show up, this whole café *will* explode in a ball of fire. I only wish to face the Guardian of your city. If she shows up, the people in the café, well,” he paused as the screams once again rose in pitch, “everyone *else* in the café is free to go.”
Someone in the café started to cry.
Firefight paid whoever it was no heed, and walked to sit across from me on my table, the closest open seat, and just started scrolling through his phone, or at least pretending to. I noted his jaw was clenched, and his shoulders were tensed. The casualness was just a façade, this man was worried. It wasn’t a coincidence that he had sat with me, either. I always picked a seat in the corner so I could see the entire room, and Firefight had joined me here for the vantage point. Despite the bluster, this guy was no idiot.
Unfortunately, for him, he had picked just about the worst spot in the café to sit in.
See, the Guardian of the city was actually yours truly. No one knew who I was, no one knew what my powers were. Hence the generic name, “Guardian.” Just that a girl showed up at every major scene across the city and things just happened to go horribly wrong for the villains. Most assumed I had some powers of invisibility, time slow down. or could influence minds. What else could cause such a scale of chaos.
They were all wrong.
My power is far, far less glamorous than all those theorized, yet, I have realized, far stronger. Guys like Firefight go brazenly into fights, relying on their sheer strength and power to work for them, but I couldn’t afford to do that. My power was great but rarely so in a one on one fight, I needed planning, intelligence, or surprise.
Luckily, Firefight had no idea who I was.
***
Ten minutes later we all walked out of the café. The cashier, sadly didn’t make it. I mingled within the crowd, answered some questions by the media, and went home. There was no fighting, no recue, Firefight was just declared monumentally stupid or unlucky. The poor bastard had tripped and landed on cashier girl. His clothes caught on fire. For all his powers, he didn’t resist fire. Taking advantage of his distraction, almost everyone in the café, together had beat him to a pulp. When the authorities arrived, he was probably still alive, but no paramedic went to him until an hour later.
I smiled to myself and shut off the news. No one assumed the Guardian was involved. It just didn’t fit. Someone with invisibility or the power to stop time would’ve just killed him outright, so it couldn’t be the Guardian.
I’ll let you in on a little secret. My name is Murphy.
***
While this stand alone, I have written other stories about Murphy. [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/5dndmw/superheroes/) and [Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/comments/5ftxea/superhero_fiction_murphys_law_superheroes_part_2/)
If you liked this check out my new subreddit [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
| 2017-01-28T08:55:41 | 2017-01-28T08:11:18 | 143 | 73 |
[WP] A supervillain kidnaps a civilian and keeps them hostage, taunting on live television for the superhero to come find them. Unbeknownst to the villain, the kidnapped civilian is the superhero.
Did I butcher the title or what?
This is blowing up! All the responses have been diverse and really cool!
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The villain Oathbreaker held a gun to September's head and spoke directly into the camera. "If the *hero*" - he spat the word as if it were an insult - "known as Anonymous doesn't show his ugly face here in the next fifteen minutes, I will kill this man. And for every five minutes after that, I'll kill another hostage. People of New Manhattan, you'd better hope he shows up."
September Zenik, otherwise known as Anonymous, rolled his eyes. Oathbreaker didn't notice, but anyone watching the feed did. He could have broken out of these cuffs and healed his bruises with his powers, but that would give him away. He rather liked this civilian identity and would hate to have to change it.
Plus, he wanted to have a little fun. With his abilities, it wasn't like Oathbreaker could actually *kill* him.
"Hey, Oathbreaker...?"
The supervillain glared down at him. "Silence!"
"No, I think you need to hear this. I might not have any powers, but some people very close to me do." September smirked. "One of the members of Pop-Heroes is family. You know, that minor villain team with the portal maker and the girl who can find anything? They also happen to be in contact with another member of my family. He's a retired villain. He unmasked himself and then faked his death to get out of the business. Nicholas Connover. The Slaughterhouse Cannibal."
Oathbreaker's eyes went very, very wide. Around the room, both hostages and henchmen alike froze at the name of one of history's most terrifying villains.
Then Oathbreaker's eyes narrowed again. He lashed out with his foot, kicking September in the head. "You're full of shit, you know that right?"
"Unfortunately for you, he isn't."
Oathbreaker spun around. There, standing in front of a portal that had appeared behind the camera, was a man in a skull mask holding an oversized meat cleaver. His eyes, glowing red, bored into Oathbreaker.
"And, even more unfortunately for you, I haven't had lunch."
September shut his eyes just in time to avoid getting blood in his eyes. He may have been a superhero, but having supervillains for family was sometimes quite useful. He just wished his father wasn't such a messy eater.
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"This is ridiculous," Steven thought as he screamed. The branding iron didn't actually hurt that much, and he knew it would heal up within a day, but he couldn't do anything about it. It wasn't the chains that kept him captive, but that blasted camera 6 feet away.
He looked over at the Plague Doctor cackling madly in the corner with all the hate he could. Actually, maybe that was too much - so he relaxed his face muscles a little bit. Who was he kidding! A normal person WOULD hate his captor with every fiber of his being by this point. Damn. Superheroes trying to be actors had always annoyed him almost as much as actors pretending to be experts at geopolitics; but here he was hamming it up for everyone watching at home.
"Well, well, Lion Man, are you too afraid to face me now that you actually have to put actions to your words? All those times you called me a coward for 'hiding' in my secret lair and it turns out that the lion is the one with the yellow belly!" He moved over to the side table where he kept his colored vials with who knows what vile concoctions in each one. "I guess I will have to move on to more advanced techniques, or my viewers might get bored - we wouldn't want that would we Mr. Superhero?" With that he started measuring and mixing the liquids as they bubbled and hissed with each reaction.
The "Plague Doctor" wasn't actually all that formidable. Nothing indicated he actually had any powers other than being hard to find. He was no Venom Slayer. His fights with Venom Slayer always ended in a draw, both badly beaten but still able to escape. He had seen the security camera footage of the Doctor robbing a bank - some normal citizen had punched him ONCE and he had already started bleeding from the nose. He wouldn't stand a chance against the Lion. Yet here he was, the prisoner of the second tier villain and his blasted brand new, 8k, live streaming, full HDR, 3D, low latency camera. If he broke his shackles with a flick of his wrists, every news agency in the world would be reporting on Steve the carpenter was actually the Lion.
The Doctor was coming back with a syringe full of some terrifying blue liquid. He smiled at his captive's reaction, "You see Mr. Yellow Lion, Steve here doesn't know what will happen once injected with this new invention of mine, but he has the right instinct. In five minutes I will debut my new concoction to all my adoring fans unless you show up here to face me. I have broadcast my coordinates, so unless you are planning on finishing your meal at some fancy restaurant you can get here in 5 minutes. Of course, you may care more about your souffle than this poor terrified creature, but that is fine. I have all the time in the world."
The blue liquid did in fact terrify him, but not for the reasons the Doctor thought. He was immune to poison - and he doubted the syringe was meant to kill anyway - but the downside of being immune is that he would feel absolutely nothing when it was injected. He couldn't feign a reaction to that. If he reacted too soon or too late, with too much writhing or too little, the Doctor would know something was up. He had to figure a way out of this mess, and fast.
The Doctor took the syringe and went back to his monitoring station looking for signs of the same person he had tied to a chair. It was a whole wall filled with buttons and screens. Doubtless what he was counting on to defeat the superhero when he came - but it was little more than a child's toy to any competent hero. If only that competent hero hadn't been such an incompetently heavy sleeper he could have avoided this whole mess. That he had managed to sleep through his own abduction surprised even him - and this coming from the guy who slept through his own house burning down.
Perhaps he could escape in some believable, human way. He looked around the room for inspiration. The shackles were tied to a wooden chair, looped through the arms. Could a normal human break reasonably break that? Unreasonably?
Suddenly alarm bells started going off. The Doctor started pressing buttons and looking from screen to screen. Then he started cursing. The screens started to cut off one by one, and he started pressing buttons more furiously. Some carnage started happening on the working screens, but it was too far away to make out. Some other hero had come to rescue him. Technically this was HIS territory, but he would let it slide this time. He was saved.
The door behind him crashed down, and the Doctor spun around, terrified. Just in time to catch a knife through the eye and slump down in a heap. Then silence. Well... silence except for those annoying alarm bells.
"So this was the lair of the famous Plague Doctor," a voice said, slowly moving toward Steven and the camera in front of him. "Even with the coordinates the Lion couldn't find his way to this place. Too bad. I know how much he would have loved destroying this place." The intruder wandered slowly toward the camera and then turned around toward Steven. "I guess it is just you and me now, eh Steven?"
Steven's heart stopped. It was the Venom Slayer.
"I really was enjoying the stream, but I couldn't figure out why the Lion hadn't come to handle it," he said, smiling wryly. "Maybe he really was afraid. Of something. HAHAHAHA." Steve could not process this - what was going on?
Venom stopped laughing. "What do you think, Steve? Would the Lion want to negotiate instead of fighting? He might lose a fight, or worse! HAHAHAHA." It took another minute for Venom to recover. "What do you think the Lion would give up for that? Eh STEVE?" Then he winked, straight at Steve, and not to the camera.
Oh shit.
| 2017-01-28T08:55:41 | 2017-01-28T08:16:50 | 143 | 68 |
[WP] After witnessing a death, a young girl falls in love with the Grim Reaper. She becomes a serial killer just to see him more often.
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"Jesus *FUCK*!" If I could gag, I would. A dead body, torn and ribboned like a frayed cloth doll dipped in scarlet lay discarded in a cheap motel room.
A woman steps out of a shower, her hair up in a towel and no other apparent form of modesty, save for the steam that rises from her skin. I, out of a shame that she didn't seeming have herself, didn't look, not that I had to- I knew who she was.
And by God, what an utter hatter she is. This one included, she's killed 32 people, each one getting more and more... exotic. Now, I have tried- I did- I tried to be the tall, scary, stoic Death that people tend to think of, but this is just horrific. Genuinely, as a man (or... whatever) who roams the fields of war and stalks the hospital wards, I have never seen such *undoing* done with such attention to detail.
"Do.. You like It? I worked Very Hard to Make this Special for Us." She said. She came around me, gently gliding her finger across my black robe, pushing in slightly to feel the contours of my bones.
"Wha- If I may be *so bold* as to ask, WHY?"
"Well, I just Wanted to See You again." She said, just barely above a whisper.
"This is too far. You know you're going to Hell for this?"
"I was going to hell anyways. But I don't have to go just yet. We can just stay here... for tonight." I try to reply but she cuts me off before I can. "Every time I see you, you only show up for a second and wander off with some poor soul!"
"Yeah, because you killed them! Because that's my job!"
She gives me a pout and pulls herself closer to me.
"Well, can't you take a break from your job for once?" She protests. "I thought Love was supposed to be able to conquer Death! For one night, can't it just be you and me?"
I look down at her for the first time tonight and shake my head.
"Why do you think I'm here to begin with?" As I point to her body, torn and ribboned on the bed.
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I remember the first time I saw him. It was early morning, just as the first light was leeching into the sky. I barely remember him, I was so young; only small images stand out, like grainy faded pictures. My father was dying, cancer they said in hushed tones, as if it could be summoned. I used to imagine it as a terrible tiny beast, burrowing into my father’s skin, hollowing out his eyes and making his breath wheeze.
It was daylight when he died. Early morning. I was sleeping on our couch, tucked under my favorite flowered blanket. I remember a noise waking me, strange and choked and broken. My mother sobbing, gasping for breath like my father had. I walked in and found the family gathered around the hospice bed, no one speaking. I remember crying, not understanding why no one would look at me, not understanding why my daddy wouldn’t wake up and tell mom everything was fine, he felt fine, just like always.
A warm pair of arms picked me and carried me to the living room. I could see him through my tears, a blurry stranger. He looked a bit like some of my father’s friends, the ones who came over to play with cards and get on my mother’s nerves. Perhaps that was why I didn’t fuss when he held me while I cried. I woke hours later to my mother gently shaking me, eyes puffy from crying. I can’t remember much of him from that time, but I do remember his eyes. They had stars in them.
I had brushed it off over the years, a product of my grief and confusion. I met him again when I was 17. My boyfriend and I had been at a bonfire with friends. We were driving back, and Josh had had a few drinks. Turns out he lied to me about how many. I was exhausted and drifting off on the way home. I woke up when my head hit the dash board of the truck.
I remember lying on the pavement, having no idea how I got there. There were flashing lights all around, and a man leaning over me shining a light into my eyes. I tried to find Josh, to see if he could tell me what had happened, when I saw him. He was leaning over a young woman who was resting against the steering wheel of a car I’d never seen. He looked like he was stroking her head, but he wasn’t wearing a uniform, just a weathered old jacket and jeans.
I made a noise when I saw him, some gut deep recognition dragging it out of me. I must have passed out, because next I knew he was there, standing over me, gently pulling strands of my hair off of my face, stuck and tacky with blood. He smiled gently and kissed my forehead, the universe shining from his eyes.
I'll continue this if people are interested!
Edit: **Part 2**
I knew after that. I knew who he was, that he wasn’t my imagination. The woman who Josh hit had died on scene, and everyone assured me that there was no one there but the police and paramedics. Oh, and Josh. He walked away with a few bruises, no girlfriend, and a lifetime criminal record for involuntary vehicular homicide.
At the time I had been planning to go to college and pursue biology. I wanted to be a conservationist, saving the planet one badgered donor at a time. After that night I couldn’t stop thinking about him, couldn’t stop wondering about the quiet peace I found in his gaze. I changed majors and pursued medicine, graduating somewhere in the middle of the pack, securing a spot in a mediocre med school and eventually finishing my residency.
In all that time, I was never there when a patient died. Somehow I missed it every time. I felt terrible for the anger at these blameless people for dying inconveniently and cheating me of my meeting, but I was frustrated anyway. I did a stint at an underfunded and outdated hospital after I got my coat and finally late one night I saw him again.
I was helping in the E.R. on a horrible multi car pileup. Everyone who wasn’t actively keeping someone alive was called down. I got lost in stabilizing, CPR, IV drips and frantic calls for more blood. When I surfaced I realized almost half the people that were rushed in had died, or were DOA, but I hadn’t seen him. I remember being filled with such bitter disappointment and anger as scrubbed off the blood that had dried to my skin.
After I changed scrubs I stepped outside for a breath of fresh air, and to check in with a few of the ambulance drivers who might know more about what had caused the unholy mess that got sent our way. It was warm still, the late July heat baking up out of the pavement, and as I walked out a puff of smoke swirled around me. I turned and there he was, leaned up against the hospital wall, smoking a cigarette.
He wasn’t much taller than me, and was still dressed in that old jacket and faded jeans. He smiled, quiet and soft “Hell of a night we had” he said. His voice was low, like something slow and dark with just the smallest glimmer of teeth in the night. I admit, I stared like an idiot. Slack jawed and in my pink panther back up scrubs that my mother had bought me as a joke when I graduated. “Yeah, it was a hell of a night”, I stuttered lamely. Stupidly. *Humanly*.
His smiled widened and he nodded before strolling off across the parking lot. I finally came to my senses and rushed after him. I had no idea what I was going to say, but I never got the chance. He stepped into a puddle of shadow and never walked out.
| 2017-09-28T15:20:16 | 2017-06-07T21:09:53 | 153 | 17 |
[WP] You have been granted a wish from a genie. You ask him to send you back in time and make you powerful so you can prevent the genocide that happened in ww2. You forgot that genies like to twist wishes though. Now it's 1940 and to your horror you realize you are Adolf Hitler.
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What? I'm sorry, I can't understand you. I don't speak German. Do you speak English? No? Ok. My name is Jim Nelson. I'm from Nebraska, and, funny thing, I'm your Hitler now. There was this genie and, well... Long story short. (loud sigh)
Fuck. Well, let's see. Now I'm Hitler. I can stop the Holocaust but since I don't speak German, I really can't. I also am stuck in 1940 and I left a pizza in the oven in 2017. But now there are bigger ovens to fry. The Nazi ones. Where can I get a German to English or back again whatever kind of book thing, like a... dictionary? Do they still make those? Or were they even "a thing" in this year.
Ok, so I can't stop the Holocaust. Maybe I can do something else? (snaps fingers) I got it!
FROM HITLERS WIKIPEDIA PAGE:
IN 1940, Hitler began acting erratically. He stopped speaking in public. He got what is now known as the world's first fauxhawk before his infamous New Year's Eve speech where he shimmied in a speedo, playing the tambourine as glitter cannons went off at the stroke of midnight. Then, four days later, his body was found next to a suicide note written in English for some reason, saying "I miss internet porn," which hadn't been invented yet. This factoid leads to a conspiracy theory which says that a time traveler stopped an evil man from doing something far, far worse.
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Adolf Hitler Schmidt, das Alter 6. So read the corners of the sheets of paper containing unintelligible doodles, all signed in a much nicer cursive than the artist would be able to create. Rifling through the desk only revealed a few wooden toys and a 1940 calendar with the days X'd out.
Glanced in the mirror. A deformed child's body. What an awful quantum leap. Not even old enough for the Hitler Youth, much less take on Hitler.
Looked out the window, idle farmland.
Adults screaming from the other side of the door. Don't speak German. Picked up on Kinder-Euthanasie though.
Called out for the genie. Got a few gurgles. Genie appeared as a tiny conductor of a wood train that he rode in circles around the desk.
"Choo Choo, der Saftsack. Too dark? I considered loading the train with little matchstick people and igniting them in a block house, but that seemed a bit MUCH, you know? Or appearing as a cat and doing a Meowschwitz bit, but that's played out. Hashtag Just Loving this conductor outfit though, check out these buns of steel. " Tiny, twerking genie.
I gurgled some more. "Rise of Nazism got your tongue?" asked the Genie as he finger gunned a bolt of magic at my mouth.
"I asked to be powerful so I can prevent genocide!"
"Oh, well, you have the most powerful set of lungs and the most vivid imagination ever seen in a German crippled child. They'll keep you alive for months to experiment and do science research. You'll be the homecoming queen of the Special Children's Ward."
"But-"
"And your back story! So powerful! A mother spends six years hiding her child's deformities in rural Germany, only for a Jew hunt to stumble across the poor child. There's award winning December release potential all over that." Tiny genie transformed into an Oscar in a Susan Sarandon wig. Twerked again.
"How am I supposed to stop anything? That was a condition of the wish!"
"No no no no no" Genie transformed into Supreme Court Justice Ruth Ginsberg, stuck to popping and locking for the sanctimony of the moment. "You _can_ prevent genocide, the potential is there. Just as well as you could've flown to Syria or Afghanistan or Iraq in your own time," Genie transformed into cultural dress and dance for each country, somewhat offensively, and toppled as a Saddam statue for Iraq's finale.
Genie continued. "You could have provided such amazing oratory skills and clear vision that it leads to the next cultural Renaissance and world peace," Genie freely transforming between assorted cultural icons of peace, usually with their dark sides represented behind them.
"But noooo, you didn't ask for any of those secondary skills. You wanted time travel to World War 2!" SS Officer goosestepping Genie.
"Sure, your functional knowledge consisted of a half an episode of Band of Brothers," Ron Livingston Genie.
"A vhs," Randall from Clerks Genie "of Saving Private Ryan," Matt Damon Team America puppet in a GI Joe army outfit Genie, doing the happy dance.
"and a fetish for assassinating Hitler writing prompts." Genie grew a Snoo antenna, a meta high quality Aladdin gif playing on the bulb. "And I said to myself, sure, I _could_ make you Hitler, but that'd be playing into their usual box." Companion Cube Genie that quickly switched into a French artist. "So instead, ze child is named after Hitler, aged appropriately for service of the story. What a masterstroke. What a twist!" M Night Genie. "What did you really think you'd accomplish here?"
"What about my other wishes?"
Genie's jaw dropped in cartoon fashion. "Kid, I wanted to make a point about child euthanasia in Nazi Germany. I read the whole Wikipedia article without getting a single half chub or anything - that's right, this Genie works REAL BLUE," Andrew Dice Clay Genie. "I never do any prep going into these things. This wish was so full of holes I bet you're wishing they added a legal scholar subplot."
"You're the one that said I couldn't be a vampire superhero or have an unexpected meetup between god and the devil at the Starbucks adjacent to the Pearly Gates. "
"So do you have a single nonrecycled original thought in your head or is it mostly meta reposts and cats? You'd be better off if you wished you were a little bit taller, wished you were a baller, wished you had a girl that looked good you would call her. "
And with that, the doors burst open, the genie popped away in a cloud of smoke, and soldiers from the committee for the prevention of procrastination and cogenital illnesses took away my keyboard. Well, actually, my reddit app crashed, but this made it through the tubes anyway. So here we are, with a paltry imitation of Robin Williams by way of John Leguizamo's Clown in Spawn, just being a jerk without a nice bow twist to wrap it all up. I am so sorry.
| 2017-06-12T18:48:03 | 2017-06-12T14:31:57 | 211 | 26 |
[WP] Death gave you immortality with the plan that you'd realize how awful it is and beg him to let you die. 50,000 years later he's getting annoyed as you continue to have fun and live a wonderful life.
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The Thief sat in a bar. It wasn’t a nice bar; it wasn’t a *clean* bar; it was dank and shadowy and grim. Just like the Immortal Thief himself.
So long ago, the Thief had stolen immortality and as a curse, Death let him have it. Well, that backfired spectacularly. The Thief enjoyed himself, enormously. He had stolen the heart of one of Death’s daughters right after and Fate was a kind and generous soul to the Thief. She was beautiful and funny and loving to him. And after he had proven himself by stealing his own immortal nature, she left with him.
Two Ages later, and the Thief was still thieving, still plotting, still wanting more. So, like the thief he was, he took that too. Fate had delivered on her promise that she would make sure that he never died of boredom. He had lived a good life, but Death still periodically came.
Just. Like. *Now.*
“Son,” cried Death, greeting him with joviality and cheer. The old man really did like his son-in-law, much more than some of his other relations. The Thief smiled, a little sad this time. “I have a proposition this time!”
The elder immortal smiled hopefully at the younger. “How would you like my job?”
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A knock roused me from my light nap. I had been napping in my living room waiting for him. It's been years since I had seen him. I call him Morte.... He's less a fan, and more just used to it at this point, but I figure it's less morbid with a fun little nickname. Still slightly groggy, I stretch up out of the chair that seemed just as reluctant to release me as I was it. I persisted, and finally rose.
"KNOCK"
It's louder this time, more persistent. Hoping to keep my hinges this time, I call out, "Be with you in a moment old friend!" I chuckle to myself a little, imagining how he won't be too fond of that. Finally, I get to the door and throw it open... To see the gaunt and sober face of Morte. He looked.... pissed is the word I would use.
"Having a nice time are we?" He asks, the same dour mood plaguing his features rolling off his tongue.... Or what would be there. See, Morte is a dude most don't like to pick a fight with, being a skeleton and all. As such, no tongue to speak of.
I smile warmly and take ahold of his black cloak. "come! Sit tell me about your journey's far and wide!"
My jovial attitude would I hope rub off on Morte, he's less than Jovial MOST of the time, and I try to keep him from running right into a depression. See, Morte here is what your average guy would call "Death", or "My Ultimate Fear" or whatever. Point is, most people aren't happy to see him. My chipper attitude is actually what got me my sweet deal. When Morte came for me, when my "Time" came, I greeted him as a friend and didn't see a reason to go, and as such... I think he was feeling especially spiteful that day, he granted me immortality and told me I would beg for death.
Like I said, he's a cheerful guy. Morte obligingly sits down in the chair I had just vacated, a beautiful piece of Thousand year old leather I had maintained since I made it. I pour him a cup of tea, and, feeling I needed to start things off, I said, "So? How have you been?"
"Insolent man, still you hold no reverence for me."
"I respect you, I just lack fear. Might have been the muffins last time."
Morte glares at me, he didn't like me calling to attention that he too had gotten used to these chats every hundred years or so.
"50 000 years, and you are every bit the cheerful Phoenician I met all those years ago."
"Well, now I have leather, which I think we both agree is a nice touch."
Morte rolls his eyes at this. I know what he's here for, and I am more than happy to indulge in idle conversation before he takes stock of how I have managed to enjoy my existence for so long. I personally enjoy these chats with him, and it's actually become part of my preparations to see him again and talk shop. I start again, seeing Morte is in one of his moods. "So, I discovered that the current civilization is following in the final footfalls of Rome. I have been trying to figure out the best way to diffuse the tension between them, but so far at least, my charities are keeping their rebuilding efforts up, which is nice."
"Yes, well government never seems to learn do they? Though it looks like I will be busy at this particular fall." Mort finally loses his tense posture. Finally! He touches his cup, which immediately ages to infinitum and becomes dust, the tea evaporating entirely. I look up at Morte and shake my head. "I shouldn't have made you tea. Sorry. It's been a while." Morte seems sheepish, and straightens up, a somber mood settling back over him again. Yaaaaaay...... I roll my own eyes for the first time that night. Morte rises, holds his hand out, and a wicked looking scythe manifests in his hands, before he swings it at me, I flinch even knowing what would happen......
And it bounces off harmlessly. I try to contain my laughter and mostly succeed. I let out a small snort. The ding as bounces is almost comical in nature, being immortal as I am, he can't reap me until I ask. Morte is... understandably miffed. In what I imagine would have been narrowed eyes.... again, if he had any, he glides to the hallway, and a dimensional rift opens up, summoning with it a wind that ruffles my hair. I smile back at Morte as he makes to leave. "BE SURE TO WRITE!". And then he was gone....
I set about cleaning up the dust and my still half full tea, softly humming to myself.
| 2017-12-01T11:49:56 | 2017-11-28T16:05:42 | 2,040 | 20 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
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We spoke for hours. I complained that he was being vague with his responses, he claimed I couldnt know too much.
I still dont know what he meant, or how one person could possibly have such an impact. Me, a semi employed, struggling writer and artist, positively impacting trillions. Not possible.
During the conversation, my phone rang - an old friend. He was having a tough time in med school and said he might drop out. We started chatting like we always had. Sure I had time to chat .. no problem. Old jokes and memories flooding back.
The genie left, and I understood.
|
The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T05:06:03 | 2018-08-15T01:58:00 | 374 | 43 |
[WP] “How many people would have been better off had I not been born?” The genie snaps and a few numbers appear in the air and form 7,592. “Okay, how many people would benefit from my existence?” With the flip of a wrist the numbers spin to a whopping 137 trillion. “Okay.... how?”
|
The genie gave me a blank look.
"Are you really *this* stupid?"
I returned the blank look.
"All you need to do is have one kid. Then they have kids. It spirals on, humanity lasts for eons, multiplies across space, blah blah blah...you're at the beginning of the chain. You're hardly unique in that regard, but anyone and everyone who ever has a bit of your genetic code in, *technically* benefits."
I goggled at the genie. Though really, it was pretty obvious. I slept around too much for it not to be an inevitable reality eventually.
|
The genie took his time to answer.
“I can only give you partial answers, and you have a limited amount of questions. Choose your words carefully.”
The teenager paused, thinking. His eyes were looking in the direction of the genie, who was hovering a mere inch above the ground. But he wasn't seeing him. He had already burnt four questions out of five. He was ready to shoot his ultimate interrogation, but something bothered him. He had asked if he'd ever be rich and expected a simple yes or no answer. A number would have been nice, to see how bright his future would be. Instead, he wasn't even sure he understood the genie's answer.
“From most people's perspective, you will be immensely rich. But from the definition you will yourself craft from your experience, you will always miss something.”
As profound as this might be, it was so enigmatic that it almost made no sense. And this thought kept coming back, when he should be asking something else. He already knew he had the potential to alter countless lives. Well, not countless, since it was that many trillions. But yet... It was so obvious. The next step was to know how he could help all those people in the future. So... Why couldn't he utter the word out loud?
Finally, something clicked in him. If he asked how he was supposed to help all those people, he would get another cryptic answer. If he wasn't careful, he'd find himself with incomplete, useless piece of information. He didn't need to know how to help these people. He needed to know something else, and from that, he could form a plan to answer the how question. Raising his head to face the genie, he spoke.
“Why-why... Why will all those people need my help?”
The genie stared back at him, plunging his dark eyes deep into the young man's soul. He started talking like an old professor popularising a philosophy lesson.
“Everyone feels good at home, but what home is varies for everyone. Everyone cares for their home, but everyone cannot act to take care of it. Everyone loves their home, but everyone cannot stay home forever.”
The genie's stance softened slightly, a smile beginning to form on his lips.
“And do not forget. Everything you know helps you change what will happen.”
“But... Wait!”
It was too late. He was alone again. He looked at the old book laying on the floor. He had found it in this library, where he could get as many educational reads as he wanted without spending to much. But this... this was unhoped for. He had asked if he would ever be rich, and the answer was yes. Sort of. When he wanted to know if he'd be famous, he only learnt that some men are born to be more famous than others. Well... At least he knew that he would be of good influence. But that last answer... Everyone can't stay home forever... What did that mean? Was he supposed to leave his home? His country?
Of course, he knew he couldn't stay in South Africa forever. He had already planned to go to Canada for his studies. Surely, the genie knew that, and wouldn't tell him something he already knew...
What if... What if it didn't apply to him? Then... Who would have to leave their home?
Then again, something clicked in him. The answer was in the sentence.
*Everyone*.
“So... You told us this project can see the light in the next seven years. And if anyone can do it, it's you.”
The man, less young now, snapped out of his thoughts. The interviewer was obviously amazed, leaning towards him. In this reminiscence, not even a second had passed.
“So I'm just going to ask again... You dream with a level of complexity nobody saw since the likes of Nikola Tesla, and that's no coincidence. Then you execute your vision with so much tenacity. Elon... where does all this motivation come from?”
Not before a smile went through his face, Elon Musk breathed in, preparing his answer.
---
*[r/MimiStories](https://www.reddit.com/r/MimiStories/)*
*edited for typos*
| 2018-08-15T03:49:07 | 2018-08-15T01:58:00 | 106 | 43 |
[WP] You are a contestant in a million dollar challenge, 1 year in a room with no human contact. After a year you watch as the timer mounted to the wall flips from 000:00:00:00 to -000:00:00:01 and keep counting down but no one shows up to let you out and receive your prize.
|
"This could change your life for the better!" was what my best friend told me.
They were right about one thing, my life has changed drastically; but not for the better.
It's been so long that I've... forgotten their names.
Gosh, I wish I remembered their faces.
...
I can count more fingers than the strands of hair left on my head. I can't remember if I pulled them out, or if they just fell?
The nausea grows stronger every passing day...
...
They gave me a food supply for a little over a year, but it's been so long since that clock hit 000:00:00:00 that it's stopped working. I miss reading the numbers when they changed, it gave me purpose.
...
The consistent taste of warm, liquid iron in my mouth is welcoming... when was the last meal I had?
...
Why did they have to put me in a vault, of all places to isolate me?
Why won't they let me out? I've probably pressed that "Release" button more times than there were numbers on that timer, yet they won't. Let. ME. OUT!
...
I wish I had the strength to bang on this door, but that strength has dwindled day by day... where did it go? I feel so fatigued..
...
It doesn't matter anymore, I don't care if my bones break... I will slam against this iron door if it even gives me the slimmest chance of freedom!
...
I'm so hungry.. *slam*
...
I miss everyone.. *slam*
....
*slam*
*.....*
***SLAM***
T-the... door! It opened! Hello?
...
..
*Where did all the buildings go?*
|
A gap year in life. Some would look at that as a waste, for me, it was more than just an opportunity.
The first few months were tough, but they took care of themselves. Even if time moves slow, it does move. Within a couple of weeks, I felt like Bart Simpson, endlessly writing "Time still moves forward" thousands of times on the blackboard of my mind.
As an introvert, I thought that spending a year on my own would be a dream come true.
Instead, two months in I was caught up on shows. I brought a ton of books with me. But all I found myself doing was walking around endlessly, or simply stopping and staring at the wall.
Five months in and the routine set in. I added bodyweight training, dancing, and Yoga to my routine. I started writing a short story every day. I even started to meditate.
I wish I was one of them organized people who would set a schedule, with a task list for the day. I'm not even talking about checking these tasks off of a list. Making the list would have been enough. Unfortunately, I'm not one of those people.
Eight months in, and my routine was what kept me going. Everything had to go perfectly or my mental state for weeks to come would be hinged. Routine was my savior.
Eleven months in, and I found my zen. Routine, stare at the wall, scream at a book. It was all the same to me. I found a feeling of contentedness I never knew was possible.
People speak of finding happiness. Happiness to me was a fleeting moment in time. Being content was a state of being.
Today, in 30 seconds, I am going to be let out. I am not excited, at all.
Don't get me wrong, I do feel butterflies in my stomach, and I do look forward to seeing my family, and even the sky. But I'm calm. I'm content. I don't even look at the clock to count the second.
15 seconds before, I stand up. I align my body in a solid posture, and I smile.
"Ten."
Yep, I'm counting!
"Nine."
Almost there.
"Eight."
Excitement suddenly spreads all over my body, starting in my stomach and spreading through my body to my limbs, all the way to my toes.
"Seven. Six. Five. Four."
I smile.
"Three. Two."
I hold my breath. I feel my face smiling. I don't feel happy, and yet I'm smiling. I must be happy. Why else would I smile?
"One."
"ZERO!" I jump up releasing energy I didn't even know I had.
"YEAH!" I shout.
I ready my hand for a high five for whoever walks through the door.
I hold it up.
Ten seconds pass.
"Leaving me out to dry here guys.
I read the clock. '1 year, 15 seconds.'
What's going on guys?
I start to feel stressed out. I'm unsure what's going on. I look around. I walk to the door and back. I knock.
No response.
A million and one thoughts run through my head. From a practical joke to the zombie apocalypse. Someone though, was sending me food and drink through the shute every day. People are still out there.
"GUYS. THIS IS NOT.. Okay, it can be funny." I smirk. "Now open the door."
"I suppose this could be an scifi alien abduction flic, and I'll get beamed up any second. Maybe..."
Panic hits me. I turn around myself aimlessly. I knock hard at the door with my fists.
I breathe in. I am calm.
I sit on the floor cross-legged, and wait.
Precisely ten minutes and 34 seconds later, trust me, I checked, the door cracks open slightly.
I imagine a Chinese guy walking in and telling me of the fall of the US of A, and how he drew the short straw to be the one to tell me.
The door opens, and Mike, the producer who recruited me for this reality show walks in.
"Phew! I'm happy to see you Mike. Can I go home now?"
"Yes."
I look Mike in the eye. "Yes?"
"Yes."
"I kind of expected more."
"You should have done something to raise the ratings then. Feel free to sue us, but we ain't paying you crap."
He turned around, and started walking.
"Not even the zombie apocalypse?"
"The what?"
"You're just not going to pay?
"You should have read your contract better. I'm sure you'll be able to make money from a book. Try that."
A prompt appears in my sight. I move my head around trying to shake it, but it moves with me.
"You have failed at life. Would you like to start a new game?"
I don't hesitate even for a second.
I answer no, run after Mike, and stab his toe with my right heel.
I look around. I smile.
"Now this has potential."
​
Edit: If you like, join my new subreddit [/r/posthocethics](https://www.reddit.com/r/posthocethics/)/ where you can read my writing. Sometimes I'll go crazy and even post a meme or two.
| 2019-07-03T03:20:27 | 2019-07-02T23:40:43 | 66 | 45 |
[WP]: Your mother was a scammer of the supernatural. She promised her firstborn to multiple entities in exchange for something she wanted, and now you're being co-parented by three demons, the fae, and a disgruntled witch.
|
Addison put her face between the palms of her hands, leaning her elbows on the tree stump in front of her.
“It won’t be so bad,” the faerie queen said, the pitch varying up and down.
It created a sound that was almost a soft song, but it always hit Addison in the space behind her eyes. She shuddered, not bothering to hide it in her frustration.
“I know it won’t. Matilda is a step up above the demons. Several steps, actually,” Addison responded without moving her face. The words came out garbled, but the queen didn’t so much as raise an eyebrow.
She did flap her long wings, sending a glittery breeze in Addison's direction.
“The witch wanted a daughter. Instead, she got a timeshare. Her work is hard and she grows tired,” the queen said, moving to sit down on the ground next to her daughter. “We are all doing our best-”
“Given the unusual arrangement.” Addison cut her off. “I know.”
She pulled her face out of her hands and straightened out her spine. “I’ve been feeling restless. The rules, and the travel…”
“You know…2 more years and you can choose.”
Addison turned her head toward the queen and lifted an eyebrow.
“Where to live. Who to serve. What powers to master,” the queen reached a pale hand out, letting it lightly touch the human's shoulder.“You can choose the realm of the Fae or the Witch. Soon.”
Addison felt her eyebrow rise even higher than it had before. “I get to choose? I get powers?” she asked.
The queen laughed, the sound carrying in the air around them. “Of course.”
Addison opened her mouth to speak again when her vision began to blur. The objects around her began to swirl together, and the faerie queens smiling face faded into nothing. She closed her eyes as the bile in her stomach began to boil upwards toward her throat. Just when she thought she would lose it, the ground beneath her settled.
Her mind stopped reeling, and her inner ear stabilized again.
When she opened her eyes the lush grass and willow trees of the fae were gone, replaced by cabin logs and a dusty floor beneath her.
“You’re late,” Matilda growled from behind her.
Despite nausea having barely subsided, Addison whipped her head around to see the Witch sitting at the long and heavy kitchen table. The cauldron sat atop it, cold and sturdy as always.
“Then you’re late bringing me here,” she muttered as she stood up. Her hands swept across her pants to remove the dirt and dust from her clothing.
“That creepy winged woman could have sent you here.”
“And if they had clocks and calenders nailed to the trees, I would have asked her to,” Addison combated, her voice louder and angrier than the last comment.
“Addy,” the witch started, and then let out a sigh of pure exhaustion. “It doesn’t matter. You are here now, and I need some nightshade.”
“Of course. And I suppose I am meant to walk to the village?”
“I would go,” Matilda said, “but I would rather not be poked with pitchforks today.”
***
:edit: I will have a part 2, if you would like updates beyond rhat make sure to check out the subreddit :D
/r/Beezus_Writes
|
For as long as I could remember, I knew there was something a little off about my home situation. Specifically, the parenting. You see, I gathered rather quickly that it wasn't normal to call your parents by their first names. The other kids in school called them mom and dad. It seemed like I couldn't quite do that, mostly because it would get wholly confusing to use three different variations for dad and two variations for mom to refer to my parents. Don't get me wrong - this wasn't some sort of poly-amorous household or orgy-filled arrangement that my parents had. It was more of a reluctant coexistence where they all just barely tolerated each other but put up with it for me. So kind. So loving. In fact, when arguments broke out, all I could do was run and hide in my bedroom as balls of fire the size of baby elephants flew across blackholes that swallowed half of the kitchen cutlery and all the plates.
Like I said, I don't call my parents mom and dad, or anything crazy like mom and mother and dad and daddy and father. It's more of a blend of numbers. There is Dun and Doo and Dee. Dad One, Dad Two, Dad Three. There is Mun and Moo. Mom One, Mom Two. Not quite traditional, but functional enough. Before I get lost in the details, let me say that there was a reason for all this parental mess. That takes us back to a beginning. Not my beginning, because my life was all but ruined before I was even a thought in anybody's mind, and not *the* beginning, because that would be the beginning of time and it's ridiculous to think that I'm about to tell a story that long, but to a beginning nonetheless.
My birth mother was a vile, twisted woman. That's the conclusion I have reached independently of my reluctant foster parents telling me that my mother was a vile, twisted woman. More specifically, for them, she was a scammer. She excelled at the particularly unsavory task of scamming the supernatural. Don't ask me how she first got involved in this. I've never met her and I don't plan to. Regardless, it turns out that she promised her firstborn to not one supernatural entity, not two supernatural entities - do you see where this is going? - but to five supernatural entities. So when I popped out of that womb like a human-shaped log pops out of the other hole, these five supernatural entities came knocking. My mother panicked. She disappeared. At least that what they've told me. I get the vibe that they more disappeared her, if you catch my drift. Tomato potato. Same thing. The details are irrelevant. The point is, this lovely assortment of three demons, a fae and a disgruntled witch - trust me, a disgruntled witch is far more menacing than a disgruntled public employee - adopted me or kidnapped me or accepted that they were now stuck with a powerless human infant.
Long story short, here I am now. A mortal raised by a squad of supernaturals. I could field my own basketball team of supernatural parents that would defeat the Looney Tunes squad and the Monstars both at once. I can't actually do that though. I think they hate me, to be quite honest. I am, by turn, "child", "kid", "boy", "ungrateful little shit", "human turd", and "chump". Doo calls me chump. I don't know why. I feel like they're the ones who got chumped. And then last Fraturday came along. Fraturday is not a traditional weekday, as you surely know. It doesn't exist in the human realm, but in the confines of my supernatural house with its supernatural rules, this mismatched group of parents of mine have managed to squeeze in a third day of the weekend that nestles in right between Friday and Saturday. I can't hangout with people that day. I can't leave the house. If I do, apparently shit goes to shit and nobody wants that.
Anyways, last Fraturday comes along. I'm playing in my room, pretending that the beanbag is some supernatural planet where my parents live and I am an astronaut tasked with kicking the shit out of it, when all of a sudden they all barge in. Not in the traditional sense of "knock knock", "who's there", "your parents, open the fucking door" but they more materialized into my bedroom without bothering to knock on anything or even open the door. And they looked at me with what I almost mistook for love - I assure you, nothing could be more far from the truth - and they said those words I thought I'd never hear.
"We need your help, chump child boy."
I won't leave this on a cliffhanger. Most likely, I'll just cut off in the middle of the interesting part because being raised by demons makes one almost as twisted as they are. Back to the story though - there is very, very little that supernatural beings need from humans that they cannot accomplish themselves. I had already completed some of those tasks for them. Menial things like removing individual grains of salt from their food or elbowing their ribs when they were starting to act unnatural at a parent-teacher conference. But they had never all come to me at once like this. It would have made a lovely family portrait were it not for the horns sticking out of some heads and those wretched claws they had and Moo's disgusting warts.
"Ok..." I answered hesitantly, making sure to not bind myself to some demonic oath. "What do you need?"
They glanced at each other nervously. Demons and witches and faes don't get nervous easily. Unless they needed me to talk to their boss, there were very few things to make them nervous. "We seem to have crossed the wrong person."
"Oh?" That took some guts to admit. I was skeptical it was a middle-aged soccer mom or an angry Chad whose car they had set alight. They could deal with that himself.
They nodded, all at once. "You see, we were playing doinks outside of a church." Doinks is a game the supernatural play, similar to craps only basically nothing about it was the same. It's a game of wagers that has been banned in all realms, yet of course my imbecile parents decided to have a roll at it. Right in front of a church, too.
"Poor decision making," I ventured to say. They nodded again. A rare, unanimous consensus. "And what?" I wanted to know what happened in the same sadistic way one just desperately wants to know how bad the injuries were when you pass a car crumpled under a semi.
"We lost the dice. In the church." I almost fainted. I knew the game. I had seen them play. And I had seen what happened when the supernatural - especially that imbued with evil - gets inside a church. This wasn't good. Not even a little bit good.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-07-18T05:33:17 | 2019-07-18T05:23:03 | 2,216 | 219 |
[WP] You wake up in a world of anthropomorphic animals. Unfortunately for you, you quickly discover every major religion in this world contains humans in some way, shape, or form
|
Some had different thoughts of me. The birds adored me. They didn’t think of me as a god- they didn’t have any gods- but rather as a spirit. One of freedom and journeying. A nomad who travels not by the air, but by foot. They viewed me as a force of nature, and like other forces of nature, I should not be tampered with. Any time one would see me, they’d simply stop and salute me, waiting for me to walk away before continuing their routines. Others, like the foxes, were much more idolizing. They too, believed me to be a spirit, but one of good fortune and knowledge. If I came to them and they gave me gifts, I would give them back a gift of fortune or information. I got lots of gifts from these creatures, most of which I felt bad taking. I wasn’t able to magically give them knowledge or anything, but when they gave me a gift, I’d usually say something in English, something nonsensical, like Tomato or Keys, and they’d start to try and figure out what it means and what ancient knowledge I just bestowed upon them.
The lions were a surprisingly peaceful bunch. They believed me to be a beast of the hunt- the top of the food chain- they believed me to be their equal. They wanted me as an ally- they’d present their strongest men, they’d show me cuts of bloody meat, they’d offer me beds in their dens. I knew I wouldn’t be able to fulfill their expectations, but any time I knew I’d be seeing one, I’d rub dirt in my face and on my body. As I’d pass one who was trying to get me to join them, I’d simply stare and nod. To them, it meant that I recognized their strength, but I was not a pack creature, and that I hunt alone. They accepted this, and never held any disdain for me- fortunately.
Those were all fine. Aside from some annoying encounters in which pious leaders would beg me for dominance over the land or something, or being showered with useless gifts, it wasn’t awful. I mostly just stuck to myself. You see, it was the ones that believed me to be evil that were the worst.
I would walk through dark forests and the rats would attack me, thinking I was going to kill their king in some eternal game of cat and mouse. The spiders would catch me off guard and try and wrap me up. They believed anyone to kill a human was a divine being. But the worst, dear god the worst, the bats. They thought that killing humans was their god’s way of rewarding them for all the good things they had done. Their lairs were adorned with the skulls of monkeys as they had seen they were similar. And the worst part is that they would hunt me down. The others were just simply territorial, yet the bats actively were searching me out, stalking me.
This is simply just the surface though, I can only dream of what horrors await me in the seas.
|
the very last thing I remember, I was late for work. I rushed out past my lazy roommate, down the stairs, and through the door of my apartment building. as I made a mad dash down the sidewalk, I tripped on a lip. I had lodged several complaints to the city, that it was a hazard, 'we'll be sure to take a look at that, the lady on the phone said emptily, with the personality of a dry mop. as I came tumbling down, in the middle of the street, the last thing I heard was the blaring horn from an incoming moving truck, and then a white light.
when I awoke, everything was different. the sounds of bustling traffic were replaced by the chirping of birds, and the rustling of wind as it blew through the trees. the strange odor that always seemed to emanate the New York city street, replaced by the sweet aroma of spring flowers. I rose up, and I felt a sudden throbbing pain in my head as if I had struck an invisible ceiling above me. wincing from the sudden pain, I slowly opened my eyes as the throbbing slowly faded.
around me, was a green clearing surrounded by large oak trees. a field of what looked like a mix of Indian paintbrushes and bluebonnets surrounded me. the mix of orange and blue created a beautiful painterly effect in the meadow. I got up to my feet,
"Where am I?" I wondered aloud, "is... is this heaven? am I dead!?"
As the realization came, I heard a sharp gasp pierce the silence. I turned around, and nearly jumped back from fright, I wasn't the only one here, except, what stood before me, wasn't quite human. in fact, I didn't think it was human at all, except that it stood on its hind legs.
it had a wolflike head, from the ears right down to the snout, its fur was a light gray color but mostly covered up by what appeared to be farmer's clothing, a loose-fitting white shirt, strapped at the waist by a brown leather belt. it even had a straw hat, with holes fitted to it, which its ears poked out of. in its hand- erm, paw, was a metal pitchfork, aimed right at me. 'i had better find a way out of this I thought, 'i don't want to die twice in one day.'
"um, hi!" I said in my friendliest voice, "I... don't know where I am, could... you help me find my way?" why did I ask the weird wolf-thing that!? that was stupid!
"Na'rook mow Kim Talak!" It yelled, voice trembling. as he fell backwards and into a run.
if he ran that way, then there must be civilization. I don't know what id do if I found it, but it's better than just staying here. that's for sure.'
​
civilization I found alright, a bustling village full of the weird, wolflings. walking along the dirt paths of the town, performing various bouts of manual labor. some wore similar clothes to the one he saw before, some wore aprons and held hammers in their hands, others wore olive green cloaks and had swords on their hips. one of them even had a full suit of what looked like metal armor that was shaped to fit the wolfling anatomy.
'well let's see what I can do' i thought.
I approached the village, and as the various wolflings noticed me, they all got this terrified look on their faces and darted away. each of them shouting something to do with the, 'Kim Talak'. one of them didn't run from me however, the armored wolfling approached me, sword drawn, backed up by two of the ones in green cloaks.
"Hi guys!" I said calmly, "I know you probably don't understand me. but i am... *very* lost right now. so on the off chance, you all know what I'm saying, can someone please point me towards new york city?"
they remained silent.
"New York? the big apple? Manhattan? the place with all the douchebags and the rats the size of dogs? ring a bell?"
again silent.
"**NEW YO-**"
"Ni'hil makhat lo maleek ko'nakal!" said the armored one, his voice was deep and rough, "nuumik to nai manu ka Kim Talak!"
the other two then howled in unison, and advanced toward me, the armored one signalled, and the other two stopped.
"No ta... Ai Kim Talak mo kip mi"
he raised his blade and swung it, I dodged swiftly, falling to the ground."FUCK!" I expleted, as I scrambled away from the wolfling. as I returned to my feet, i dashed into the woods.
"fuck fuck fuck fuck fuck" I repeated out loud as I weaved through branches, jumped over exposed tree roots, and avoided ramming into a terrified wolfing mother. all while I heard shouting, and the buzzing of arrows, followed by the thud of them hitting the trees near me. unfortunately, my safety didn't last long, as I felt a searing pain in my left thigh. "FUCK!" I called out again. looking down I saw a long wooden arrow piercing my leg, blood gushing from the fresh wound. I was slowed, but I didn't stop, I limped through the forest, across a stream, over a rock, through a group of startled ravens, and finally, after I had been sure I lost my pursuers, I dove behind a rock.
I again examined my wound, it wasn't bleeding anymore, but i needed to do something about the oak shaft protruding from my leg. 'what is it they do in movies again?' i thought to myself. "oh yeah!" I exclaimed as I reached for the shaft, gripping it tightly at the point where it enters my thigh; I apply as much force as i can, and voila, one broken arrow shaft, which i promptly toss away.
"now to figure out what to do next;" I said to myself.
a branch snapped next to me, the sound of an arrow being drawn rung in my ear, as I felt the cold stone head press against my neck.
"Don't move" I heard a voice say... in English.
| 2022-04-03T01:52:21 | 2022-04-03T00:36:03 | 816 | 171 |
[WP] "There's a reason it's been quarantined. Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody human, at least. Trust me, friend. You'll regret asking me to teach you how to get to Sesame Street."
|
"I don't worry," the man said. "I'm not afraid of them."
"You should be," I said, watching him from the corner of my eye. His voice was soft. Too soft, it felt like. So soft and flowing and gentle that it felt like I should have been worried, but somehow every time he opened that mouth I just felt put totally at ease.
"No," the man said. "I'm not. You are. You're scared of them. You fear what they've become, and so you reject them, and they reject you."
"We should. You know what they do-"
"Because they're scared. And because they're scared, they lash out. Like children. I understand that, though. I love children, and I even love *them* too."
"Oh yeah? Who'd you hire to be your fucking escort, mister lovebug? SEAL fucking Team Six?"
"None. I don't need any. I don't need weapons. I just have to talk. And that's the strongest thing in the world."
I looked down at his little suitcase, his nice shoes, his soft, fuzzy sweater. Decked out like that, I'd figured he was either some kind of top-tier hit-job guy, or would be meeting up with some muscle to watch his back. But now - now I was wondering if this was a particularly unique method of suicide.
"You're fucking insane," I muttered, one eye still on the road. Rain spattered off the windshield, swept away by the wipers only to pool again seconds later.
"No. I'm just calm. I don't fear them, and so they don't lash out at me," the man said. He turned, caught me watching, and smiled. It was a warm smile. A comforting smile, a smile that crinkled the corners of his eyes. It reminded me of my grandfather, before the stroke took his smile.
"You talk like you've dealt with them before."
"I have. My - home. I learned that they're just like children, and they can be helped just like children."
His *home*?
My foot jabbed the brake. Wheels squealed against wet aslphalt, and we pulled to a halt outside the old subway entrance. He went for the door immediately, shining new shoes splashing in the curbside puddle.
"Remember, it's the third panel from the right. Just lift it up, and it's a straight walk to the entrance on the far side."
"I remember. Thank you, friend," he said as he grabbed his suitcase.
I went to pull the door shut, but on a whim called out to him: "Hey - hey, what's your name, Mister? You got a name you can give?"
He turned back, pausing despite the rain spattering off his hat, and just smiled that big, warm, crinkle-eyed smile.
"Rogers. You can call me Rogers."
|
Shit, I should've listened. No words could have dissuaded me back then though, so bull-headed and rapt by retribution as I was. I had a plan and it was simple; infiltrate the quarantine zone and claim what I was owed.
Of course, everyone has their theories on how to get in, but few ever returned to confirm their success. Except for her. The Fighter. I remember the day she returned - the excitement, crowds rushing to the safezone boundary to watch as she lugged the ghoulish remains of a giant yellow bird head, still leaking a sanguine trail. What remained of the beak was serrated, sharp, and, if the fighter was to be believed, articulated in such a way that it could open wide enough to swallow a man whole.
What remained of the fighter was a mess. One eye gouged from brow to cheek, an arm disjointed and broken, her leg lacerated and cut to the bone. The only force capable of moving a person to withstand injuries of that magnitude is pure dread. It is the basest animal desire to flee, knowing that the pain howling through your body is a mere whisper in a hurricane compared to the pain that awaits if you stay.
She did not speak of it often, save to admonish some fool for the hubris of contemplating the feat themselves.
But we are fools, you and I.
I knew she'd try and stop me, but if anyone knew a way in, it would be her. Her usual joyous demeanour faded into an unsettling, hollow tone when I broached the subject of entering.
"There's a reason it's been quarantined. Nobody lives there anymore. Nobody human, at least. Trust me, friend. You'll regret asking me to teach you how to get to Sesame Street."
She was right. But even if I had been willing to listen, no words would have done justice to the abject desolation I encountered in that wretched wasteland. It is horror, a nauseating aberration, that haunts that place.
I see the same thirst in your eyes that I once had; I know you too will charge headlong into that pitiful void. My pleas are little more than a distant star on your horizon I know, but I must urge you like she did me. Do not go to Sesame Street.
But you must go! You have your own score to settle, same as all the rest. Like me, you too will march from impatience to humbled fear - if you are so fortunate as to survive.
You will suffer for your fervour of spirit regardless, I assure you. The Street will exact it's pound of flesh; whether you come to physical harm or not is irrelevant, the horrors of that place will nest in your psyche for good.
To me, even the gentlest gust of a pleasant spring morning still carries on it the fetid, burning stench of the first of my harrowing encounters.
The Fighter had drawn me a map to a section of perimeter wall which was supposed to be uninhabited. I would share this map with you had it not later been destroyed, and alas my memories of how to access that accursed place are locked even to me.
I remember the flutter of nerves in my chest as I pressed myself through a narrow fissure in the wall. How woefully ignorant I was to ever call that fear.
In that moment I truly believed I was a man of valour ready to lock horns with whatever grim beast I encountered.
Immediately though, I learned I was wrong.
Litter spilled from bins and dumpsters, and blanketed the backstreet I had emerged onto. The accompanying rancid odour stung my eyes and brought bile to my throat.
Packaging crinkled and cracked underfoor as I tried to pick a path through the waste that didn't involve going ankle-deep in pestilent puddles crowded with belly-up flies and vermin.
Every agonising step betrayed me and announced my presence, and sure enough, it heard me.
At first I heard a gutteral rumbling, though it had a frequency too low for me to pinpoint the origin. The noise rattled my skull and began to resonate through the trash cans around me, as if they too were shaking with terror.
I saw it then - rising slowly from a dumpster, a shaggy green form hoisted itself to the brim and fixed a pitiless stare on me. Beneath matted locks of filthy hair it's mouth worked furiously. I briefly glimpsed a shattered and jagged tooth as it crunched through the remains of a morsel of glass.
It did not wait long before curiosity compelled the beast towards me. Those glassy eyes penetrated me and glued me to the spot.
It lurched and tipped forward, clattering into the ground, then, began to advance with unexpected and alarming speed.
It propelled itself forward with long, clawed arms that tore through the piles of garbage towards me.
In an instant the monster threw itself atop me, the metal garbage can it dragged behind it crushing and shattering my ankle as it leant with all its weight.
It looked down at me and howled with such volume that I still hear it ringing, even now. Thick ropes of foul, brackish saliva strung from its mouth and burned where it landed on my skin.
The creature's maw filled my periphery as it moved to consume my head. Violently purple and black with necrotic flesh - riddled with maggots writhing through the festering lacerations in its gums, some of which fell onto me.
At some point in this experience my body took control. Unbeknownst to my mind, which was busy acknowledging certain annihilation, my right hand had found the handle of my knife. The smooth familiarity of the wooden handle brought my body and mind colliding into my present and filled me with enough vigour to press the blade upwards with all my might.
But ah, look, our fire grows dim and the night grows long. You will have to forgive me, recanting these tales takes a toll, and what happened next is not easy for me to speak of. Perhaps in the morning I'll have found the words - if you'll hold yourself from your crusade long enough to hear me out?
---------
A.n. - this was a fun prompt, I've got so much more I wanted to write but it's 2am and I have work tomorrow so the rest will have to remain a mystery for now
| 2022-07-20T17:17:09 | 2022-07-20T15:53:05 | 87 | 15 |
[WP] Super powers are common, but super heroes are rare. It turns out most people don't actually want to face death or dismemberment on a daily basis, including you. You enjoy the 9-5 and having a 401k, but my god that government recruiter won't take no for an answer.
|
"You could have an action figure in your likeness, by the end of the year." Said the person that could not leave well enough alone.
"Nope, not interested. It'll cut into my raid time." Steve said as he was trying to politely end the conversation with the obvious government recruitment officials.
"You'll be doing the world a great service. Heck, with powers like yours, you could disarm every nuke in the world by lunch tomorrow. I mean, why are you doing this stocking job for peanuts?"
"Because, I'm a lazy guy. I stop time, stock the entire store with my super speed. Get paid for 8 hours worth of work. Then get to spend the rest of the night playing Warcraft with my friends." Steve said while grabbing another bag of chips and 12 pack of Dr. Pepper.
"But you were born with almost every power." The agent declared while waving a registration form on Steve.
"Yeah, but what about my guild standing?"
|
“Yowza! Look at those muscles! Wam, bam, *wapow!*"
Tim turned around. The man behind him was at least twice Tim's age and balding. “Can I help you?” Tim asked.
“I'm just taken aback is all. I thought I was in line for a coffee,” the man raised an eyebrow and struck a pose, flexing biceps that were imperceptible in an oversized military uniform. “Not a gun show."
"Sir, I just woke up."
"You might've woken a little something inside me too, if you know what I mean." The man adjusted his glasses. "Awooga!"
"Right. I'm just here for the coffee."
"Say, you wouldn’t happen to be a Super, would you?”
"Ah," Tim flashed a knowing smile. "I see where this is going. Sorry, not interested.”
The man frowned. "I think there may be a misunderstanding here. Do you... do you think this is some some sort of slimy recruitment pitch?”
“Is it not?”
“Do I look like a Recruiter to you?”
"Your shoulder patch says ‘Department of Recruitment.’”
“Ohoho, brawny *and* smart?" The man grinned. "Look at me, I’m salivating! You hit the nail in the nuts, kid. I'm a recruiter but there's nothing slimy about my pitch.”
"Not interested." Tim began turning away but the man stopped him with a hand on the shoulder.
“Tell me, what do you do for work, Tim?”
“None of your business,” Tim tried to disengage, but found it surprisingly difficult. The physical contact felt awkward, but pulling away more so.
“Secretive too? You’re ticking *all* the right boxes! Just answer me this-"
Tim grabbed the mans wrist, careful not to crush it. “Look, I’d appreciate it if you didn’t touch me. I’m just trying to get a coffee–”
The man took a step back and raised his palms. “Of course! Don’t let me stop you.”
As Tim turned back around, the man's hand was on his shoulder again.
“But let me stop you a little bit. Just answer me this: don't you feel like you owe something to society? Haven't you always wanted to *be* somebody?”
Tim smiled. "I *am* somebody. I'm a father. I'm a husband. I'm a damn good dentist. As for society, I don't owe anything more than the balance on my mortgage. You think that just because I was born with super strength and spit that tastes like bubblegum I have some duty to risk my neck at the slightest hint of trouble?"
"Yes."
"Trust me, I've thought about being a hero. For a while that's all I wanted to be. Then I did some free lance vigalantizing and ended up in the hospital my first gig. Reality check: super strength doesn't mean invincible. As for bubblegum spit, that's only 'super' in the bedroom."
The man raised his eyebrows and let the silence linger. Tim shook his head. He was surprised this recruiter had managed to get so far under his skin. "Look, maybe if I were stronger. Maybe if I didn't have so much to lose. But as things stand..."
"I get it," the man sighed, draping his arm around Tim's shoulder. “You want to kick ass and chew bubblegum, but you’re never out of bubblegum are you?"
Tim almost pulled away again, but he felt tears welling up. “Fucking everything tastes like bubblegum.”
“You know, you're right. It’s a shit job being a hero. If I'm being honest with you, I wouldn’t do it myself. I'm just a recruiter.”
“I appreciate the honesty.”
"Of course." The man put a hand on Tim's cheek. "But you know what? Somebody has to do it.”
“Somebody?” The word had a nice ring to it.
"Yep. A *real* somebody." The man's hand moved onto Tim’s forehead, “you know who that somebody is?”
Tim felt a sudden sense of purpose. "It's me, isn't it?"
“Atta’boy!”
"I’ve always wanted to be a hero..." Tim muttered, staring off into space.
The man patted Tim on the back and stepped around him in line. "One black coffee, please."
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe.
| 2022-07-31T12:20:48 | 2022-07-31T11:50:27 | 354 | 142 |
[WP] "Of course I'm not scared of you just because you have claws. Sure, you could kill me with them at any moment... but, like, so can any random human with a knife."
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To any adult, the dragons were the most terrifying things to morph from children who appeared entirely normal otherwise.
Just imagine, emotional teenagers whose respiratory systems could become either the loudest call on Earth or even natural flamethrowers on a dime. Bodies that armored themselves with tough scales, muscles strong enough to overpower even the strongest people on earth in fights, jaws that could snap bones, and that was *without* the incredible advantages that came with eventually growing three extra limbs in the form of a tail and wings. And sharp claws and spikes would grow anywhere possible, beyond the fingers and toes, but also the fingers of their batlike wings, the varyingly shaped horns on their heads, even traits like spikes down their spines or at the ends of their tails.
Needless to say, the moment a dragon landed in town, just about everyone ran like squirrels from a forest fire.
One of the only ones who didn't immediately turn tail and run were the ones who missed the turn of *homo sapiens* by a couple of years or so. While most of those who started turning were high schoolers, these people were early graduates and college students who hadn't really grown into their parents' paranoia.
One of these "Last Humans," a recent graduate, was first to approach. Some would thing her an idiot with no self-preservation, to be frank. She was barely five feet tall, not a very strong-looking person, and she even needed glasses to see.
But in all seriousness, the strange dragon didn't look bad by any means. He was tall, both from natural stature and his biology forcing him to his toes. His wings were massive and colorful, with proud orange all across the inner parts and green fading to midnight blues and muted reds across his back. Putting all his less humanoid traits aside, he looked... normal.
"What do you want?" he asked as she came up to him. "You have a death wish or something? You do realize that I can take one swing and you'll go flying, right? Aren't you scared of all this?" He gestured to his claws, his horns, the spines down his back to his tail.
The girl blinked. "Somehow, I don't think you're that kind of person. Besides, of course I'm not scared of you just because you have claws. Sure, you could kill me with all that and more at any moment, but... so can any other human with a knife."
The more wary among her peers stopped to consider that. And in any case, the dragons probably didn't *ask* to be walking war machines. Even the dragon himself looked surprised that she said such a thing, having gotten used to the maniacal cries of his elders.
"Besides, what kind of species are you?" another in the gathering group asked. "Do dragons have their own species name or something?"
"Well, no," he said. "I'm actually, uh... a harmonia mantle."
All was silent until someone shouted, "A *butterfly?!*"
|
"So, Klonk, who you thinking we add to the team? We can't do it just the two of us." I play about with my magic as we walk to the nearest town, black wisps dancing at the tip of my claws. "I reckon we should look for Clara - she's smart, quick-witted and aggressive." Klonk nods. "She could be a useful asset, but we need someone else to balance us having two hot-heads in the group" he says, gesturing at me. I look at him with a grin. "Excuse me, but which one of us two barged into the other's home without a plan to take them out?" Klonk elbows me and we both laugh.
We get into town and begin looking around. The first artefact, the Goblet of Angels, should be here. We also came here to look for people to join. I instantly feel it; people cowering from me, staring daggers at me or trying to pretend I don't exist. I glance down a dark alleyway. "Huh?" Klonk looks at me. "What is it, Wretch?" "I... I thought I saw someone..." I shake my head. "Never mind, let's cont-" my thoughts are interrupted as I instantly freeze up - not out of fear, but because my body is under control of someone. I look; great, someone called the hero department of the police here.
Kip, someone with the ability to control muscles, and Tanya, with her faithful wolf companion, able to call on creatures to her aid. Kip forces me forward. "You have a lot of nerve, Wretch" he growls. Tanya comes up to me. "State your business." Nervous, I react on instinct - I use my magic to grab Kip's arms, preventing him from controlling me. I look at him; he's trying to break free. Klonk comes over. "Klonk! Help me out!" The wolf is barking aggressively. Things are about to get out of hand... I look around at the townspeople, terrified and confused. Reluctantly, I free Kip.
Klonk speaks up. "Listen, Wretch and I are on a mission. He's not after any trouble." Kip and Tanya look at each other confused. I sigh; they're gonna think that Klonk was brainwashed or something. "Klonk's right. Just... I'll go with you. I'll co-operate. I'm sorry." I hold out my hands as I say this. The two approach me cautiously, with the wolf growling at me. They put on magic-resistant handcuffs. Just then, we all hear a giggle. "You really doing this? You want you-know-who to come back?" We spot Clara, on a roof, holding her signature axe. She jumps down gracefully.
"What are you talking about, Clara?" Clara just giggles again as she cuts off my cuffs. She's far too jovial and giggly... she needs to calm down... "Do you think that was a smart move, Clara?" I send wisps surrounding her, binding and restraining her. I walk over. She's... still giggling? "Are... are you not afraid of me?" She just laughs at that. "Why would I be? Of course I'm not scared of you just because you have claws. Sure, you could kill me with them at any moment... but, like, so can any random human with a knife." I contemplate the situation, then I remember something.
"What did you mean by 'you-know-who'?" She whispers loud enough for Kip, Tanya, Klonk and I to hear: "The demon lord." Klonk eyes her suspiciously. "How'd ya know?" Clara giggles again. Man, does she ever stop? "I heard you two talking" she responds. "Let me go, I have something for you." I do so. Then I see it: in her hand. "The Goblet of Angels" I say in the gasp-whisper voice. I myself cannot touch it due to my nature. I turn around and both Kip and Tanya are standing, gobsmacked. Tanya goes to take it. "You were looking for this, Wretch?" I nod.
Kip steps forward. "That has to mean that the demon lord really *is* trying to return." I grin. "You know, Clara, I was hoping you were around... how you got the Goblet is beyond me, but that is *exactly* why Klonk and I need you - always good to have a wild card." Clara giggles - *again* \- and says "Of course! Tanny, you wanna come too?" Tanya looks at Kip, who nods. "Someone's gotta keep you under control. Alright, I'll come along. Pearl, I need you to watch Wretch for me." Pearl barks and runs to my side. I bend down. She's hesitant... but she allows me to pet her.
"Sweet girl" I say, and Tanya smiles. "I know. She got left behind by her pack. I found her and raised her myself. It was as I was doing that I had a gift, the ability to understand and interact with animals. She'll know if you're about to try something, so please don't upset her." I stand up and look at Tanya. "Of course" I say. Clara once again giggles. "You're supposed to be evil, right? You sure that you're Wretch?" I look at her. "I am Wretch" I respond. "Who I am hasn't changed. What has changed is my perception. I don't know if I'm evil or not anymore."
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This story is a part of my series, [Cursed Warrior.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/x3fd15/cursed_warrior/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
| 2022-09-20T15:49:48 | 2022-09-20T08:13:50 | 44 | 18 |
[WP] Aliens contact earth and invite them to a galactic council. Describe humanities eventual rise to power.
Inspired by the fuck yeah humanity posts.
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*The following is from several abridged articles found in the 2344 edition of the Encyclopedia Galactica.*
**Origins**
Imagine the surprise of the UN delegation when the ambassadors from the Galactic Council said they needed several hours to compute their homeward hyperspace jump *by hand*. The computers aboard the alien ship were about as advanced as the ones used on the Apollo 11 mission 200 years prior.
The planets of the Inner Galactic Core were rich with heavy metals and rare-earth superconductors, enabling them to invent hyperdrives and FTL communication. But the lack of silicon in the Core meant that these visitors, able to warp the very fabric of space and time, had just barely invented the transistor.
**The Agreement**
A month before the IFTA (Interstellar Free Trade Agreement) talks began, members of the US, EU, and Chinese governments met in secret in Washington, DC. It was on that night when humankind became the near-invincible economic force it is today. They agreed to negotiate the following stipulation into the IFTA Treaty:
The countries, corporations, and colonies of Earth shall have a full monopoly over the production and export of computing devices.
The Earth delegation argued that the production of computers was a "natural monopoly" -- building two sets of power lines in the same city was illogical, and the cost of such would be unfairly passed to the consumer. The same must apply to these state-of-the-art thinking machines, right? What good does it do if the Galaxy had hundreds of processor fabs, each going bankrupt due to the economies of scale required?
**The Recession of 2219**
Before the arrival of the "electric brain" in the Inner Galactic Core, it took a team of fifty several hours to calculate (and triple-check) a hyperspace jump. Millions spent their careers studying and understanding FTL physics to gain employment aboard starliners. FTL navigator was assumed to be the safest field of employment.
So when the first supercomputers from Earth arrived, able to calculate jumps in picoseconds, millions were unemployed. Automation had similar effects on almost every other industry in the Galactic Council. Unsurprisingly, the only planet not affected by the recession was Earth. The Solar System's economy flourished while the rest of the Galaxy entered a state of economic panic.
Making products for other planets wasn't anything like localizing a product for France. Different biologies, anatomies, and cultural values required Earth companies to employ aliens to develop "interstellar" versions of their products. Millions of aliens applied for the thousands of visas issued by Earth governments. This "brain drain" from the Inner Core only added to the Recession.
**The First Galactic War**
The First Galactic War (called the Cygnus Prime Intervention by Earth nations) was a conflict between Earth's United Nations and the other members of the Galactic Council. The War took place in the morning hours of 2 July 2230.
After the Recession, several members of the Galactic Council voted to ban computers entirely. The first ban, enacted by the Soraxians, made very little impact on the profits of Earth corporations. But when the Zalkars and Avereons began musing implementing similar bans, Wall Street and Canary Wharf panicked. Was the Galactic Council so vain that they would drag the only prosperous planet with them into poverty?
"This will not stand," said the US President before the Council on Cygnus Prime. "The IFTA guarantees the free exchange of goods and services between planets. If this Council is not interested in enforcing the treaty, then the nations of Earth will."
Earth was written off as a rouge, yet wealthy planet not willing to make good on its threats. The rest of the Galaxy would not make that mistake again after the morning of 2 July.
The income and resources from other planets enabled the Earth governments to build advanced starfleets. And unlike the spacecraft of the other planets, Earth's ships were equipped with supercomputers.
When the Earth fleet jumped into orbit above the city-world of Cygnus Prime, it was outnumbered ten-to-one. Despite this, the Earth fleet did not suffer a single casualty. Incoming missiles fired by Cygnus Prime would be destroyed by automatic laser defense systems, for example. The entire Council fleet was destroyed within a matter of hours.
**Reparations**
As the orbital bombardment of Cygnus Prime continued, the pleas from the Galactic Council grew more desperate. They first offered to lift all computer bans, and require computers on all spacecraft. Then they offered billions of credits. Then trillions. Then quadrillions.
Of course, the Credit had become a worthless currency. So Earth did not demand any money. Instead, the Cygnus Prime Armistice mandated that all cultural artifacts in Galactic Council museums be transferred to the control of the United Nations. The "Great Galactic Auction" would later be held in London, where the Galaxy's most precious artifacts would be auctioned to Earth's most prestigious museums or wealthiest private collectors.
Since the surface of Cygnus Prime was devastated, Earth "generously" offered to be the new seat of the Galactic Council. In just fifty years, Earth had become the center of political power in the Galaxy.
**Pax Terra**
One hundred years after the First Galactic War, the Smithsonian Institution signed an agreement, loaning its collection of alien art back to Cygnus Prime for a million years. The seat of the Galactic Council was moved from Chicago to a neutral space station in the Alpha Centauri System.
But the Galaxy is not as it was before the War -- English is still the primary language of instruction for every school and university across the cosmos. The Euro is still the preferred currency over the Credit. And the United Nations still retains its special veto power on the Galactic Council. And all computers across the galaxy are built to the standards agreed upon by Earth's IEEE before the IFTA was signed.
For better or worse, we live in the age of *Pax Terra* -- the peace brought by Planet Earth.
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*I wrote this story 4 months ago, but fits the prompt so posting here*
"The Burning of Martian Anchorage." There it came again, that querulous, high pitched, scratchy voice. You knew the moment you heard it someone had had a bee in their bonnet for a long time. It was going to go on and on, buzzing until the bee was removed. "The Burning of Martian Anchorage is where it all went wrong."
"No, no, peace could still have been achieved." A quick fired, swift response answered. This voice was animate and unreserved in its sense of rightness. It moved so fast you could scarcely hear mandibles clatter. "If the delegation to the Federal Colonies had been willing to pay restitution then nothing would have come of it. A minor border conflict as a new species entered the galactic congress."
"The Burning of Martian Anchorage took out half their fleet, not to mention their president," the first voice said. There was a clatter as tentacles readjusted eye-glasses. "They weren't going to forgive that, no matter how many goods were paid."
"There were two events that turned the Federal Colonies against us," The second voice continued. It barely seemed to notice the diversion; it was giving a lecture, not having an argument. "One came long before the Burning of Martian Anchorage and one came far later. The former was the development of anti-matter reactors. In that moment they had the distinct technological advantage over our deuterium-tritium fusion, and the energy to achieve efficient FTL. I don't need to tell you how *that* became useful." The first speaker sucked air through his beak and tutted. "The second event, the second event," the second speaker ignored the interruption, "was the Battle of Selrinar - I mean, Aldebaran as they call it now - that battle showed the Federal Colonies that they could win even against a galactic alliance. That was the moment, the very moment; they abandoned their intent of defence, that was when they turned to conquest." There was a clatter of chitin on wood as the second voice clapped his hand to the table.
"No, no, you see, the Burning of Martian Anchorage was much more of an emotional blow than either of those events-"
"Trust you to believe emotions are what matters-"
Professor H'Lrex rubbed the skin over his third eye. All this arguing was giving him a headache. He had no more patience for his colleagues.
"Could you two please, please give it a rest?" H'Lrex stood up and turned a tusky mouth towards the noise makers. "Surely you have some degree work to do."
"Not until we get the sample cores back from the lab," the first voice said. "And it's an important issue. When did the Federal Colonies turn against the Galactic Congress is the defining question of our age. This is going to be what they ask history students about for the next thousand years."
"You'd had this argument three times already Eyes-Weak," H'Lrex sighed. "I think if there was an answer to find you'd have found it."
"Indeed we did, anti-matter reactors and the Battle of Aldebaran," second voice crossed his first set of arms and raised his antenna in a smirk.
"Don't start Klxklz," H'Lrex raised a hand.
"The Burning of Martian Anchorage resulted in more deaths than any other-"
"You see! You got Eyes-Weak started again," H'Lrex collapsed into his chair in a huff and shaded his eyes from the bursts of bio-luminous rage coming from Eyes-Weak.
"We could take it outside," Eyes-Weak gave H'Lrex a guilty glance and moved his glasses back into place with a shy tentacle.
"No, you'll only bring it back again," H'Lrex grumbled. Silence reined over the room, broken only by the gentle hum of the computer coolant. "You want to know... when the Federal Colonies turned against us? When they decided that conquest and subjugation was the only way to have peace with the distant stars?"
"Who doesn't?"
"How old do you think I am, Eyes-Weak?"
"About, fifty, maybe sixty, by the galactic standard?"
"Don't flatter an old Lauranot," H'Lrex closed his third eye and glared with his other two. "I'm almost two hundred."
"Never!" Eyes-Weak's tentacles fluttered.
"A well fed and cared for Lauranot can live almost three hundred galactic standard years," Klxklz's antennas shook in smug superiority.
"Yes, thank you Klxklz, not all of us get that far," H'Lrex rolled his head from side to side for a moment and then sighed. He put down his data pad from his hands and his pen from his trunk. He wouldn't get any work done until this was solved. "I was there at the moment the Federal Colonies decided conquest was the only option. Or maybe no-one was there... they decided it a long time before I was around..."
"Don't get all metaphorical professor, if you're going to tell us something worth listening to, just tell it!" Klxklz's vestigial wings clicked in their sealed casings.
"When I was a young scientist, scarcely 100, I was chosen to represent the University of J'Ling along with three others of my peers in a First Contact Delegation being organised by the Galactic Congress," H'Lrex said slowly. "I didn't know at the time of course, First Contact delegations got sent out every few years around that time - "
"You were there!" Eyes-Weak fell out of his chair with a bump and burst of blue and red light. As he pulled himself back up he continued. "You were there for First Contact with the Federal Colonies!"
"It was unusual," H'Lrex only frowned at the interruption, "for a delegation to be sent so late in a species' development. However their home-star however was so weak, so utterly pathetic in the heavens it was invisible after fifty light years and crowded out by so many other stars we never noticed it. If we could have got to the Federal Colonies when they were still in the atomic age - when they were still fractured and divisive perhaps we wouldn't be having this conversation... but "if we could have"s get us nowhere." H'Lrex raised his hands to the heavens and shrugged with his trunk.
"Go on professor," Klxklz demanded.
"There were seventy three of us," H'Lrex continued. "That's a core of twelve diplomats, twelve artists, twelve scientists, twelve historians and ooh... about twenty odd others. I can't remember what they did, but it was meant to be important. I was one of the scientists of course. The Federal Colonies knew we were coming. We never figured out how until later, but that damn PHASE array they had tracked us as soon as we passed Selrinar - Aldebaran, I should say - and they had a ship waiting for us."
"So... they prepared a First Contact delegation as well?"
"Yes. For the first time, perhaps ever in the history of the Galactic Congress a First Contact delegation was met by well... another First Contact delegation," H'Lrex picked at cut on his wrist and then blinked in irritation at the bad habit. "You know what struck me when I first saw them? The Federal Colonists? They were so small. I'm what, three and a half hurspics high? They were barely one hurspic. I think only one of the diplomats was their height... How terrifying we must have seemed." H'Lrex blinked. "No, tell a lie. It was the smell that hit me first. They reeked of esters. Apparently they think their smell is pleasant, reminds them of their home world, but it stank. Their whole entourage stank of esters and sugar and... and decomposing lactose."
"So when was it in the First Contact meeting that the Federal Colonists decided they had to conquer the galaxy?"
"Such a small species, and so simple. Two arms, two legs, two eyes. Nothing more than they needed, nothing less than they needed. And such strange hair patterns..."
"Professor!"
H'Lrex looked his two colleagues up and down. They were so much younger. They had never known a time when the galaxy was free. They viewed it all as an intellectual exercise. They didn't understand.
"Professor, when did humanity decide to conquer the galaxy? When did they decide our outstretched appendages of peace had to be met with war?"
"Humanity decided to conquer the galaxy the moment their ape-eyes saw the stars," H'Lrex said. "And that decision crystalised the moment they met us, there, at that First Contact delegation. That moment, the very moment they saw us and their hands twitched reflexively for their weapons they decided there would be no peace until they ruled us all."
The three of them sat silently in the office. A distant roar of the crowds suggested the university home team had just scored at Yarsh'Tik stadium. Undergrads at play while real scholars did real work. Wind rustled leaves in the window frame.
"I... I still think it's anti-matter reactors," Klxklz said after a moment with a worried expression. "Like you said, if we could have got to them in the atomic era maybe-"
H'Lrex picked up his data pad and turned away. Tomorrow he'd invest in ear plugs.
| 2014-03-12T16:29:23 | 2014-03-12T15:47:14 | 40 | 25 |
[WP] A young door-to-door salesman, who is also a renown serial killer, is craftily avoided by an old, best-selling crime novelist.
|
As she wrote the latest adventures of the Sioux Sleuth, Beverly glanced briefly at the kitchen chalkboard. She shook her head, her fingers resuming their dance upon the typewriter keys. "One more chapter," she said to no one in particular, "one more chapter, and then I'll fix that doorbell."
|
*Knock, knock*
Evelyn looks up from her computer curiously. She had been working from home that day - a break in the usual routine. She hadn't expected anyone to come knocking. After all; who did that in rural New York anymore? The next house was further than a mile down the road.
Nevertheless, Evelyn rose from her desk and slammed shut her Lenovo. She tapped on its top with her fingers for a moment, considering whether the visitor would go away before a fresh set of knocks forced her to walk towards the door and peep through the hole.
Standing on the other was a handsome man in his early twenties. He had short cropped hair with amazingly bright blue eyes that seemed to be peering right through the hole. Going against better judgement, Evelyn immediately opened to door.
"Good morning ma'am, my name is Lucas. I'm here to offer you a great deal on stainless steal knives. Normally, these things cost about $100 a pop, but we're willing to sell the entire set for only $150!"
Evelyn smiled, quietly berating herself for worrying as she begins her usual response to sales.
"Hi, thank you Lucas, that sounds like a really great deal but I'm really not interested in buying anything today."
Lucas sighed, resting the knives on the side of the railing. "Ma'am, I know you've heard the whole shtick before, but the truth is my boss is really getting on my case about my sales."
He points to the camera pinned to his backpack.
"It would really help if I was able to come in to your beautiful home and do a demonstration for you at the least."
Evelyn smiled again, transfixed by Lucas' eyes. "Well.... I suppose that couldn't hurt!"
Evelyn stepped aside, leading Lucas into the kitchen as she closed and latched the door behind her, eyeing Lucas with lust as she nervously adjusted her hair.
"The kitchen is, um, this way" she said, as she enters the room and pulls open a drawer. "These are the knives I have right now."
Lucas ignores her, walking over to the island at the center of the kitchen and carefully opens his black backpack before he lifts a clean set of shining stainless steal knives out and places them onto the counter.
"Now, ma'am, I'm not sure about the quality of what you have now, but these babies..." Lucas carefully lifts a knife out of its careful black sheathing. "These can cut through anything."
Lucas looks up only to find Evelyn standing directly in front of him.
"Even this?" She lifts out her shirt.
Lucas smiled, his eyes glaring directly into hers.
"Even that."
In a moment, the long steel knife cuts through Evelyn's thin sequenced shirt and into her abdomen. She lets out a surprised gasp, staring desperately at Lucas as she tries to scream. But in a moment, she is on the floor. In a minute, she is dead.
And yet, Lucas continues to stab her. Blood envelops him, covering his as he laughs and cries and stares into her lifeless brown eyes.
"ENOUGH!"
Lucas stops, the smiling creeping further up his blood caked lips. "Had enough old man?"
A door slammed and a man stepped out into the doorway of the kitchen. He was old-- at least in his sixties or seventies, and he had a grizzled whitish gray beard that looked as though it hadn't been maintained in months. His plaid shirt and faded jeans were stained repeatedly, but he held an old Colt pistol that was pointed in Lucas' direction.
Lucas laughs and casually unbuttons his bloodstained shirt as he turns his attention to the old man. "Whatsa matter? Not getting your material fast enough?"
With that, he unclips the camera attached to his backpack and tosses it to the old man, who catches it with his free hand.
"Keep writing. We need them to know what's happening here."
| 2014-03-26T09:17:57 | 2014-03-26T08:17:32 | 118 | 15 |
[WP] You've died and wake up in some sort of theme park. You look at the ride attendant, with long white hair and a big beard, who says, "Wanna go again?"
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All I could see were the lights getting hazy. That long lost familiar feeling of tripping to the dancing of lights came back. If you've ever attended a Pink Floyd show you would know. Suddenly, everything was white. Bright white.
I was woken up with a real comforting voice of a guy," That was something, isn't it?"
I wouldn't have believed it if I hadn't seen it with my own eyes. The words came out of a human? No way, this was something more majestic. Tall, well built, with piercing blue eyes. But what stood out the most was the long flowing white hair somehow standing out in the ever white background, along with a dense golden beard suggesting whatever kind he was, he was the male version of that. Weird. But truly, a sight to behold.
He helped me up as I was beginning to gather my senses. " Whoa! Where the hell am I? and who are you ?", I added before he could weird me out again.
"I am Tim, one of the ride attendants. You are in the Cosmic Amusement Park", he smiled and paused, as if to let those things sink in, before he continued," And you just finished your ride".
Those last words of his triggered something deep inside me as I started to feel, first my belly and then everything, dragging down. It was my memories returning to me. My parents, my brother, my first crush, my friends. The memories flooded through me all at once. I was crying, laughing, was angry, was upset. A mixture of all emotions at once. I could sense my regrets. Not having enough money to support my family, not being able to become what i always wanted, not having punched my best friend for cheating on my wife. Worst of it, I left my 3 year old baby back.
" And I know she'll be the death of me" was what was stuck in my head playing over and over and over.
It took a while, but it finally died down. I was back to the white scenery all around me. I checked myself. I was in the same dress that I wore this morning with no sign of my wallet or my phone. I saw Tim attending to little kittens showing them the way to what looked like a huge line to a gate like opening on top of which was written" Life on Earth".
He faced towards me," I am sorry. It can be a little disorienting given the bright white theme. Especially from where you came from. We are working on it". I liked his honesty and his words were making some sense now.
" So I am dead ? "
"Oh, you have your memories back I see"
"No, you are a cosmic entity. You cannot die. There's no concept of death in HIS reality. You just finished your experience on this ride. And from the looks of it, it was pretty intense." He paused before he finished with," Whatsay, wanna go again? Start all over? Take your time."
I was beginning to grasp what he was trying to say. I am a never dying entity who repeatedly takes this ride of life on earth. So, here I am at the end of perhaps one cycle, waiting to enter into another one. Another chance to go back to where I came from. To again be born in that world to some other parents this time, or no parents. I could be born anywhere or could I? I have so many questions. I look up to find Tim. He is helping some more kittens on their way.
"So, Tim-"
"No, Your entr--I mean birth is totally random. Your memories of your past life and of this may fade away. It really depends on how strong willed you are to remember things. Each ride is a fresh new experience."
"You can read minds ?", I asked, perplexed.
"Not really. People generally have the same doubts after I ask them if they wanna go back", he replied promptly with a wry smile.
Well, I really wanted to see that new Star Wars movie.What about the presidential election? Half life 3? My mind started popping up this list of upcoming events which I really wanted to be part of. Now I really wanted to go back.
"What do I have to do to go back?"
He smiled." Well pay the fees, buy the ticket and get in line."
"How much's the fee ?", I asked, hoping he would know I had nothing on me.
"One soul"
"One what now?"
Edit: fixed some grammatical errors.
|
'Where am I? wha- why am I here? I was doing something a while ago, and ... what was I doing?' thoughts flooded my mind as I stood in a place I'm not familiar with. thankfully I saw a man, an old man, well dressed and well ... seemingly approachable, so I went to clear my confused state.
"I'm sorry, but where am I?" I ask the gentleman offering 'another ride' as he says. "Ha ha ha, well you're in a theme park my dear", "so you wanna go for a ride?". Theme park huh. Well I can't really remember from where I came from, or why I am here, and to add to this confusion this man is offering me rides, hmm, I ask "Uhh, I think i'll pass for now, do you have an exit? I mean, where is the nearest phone booth?", "Phone booth? what will you be needing it for?" he asked and to my confusion, "well to call people naturally, isn't that their purpose?".
"you won't be needing that my dear, you're dead anyway."
"huh?" was all I can say as I wrap my mind around what the gentleman had just said. "dead?" I asked, followed by "ha ha ha, well I do appreciate jokes at times mister but I think that's a bit inappropriate.".
"oho it's more appropriate than you're ever imagine" he says as he lifts his arm pointing to the bottom of the roller coaster.
I cast my gaze to where his fingers directed me to, and as I examined I was stunned with horror "THERES A BODY IN THERE!" I exclaimed and ran towards to see if that person was Ok, or alive at the least.
As I came closer crouching for a better view my horror rose, as I saw the body was gory all throughout. "oh my god" as I thought about the poor soul that encountered a fate such as this. In assurance I placed my finger around the body's neck to see but it was a fool's game. From what I saw in the beginning this body is as good as dead. I reached for my pocket "damn it's not here" I said as I remembered that I forgot to bring my phone.
"Huh, why did I remember that now" I told myself as I lay there confused. then suddenly to my surprise the gentleman has followed me and is now at my front standing .
"Still not convinced?" he asked to further my confusion, "what do you mean?". he then told me "look at that body, is it in any way familiar to you?". Well I haven't really thought about it, all I did was to check if it was ok but ending with a disappointing outcome. "look at it's face" he said.
As I looked my mind slowly fills with my worst fears realized. "tha- THAT'S ME!", "Wha- What's going on here?" I screamed in panic as I saw that the lifeless body I initially checked upon was actually me. "No, that can't be, I'm alive right now, this has to be someone who looks like me" I attempted to reassure my thoughts.
"Miss, haven't you seen anything odd in all the time that you've been here?"
Well that's the problem, I don't know how I got here, I haven't even the foggiest of memories of what I was doing, and now I'm alone in a park with an old man!
Wait ... I'm alone ... with an old man. Weren't theme parks supposed to be filled at this time, it's noon and high time for frolicking in lines waiting for rides or in stands. but everywhere I look ... it's actually barren. A barren theme park.
"who are you?" I ask. "Aha! Finally the question I've been seeking." he was quick to reply "But first who are you?" he asked. "I don't know". "I see" he says "Well in your terms, I am what they call ..."
"... death"
I froze from where I sat. Huh, this person claims to be death, yet doesn't look the nearest from what I can say as a person fitting death. He's more like a person whose soon to be near death in my opinion.
"Well of course you are a bit dumbfounded, everyone is the time they meet with someone like me" he continued "So to clarify things further" *snaps* suddenly the park is filled with frozen statues of people, or from my view, its like time froze for these people, except for us. *snaps* and the people disappear "Well?" He speaks as he amused himself with my awe.
"The moment a person dies, they are somehow, frozen in time, at the place the moment they died", "you are dead, and I am your personification of death"
"wa-wait! but if I'm dead, why am I still here?" I asked, "you're here to revisit the moment you died, and reason for that is for a soul to reach closure at their deaths", "you see, when a soul is removed from their body, it is confused, and seeks out the reason for their demise", "usually when a person dies peacefully they know immediately how they died, and so can rest peacefully".
"On the other hand, should a person die by means not of their own, they are left with questions unanswered" "and with these questions unanswered come intense regret, negative emotions fill the soul and corruption takes root"
"souls unaddressed, on how they died end up being the ghosts of your world, unable to leave, corrupted due to dissatisfaction.". "you better try and find the reason for your death soon, the longer you stay, the worse the consequences"
"so, you want another ride?" he ends.
"wait, all of this is too much to handle, even my dying I can't even comprehend still at this moment", then I continued "let me ask, why are you here anyway? If I'm to find out the reason for my demise, why do you need to be here?"
"I'm here to be your aid", "Well, even though I might be what you call death, i'm not as mortifying or eerie as your legends have spoken about me", "Actually my true purpose is to ensure that your soul gets to leave this world, if not I'm stuck with you, well, forever". "so to speed things up i'll just help you in your way, although you not finding what you seek wont be a problem for me."
"won't you be busy?" ,"Lot's of people die as we speak, aren't your hands full?" I asked.
"Like I said, i'm not exactly like your concept of death", "in actuality, there is more than one *me* ", "per person that lives, a personal death is assigned to harvest their soul", "I'm you're personal death, and I've been with you since you were born"
That was a bit creepy yet reassuring for a bit. I now understand that this man might not be as dangerous as I feel when I'm around him, according to what he says at least. Lots of things are still unaddressed, but i'm spent "hmmm, this is a frozen world anyway, maybe I can do anything I want for a moment" I thought.
So I asked "am I, free in this world?", "what do you mean?" he asks, "free as in the notion of space, can I roam the world?". He replies with "yes, but only to the extent of what your body remembers of the world".
"One more question", "sure" he replies, "what time do I have till I become corrupted or so you call it?"
"usually souls tend to corrupt after a week of their death" he answered.
"that's more time than ill need", "guess ill have fun for a while" As I smile.
(continue this)
edits: some typos
| 2017-01-07T07:43:55 | 2017-01-07T07:02:58 | 59 | 30 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad"
|
> #489,231,337
Robert Johnson wasn't a very good dad. He'd drink, and he'd smoke, and when he was tired he would grumble at his kids. He didn't play catch. He didn't play video games. He mostly sat around and got fat after working at the mill. His wife, Leslie, would ask him to mow the lawn and he'd yell at her. His kids would run up the stairs while playing and he'd yell at them. At work, he'd grumble and yell at the new guy more than most. He was just an unpleasant person.
His mug's number changing didn't really help matters. He always knew it was bullshit, but it never really dawned on him how low he ranked. "Christ almighty" he thought, there's only 320 million people in this fucking country.
So the morning after it changed he was brushing his teeth, and staring back at him was a balding, dumpy, unshaved, slobby man in a stained a-shirt.
"When the fuck did I grow so much back hair?"
The hot water of the shower was a poor comfort. As usual, the family was still asleep when he left the house. He resolved to fix things.
So that afternoon he got off work. He had been grumpy but he wasn't a complete waste. He did his job. So he got off and fixed himself up to get some gifts. He went to Toys R Us and bought a few lego sets for his son and some Barbie Dolls for his daughter. He went to the Florist and bought some flowers for his wife. He even went to the barber and got his hair cut into something respectable.
Then he got home early. He tried to greet his wife with a kiss and flowers when she got home, but she laughed. His son took the lego sets and muttered "thanks dad" before dashing upstairs. His daughter glared at him over the Barbie Doll and asked why she didn't get legos too.
Sighing, he sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
A few weeks went by. He asked his son to play catch.
"No thanks dad, I'm going over to Tommy's house."
He asked his daughter if she wanted to go for a walk.
"No thanks dad, I'm going over to Cassie's place."
He asked his wife if she wanted to get dinner.
"What are you, stupid? I have to pick Bobby up from Tommy's house and Jeannie up from Cassie's?"
Sighing, he sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
The next morning he looked at the mug. That same, long number wrapped around the outside. Saturday.
He asked his wife if he could help her. He couldn't. He asked his son and daughter to play, they wouldn't. So he sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
Months went by. He bought gift after gift, flowers, toys, you name it. He asked his wife out to dinner, he bought his daughter a puppy, he played catch with his son... or at least he tried to. His daughter didn't want a puppy. His son didn't want to play catch. His wife wasn't interested in him.
So each night he sighed, then sat back down in his chair to watch TV.
Finally, it was Christmas Eve. He lay awake, worrying about the latest round of gifts he had bought, when suddenly he heard a thunk on the roof.
"What the fuck?"
The thunk was followed by a few others, resolving into footsteps. A muffled crash was heard downstairs.
"Could it be?"
He got up, bewildered, and made his way downstairs. There, in the kitchen, were two masked figures. They all stood stunned for a second, before Robert bellowed and charged in.
He wasn't sure how it happened, but he had a kitchen knife in his hand. One was on the ground bleeding, the other was fighting. They struggled. Robert got cut, deep, in his neck, but he fought on. He was grabbing an ankle, struggling around the floor. The table was knocked over. Chaos. His vision was dark, but in the dim light he saw something; the mug.
He grabbed it, slamming it into the assailant's face until it broke.
He lay there on the floor, bleeding in the dark. The lights turned on and his wife screamed.
A thin piece of shattered porcelain lay directly in his view. As his eyes darkened and the world grew bleary he saw it change from #4892 to #489 to #48 to #4 to #1.
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T09:22:28 | 828 | 228 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad"
|
George couldn't understand it. His mom was overjoyed about his father's father ranking, and how abruptly it jumped, and how much higher it jumped. When everyone found out about the mugs, some people bragged, others hid their mugs. His father woke up late on the day of the change, so he didn't have a chance to do anything to stop people from seeing his ranking... and it was a pretty low ranking. Everyone was so confused with it- John was a perfectly good father to George, and everyone agreed. His low ranking made no sense, and most people didn't understand it, which caused people to wonder about how well John treated George. Because of this, George had been getting a lot of strange looks recently and some fairly personal and embarrassing questions. His neighbor, an elderly widow named Mrs. Wilson, had actually stopped him in his driveway on the way to school to ask him one of these said questions. With a look of concern, she stopped George and like all people who have personal questions do, beat around the bush for awhile, and much to George's and Mrs. Wilson's own surprise, she abruptly spouted out, "Has John ever beaten you?" George's face immediately became mortified, out of hurt and surprise that someone would even think to ask that question. Mrs. Wilson, upon seeing this expression, of course assumed she was right, no matter what the boy said next. She would be sure to recall later to her video chat knitting circle how teary-eyed the boy became upon asking this question, and how she always suspected John was actually a horrible person ("You never see him at church, either! What can you expect from someone who doesn't respect God?" Coming from the oldest in their circle, a pig-eyed women who believed all people who didn't go to church were always busy with the Devil's work). George of course told the widow how good of a father John was, and that he had never lain a finger on him in anger, but the old women had already decided she understood, reassuring him that her door would always be open to him. Expecting a far better day to follow, George took off down the street to catch his bus. His expectations died too swiftly upon seeing his friends on the bus, who went silent when they saw him. The rest of his day followed the same pattern.
John had seemed to be avoid the world in the days following the Mug Mishap, always looking extremely guilty to George. George was angry with him, but didn't understand it. He couldn't stand to address it directly and talk to his dad.
Several days before John's mug showed a leap in ranking, John became much more active then he had been since the rankings came out, he went out and started buying toys for a child that was much younger then George. George knew this, because he searched the bags his father brought home. His father then disappeared on a trip for a few days, and during this time his ranking skyrocketed. George grew so excited that he bragged that his father was going to bring him home a great new gift. But when he got home- this was when George became confused. John didn't bring him anything, but seemed far more relieved then how he was before he left. He also now seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with George. Everyone seemed so much more happy, and proud of John that no one inquired what he did on his trip. His Mom even reassured George that it was probably nothing related, and that the proper ratings had just come through while he was away. George anger simmered, because he knew something wasn't right. John started taking more trips, and each time his rating went up. George didn't understand, he saw less and less of John and felt John had become a worse dad. Finally one day after John got back from his trip and George found a picture of a little boy with a note on the back- "You left when he was so young, but he still remembered you. He's so happy to have his father back- and so am I. XO, love Ruby". He showed it to his mom, and he had never seen her go so pale. George's Mom had a massive fight that night with John, and when George got up the next morning, John was gone.
George only saw John again when he came to collect his things, and George's mother refused to let them talk to each other.
Months later, George's Mom found John's old mug, left behind. The mug now looked like how it did the day it was bought- it now said #1 Dad on it.
She smashed the mug on the floor.
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T09:05:21 | 828 | 77 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
Word had quickly spread through the country about the bizarre mug changes. A whole host of dads were waking up to vindication or disappointment as the numbers of their mugs changed from #1 to some indiscriminately high number. Those who placed in the low hundred thousands were those few dads who had always seemed stable; good job, good marriage, wonderful kids.
Tom had only heard the news about the mug when he was at work, so he was thrilled with anticipation to read his own mug when he arrived home. With 2 little ones and a 5 year long marriage, he was expecting a good number; not the best number of course, he certainly wasn't perfect, but a good number. Maybe even enough to beat William from across the street who takes his kids out to the fair twice a month.
Sneaking out of work an hour early, he drove quickly before rushing straight to the kitchen upon arrival home. He reached up to open the mug cupboard where his mug from last Father's Day resided. He recognized the font, and his stomach swelled as he read the writing:
"# N/A Dad"
|
Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2021-12-03T09:27:18 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 828 | 23 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
James was not a great man.
Great men walked up to the world and bent it to its will. Great men looked at challenge and laughed.
James did his 9-5, came home, and sat down. He typically would stand back up a few times, to use the toilet or get a beer, but no more than a few.
His son had stopped asking him to play with him a long time ago, not that James really noticed. It just, stopped, nothing to it.
But then there was this mug.
It was a gift for Christmas one year, a typical 8 year old present, a #1 Dad mug.
But now it said he was #986,800,672.
He looked out the window to the backyard, seeing his son toss a ball in the air and catch it.
He looked back at the mug, then at his son.
...
James stood up. Perhaps he could play catch today.
And the mug, now facing down, ticked down to #986,800,671.
|
George couldn't understand it. His mom was overjoyed about his father's father ranking, and how abruptly it jumped, and how much higher it jumped. When everyone found out about the mugs, some people bragged, others hid their mugs. His father woke up late on the day of the change, so he didn't have a chance to do anything to stop people from seeing his ranking... and it was a pretty low ranking. Everyone was so confused with it- John was a perfectly good father to George, and everyone agreed. His low ranking made no sense, and most people didn't understand it, which caused people to wonder about how well John treated George. Because of this, George had been getting a lot of strange looks recently and some fairly personal and embarrassing questions. His neighbor, an elderly widow named Mrs. Wilson, had actually stopped him in his driveway on the way to school to ask him one of these said questions. With a look of concern, she stopped George and like all people who have personal questions do, beat around the bush for awhile, and much to George's and Mrs. Wilson's own surprise, she abruptly spouted out, "Has John ever beaten you?" George's face immediately became mortified, out of hurt and surprise that someone would even think to ask that question. Mrs. Wilson, upon seeing this expression, of course assumed she was right, no matter what the boy said next. She would be sure to recall later to her video chat knitting circle how teary-eyed the boy became upon asking this question, and how she always suspected John was actually a horrible person ("You never see him at church, either! What can you expect from someone who doesn't respect God?" Coming from the oldest in their circle, a pig-eyed women who believed all people who didn't go to church were always busy with the Devil's work). George of course told the widow how good of a father John was, and that he had never lain a finger on him in anger, but the old women had already decided she understood, reassuring him that her door would always be open to him. Expecting a far better day to follow, George took off down the street to catch his bus. His expectations died too swiftly upon seeing his friends on the bus, who went silent when they saw him. The rest of his day followed the same pattern.
John had seemed to be avoid the world in the days following the Mug Mishap, always looking extremely guilty to George. George was angry with him, but didn't understand it. He couldn't stand to address it directly and talk to his dad.
Several days before John's mug showed a leap in ranking, John became much more active then he had been since the rankings came out, he went out and started buying toys for a child that was much younger then George. George knew this, because he searched the bags his father brought home. His father then disappeared on a trip for a few days, and during this time his ranking skyrocketed. George grew so excited that he bragged that his father was going to bring him home a great new gift. But when he got home- this was when George became confused. John didn't bring him anything, but seemed far more relieved then how he was before he left. He also now seemed to have a hard time making eye contact with George. Everyone seemed so much more happy, and proud of John that no one inquired what he did on his trip. His Mom even reassured George that it was probably nothing related, and that the proper ratings had just come through while he was away. George anger simmered, because he knew something wasn't right. John started taking more trips, and each time his rating went up. George didn't understand, he saw less and less of John and felt John had become a worse dad. Finally one day after John got back from his trip and George found a picture of a little boy with a note on the back- "You left when he was so young, but he still remembered you. He's so happy to have his father back- and so am I. XO, love Ruby". He showed it to his mom, and he had never seen her go so pale. George's Mom had a massive fight that night with John, and when George got up the next morning, John was gone.
George only saw John again when he came to collect his things, and George's mother refused to let them talk to each other.
Months later, George's Mom found John's old mug, left behind. The mug now looked like how it did the day it was bought- it now said #1 Dad on it.
She smashed the mug on the floor.
| 2017-06-11T09:29:45 | 2017-06-11T09:05:21 | 159 | 77 |
[WP] All of the "#1 Dad" mugs in the world change to show the actual ranking of Dads suddenly.
|
"... at number two, it has been confirmed that former President Barack Obama has the #2 Dad Mug and it is no surprise there given how he set himself as an exemplary dad during his stay at the White House."
"Right you are Stacy. Despite juggling between being a dad and the president of this great country, I'm quite surprised he didn't get the number one... Wait... Hold on..."
(An envelope has been given to John by one of the producers)
"This just in folks. We now have the name of the dad who has the #1 dad mug inside this envelope".
"According to our producers, it has been confirmed and verified by the experts on the legitimacy of the mug. However, we have been informed the dad in question has recently passed away and the mug is now in the hand of the family".
"Well then Stacy, shall I open the envelope?".
"Yes John. Let us be the first to reveal the name of the number one dad in the world".
(John opens the envelope and took out the paper)
"And the number one dad's name is...umm..."
"...is...?"
"...Ted. Ted the accountant".
|
Sunday. A Sunday that started just like any other Sunday. Robert Glover sat down to a hot breakfast lovingly prepared by his wife. After getting the kids to sit down and leading the family in prayer, Robert started his favorite Sunday activity. The Sunday paper, and coffee. This ritual was only broken if a quarrel broke out among the kids and only then if it got too loud.
After the local sports team lost, the unrest in the Middle East, and ol' Marmaduke had done it again, it was time for church. That's just what you did in Highland Park.
The kids were exceptionally quite today and as Robert reached for his mug he got that sixth sense feeling of being watch. And for the first Sunday he looked at his family. All eyes were on him as he took a drink. He smiled and gave a chuckle one gives when one doesn't know what else to do. All the eyes followed his hand as he returned the mug.
"Dad? Where's your #1 mug?" Asked Tim, the middle child.
"Why Timothy it's right here in my... hand..."
#"#538,218 (tied for 628th) Dad"
Another chuckle. "Well if that ain't the funniest thing. Which one of you rascals did this?"
"Umm..Honey I think it was the devil," Robert's wife spoke up, "all of us saw it as soon as you grabbed the mug the devil worked his magic and burned those evil numbers right under your hand."
"Well then, let us be off to church and let the Lord sort this out." Robert declared, still wary of Bobby his oldest.
Neither church nor prayer could have solved the flood of indignant dads rolling up in their Land Rovers. Mutterings of "I'm at least top 10...." "well maybe 100 it's a big world" "I heard Adams tied for 200th..." "We're men of god we should all be tied for #1..."
The preacher gave his sermon as dryly as ever. And after joined the chorus of dissent about who was the best dad.
__________________________________
"Dad do we have a dollar for some flowers? I'm sure she'd love some. "
"No Johnathon, not this month." Straightening both their ties, Johnathon Morrison Sr. opened the door and they walked out into the evening. "But maybe Mrs. Glover will let us clip a rose from her bush."
"Her rose bushes famous through out all of Dallas and east Texas?"
"The very same. She'll know what it's for."
And so after an exchange of pleasantries, no we must be on our ways, thank you ever so much for the roses. The Morrison men left with a rose each, they really did brighten up all of Dallas.
Under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks did the Morrison men stop walking.
The roses lay crossed on the ground, their wrists crossed behind their back, and the sun crossed horizon. For orange to red to night, the sun crossed the horizon. And still they stood in silence nothing they could say hadn't been said before.
"I have to go to work now, walk home safe."
"I will dad, you walk home safe too."
______________________________
Robert mowed the lawn, worked overtime, played catch, helped with homework, made love, and slowly worked his way up the dad ladder at church. He put three kids through college, retired early to spend more time with his family. It never would be enough
______________________________
Johnathon Sr. worked two jobs. Some times three if they needed the money. He spent his money smart, and he spent his time even smarter. They were called the Morrison men for a reason, they picked up the slack in the world and carried themselves and each other. Even when Jr. went to college (on a full ride none the less) the Morrison men could be seen once a year. With roses that light up Dallas walking under the willow, under the sycamore, over the brook, and huddled by the oaks. With roses crossed on the ground Johnathon would sometimes have something new to say. "I graduated from college Mom." "I met the most beautiful girl." "I have a wonderful daughter, named Rose." "Rose has a brother now, Johnathon III."
Two roses not crossed. Johnathon straitened and walked back.
"ROSE MORRISON"
13th Nov. 1966 - 2nd Mar. 2000
"JOHNATHON MORRISON SR."
#"#1 Dad"
12th Mar. 1968 - 19 Oct. 2047
| 2022-05-16T13:47:51 | 2017-06-11T09:22:30 | 70 | 23 |
[WP] a woman has been dating guy after guy, but it never seems to work out. She’s unaware that she’s actually been dating the same guy over and over; a shapeshifter who’s fallen for her, and is certain he’s going to get it right this time.
Horror story or romantic comedy?
|
Nate had sort of backed himself into a corner. Having been on as many dates with Amaya as he had, the walls were closing in on him. He had to pretend not to know all her answers to common first date questions (2 siblings, parents divorced when she was little, works in accounting), and if he ever misstepped, the game was up. It was a high-wire act that no one was aware of but him.
But that's what made it fun.
He was fine with the double life he'd have to lead if it worked, that was nothing new to him. Nate was all things to all people, and it made the minutiae of life constantly entertaining. He realized Amaya had been talking for a few minutes and he hadn't been paying attention to any of it. Now she was looking at him expectantly.
He took a shot in the dark. "I work in finance," he said. That wasn't a lie, he was actually a financial planner. She nodded amicably. Nate let out an internal sigh of relief, he'd nailed it.
"Do you come here often?" Amaya asked.
"Yeah, I love Spider House," Nate replied.
"Weird, I've never seen you here. This is, like, my favorite place in the world." Nate tried not to let a smile sneak out. He always found these kinds of situations really amusing; if he just got out with it, he could turn worlds upside down. He never did, though.
"Yeah, it's because I'm a shapeshifter," he said through a cheeky grin. Amaya laughed. Nate laughed.
|
"I don't know... I just got out of a relationship and need to figure out myself first. I think I'm just looking to be friends right now."
That same line every time. What a pallid lie it was. I kept trying to imitate what I thought she liked and every time it felt like I had gotten closer, but it never stuck. We'd always end up taking this same stupid walk near her house and she'd stop by this same shitty bench and she'd say those same words, give a small hug and disappear into the distance. Ironic, for a man who could be anyone or theoretically do anything to end up in this Groundhog Day-esque scenario over and over.... and over. A few forms ago I got to a fourth date with her and we made out a bit, but she had stopped me and we had gone on this same walk in the end anyways.
I slunk sadly back to my apartment, thinking about the disappointing night. My approach had gotten more refined- tattoos on arms, glasses, a little muscular but slim seemed to be the most consistent- and personality I hadn't gotten down yet either. Currently I was rotating through skin colors and hair texture to see if that made a difference. I don't think it did, really. I would throw something in from a few forms ago every now and then - large biceps and gym rat personality had gotten to a third date, but ended up as broken as all the previous ones. Nothing but those same words and that ridiculous sorry look on her face.
Shutting the door once I was inside, I set myself down in my office chair and grabbed my camera, snapping a selfie on the old-fashioned polaroid and began taking notes on the back. I suppose my detailed process had forced the second room in my apartment to look a little bit erratic, sure. But I had to document my progress and notes on what seemed to have an effect and what didn't, I couldn't keep track otherwise. My walls were plastered with polaroids of my different forms, copious information about her and her preferences. I don't like feeling like a creep, but I needed her, and I needed her to need me.
I went to my fridge, grabbed a beer and my newest notebook, and went back to my room to study. I was getting desperate. I kept trying to think of how to get closer, how to figure her out and get her to spill what exactly she was looking for in a romantic partner. I kept looking at my notes covering the walls, trying to figure out what I could do differently.
And suddenly I had a thought. Maybe when I was a man I was just too intimidating... she did keep herself more veiled around them. Perhaps if I could approach her- just as a friend- she would come to share more with me over time, and then I could get it right later. I changed forms again.
I knew she had that open art workshop on Thursday nights, so I spent all of Wednesday and late into the night practicing with my new voice to get every nuance down.
When I arrived at the class, I could feel my heart beating in my chest. I hoped this would finally be the time she could learn to talk more with me, and hopefully in a few more forms I would have it down and I would finally be perfect for her.
I tried to not look over, to be nonchalant for once.
She stood there at the entrance with her easel in hand, quietly sipping on her coffee, and wandered over and took the empty seat next to me.
She greeted me, I tried out my new higher voice and we talked on and off as we worked on our pieces, her asking me questions about myself with vigor. This was working, for once. I'd spend a bit more time getting to know her, then take that information and be the man she always wanted.
But then I saw a look in her eyes I hadn't seen before. She smiled coyly. "Wanna grab a drink later?"
I mean, that did explain a lot, in retrospect. For someone who prided himself on being observant, evidently I missed this one.
At the bar and several cosmos in, I was losing coherency as she told me story after story I had never heard. The tension between us was palpable... The woman I wanted and knew so much about was melting before me and flirting like never before. She finally suggested we head back somewhere more private... I said my apartment was just around the corner in my drunken stupor, and she dragged me out of there by my arm.
This was it. I felt myself trembling as we barely sloshed home to my apartment. I kept stumbling. I don't think my alcohol tolerance had caught up to me in my smaller body now.
"Waitwait", I barely slurred out once inside my door, "Leeetme tidy up my bed, njust a second."
I threw my clothes, trash and every other unkempt item in the room hastily into my closet, and went back out to get her.
But she stood further up the hall, at the doorway to my second bedroom, looking inside and frozen in fear.
| 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T10:10:24 | 930 | 30 |
[WP] Aliens have realized humans advance more quickly during times of conflict, and have tried to push humanity into wars to see what happens. However, that changes when they start WW2 and humans harness the power of the atom.
|
\--Initiating boot sequence--
\--Loading Instance: 'Earth, Year 11,945.597'---
The display flickered to life around him. Bodies lay strewn around the battlefields, scorched husks of blown-out tanks lay abandoned.
"Estimated agent loss?"
Over the battlefields, millions of tiny motes of light lifted from the bodies, coalescing into a string of digits.
\--49,875,308 dead agents--
Y'xyl frowned. Was this ethical? As the rate of progress enhanced, these beings were edging closer to the galactic standard for sentient rights. The implications of this had never been covered in the ethics review- It was never expected to be this successful. All previous study iterations had produced crude metal tools at best. Y'xyl, however, was a savant. The manipulation of conflict as a variable appeared to accelerate rates of progress within the species at.
Outside his headset a different voice reminded him of the real world before he got too lost in though.
"Hey Y'xy, how's the science project going?"
"Galstandard tech level 0.864"
"Dude, you're missing your leading zeroes. I can't get mine above a .01 either, lemme check your outpu- WHAT THE XEM, MAN? I'm sitting here worried about a failing grade, and you've outpaced the global record by 2 orders of magnitude?!?"
Y'xyl chuckled. Just wait until he sees the next step. Technology spike predictions indicate the next advancement was due any minute now. The aerial delivery mechanism was over the target.
\--Galstandard tech level 0.865--
What? Just a .001 increase? That's nothing! All indicators had pointed to a major spike.
The metal casing dropped towards the target.
.
..
...
..
.
\--Initiating boot sequence--
\--Unplanned reboot detected, re-instantiating last known instance--
\--Loading Instance: 'Earth, Year 11,945.598'--
White light flooded the display. Y'xyl's filters crystallised over his photosensors until he could see again. He zoomed in on the image until he was looking at base code. The atomic bits flickered and shattered, fragments impacting other atoms. A chain reaction.
\--Galstandard tech level 2.04--
They'd broken the atom. The fundamental atomic bits upon which Tz'lrni computation was founded. They'd broken the fundamental code of the simulation into *smaller* parts.
For a moment, Y'xyl frowned at the ethical implications, but that thought was quickly overtaken.
He was going to be rich.
|
Four aliens hailing from somewhere near the star Alnitak are floating around a conference table on their ship.
“Really, Drail? You just had to stir up the humans barely one generation after their last big war?” Captain Glorn scratched his fourth eye.
“The side of the supercontinent with the foot-thing peninsula was still over-populated,” Professor Drail said. His eyes turned a defensive-looking blue. “And the humans there drove a *lot* of technical and social development in the region."
"Weren't the humans on the foot-thingy peninsula conquered by the same people being blamed for starting this new war?" Rarn yawned. "You couldn't, you know, branch out a bit?"
"Professor Grox got us barred from interfering on the other side of that ocean," Professor Lodak explained patiently. "Textbook case on why one shouldn't sample local fungi directly. By the time he got to that tribe near the big impact crater, he was tripping pretty hard. His job was still really bleeping easy- teach them some astronomy and navigation, open up trade, create a more evenly matched balance of power vs. the other side of the ocean...basic graduate student stuff. But Noooo!! He had to make himself a *religious figure.* That sort of shit is the fastest way to lose your research funding. Good show teaching them our language, though. Too bad it didn't get far."
"In any case, you're glossing over a lot, Rarn. Human lives are short. They lose knowledge too easily," Drail pointed out. How many times did they have to re-learn basic medicine?"
"They barely have figured out antibiotics and your last little experiment set off a fucking pandemic," Rarn told Drail. "Wasn't that enough population correction?"
"If they actually bothered to educate their females, the state of their life sciences would be much farther along than it is now," Professor Lodak sighed. "On the other hand, that bias has made it dead easy to infiltrate their research efforts. Put on a dress, hide your upper eyes under a wig, and push a cleaning cart around...better than an invisibility field, I swear."
"You said the humans' latest experiments take place in a room designed for their war-games?" Rarn prodded.
"Sports," Lodak corrected. "Translation doesn't quite map directly. Yes, humans' military training, over time, became their recreational games. They still have an outsized claim on resources in their educational institutions, which is why their current experimental efforts are located on a "squash" court. It was the most convenient large space available."
Rarn shook his head, disgusted. "No wonder these people are so backwards. How much prodding did they require?"
"Some," Lodak admitted. "I disguised myself as a younger human female and garnered the attention of one of their junior researchers. Name of Feynman. He had shit focus, but I was able to plant an important idea or two to nudge things along."
"I'd think that leading them to powered flight was enough 'help' for a while," Rarn said to Drail. "And look at how they're using it *this* time around!"
"I did *not* mean for hostilities to break out along the larger ocean!" Drail protested. "Who thought those guys on those volcanic islands would get so uppity so soon?! They'd been isolated for many generations!"
"Let's see," Lodak cut in, "A tribe on a bunch of small islands with very little farmland has *another* tribe nearby who has *lots* of farmland. My hatchlings could figure out what comes next."
"Your professional detachment is not very convincing," Captain Glorn warned Lodak. "This sector isn't exactly teeming with intelligent life. We have to nudge these guys along *carefully.* That means we don't get too involved, Lodak. This is still Drail's show."
"And the current military campaign has been bringing major advances in human industry and manufacturing," Drail pointed out. The humans are learning how to mount truly *large scale* efforts."
"Large scale?" Rarn scoffed. "Our video feed is watching a bunch of scientists around a heap of junk on a *ball court."*
"This planet is light on easily fissionable materials," Drail said. "This might not actually work. But if it does... it's a major milestone. And then our research funding gets renewed for another generation."
"Five hundred credits say the little furless apes pull this off," Captain Glorn said. "Anyone willing to take the bet?"
"I'll take the other side of that," Rarn said. "These fuckers don't have the scientific chops yet. I make it another century before they actually do anything with this beyond party tricks."
"Done, then!" the captain said. "Who wants to bet on which tribe they use it against? The tribe to their east or the tribe on the other side of the largest ocean?"
"They're the *same tribe,"* Lodak explained patiently. "The people near the foot-thing peninsula went across the ocean and settled there. Same languages, same names. They wouldn't use it on their own."
"You kidding? Humans on both sides of the ocean are rushing this because they think the *other* group will use it first!" Rarn countered. "Besides, they think the volcano country people are inferior. Five hundred credits says the short humans eat it."
Lodak sighed. "I don't think they have it in them to actually use this once they see what it can do if made into a bomb..."
"No guts for a bet, Lodak?" the captain asked. "Fine. The nastiest fights are between family. Another five hundred says the guy with the funny facial hair gets vaporized, Rarn."
"Hey, pay attention!" Drail said. It looks like it's...well I'll be damned. Rarn, you just lost five hundred credits." Rarn's eyes flashed orange with irritation. "Rotten little apes. Probably won't even have the sense to clean up after themselves properly..."
​
My other stories are at r/Hazelnightengale
Minor edit on an inconsistency
| 2018-11-27T15:55:08 | 2018-11-27T14:02:04 | 144 | 51 |
[WP] You are reincarnated 10,000 years into the future. You come across an ancient artifact on display in the Museum of History, where you work. Little is known about it, not even where it was uncovered. Upon touching it, you realize it was yours.
|
*It looks silly,* I tell myself, looking at the small clay statuette. The paint has chipped and faded, and the shape is barely discernible. My task is to restore this nonsensical item, to display it where some curious mind may ponder its original purpose. And it looks ridiculous.
*Ten thousand years ago, some unknown person held this clay in their hands, and formed it into this shape. But why? What could be so fascinating, so important, that led this unknown sculptor to craft an item of this nature?* The artifact is small, less than six outdated inches long, and the chemical analyses done credit the base material to be a substance once known as “air-dry-clay”. Magnetic resonances and advanced chemistry identified the composition of the pigments that were flaking off of the edges of the strange quadrupedal creature that some unknown set of hands had clumsily molded.
Cautiously, I dip my brush into a small pot of a slightly orange brown acrylic paint. The brush glides across the bumps and ridges of fingerprints long since recycled into dust, save for their impressions preserved in the clay figurine. The statuette has only been painted in two colors, and I had already restored the brick red of the center of the statuette.
It was shaped rather crudely, in a childish simulacrum of a rounded cylindrical object wrapped partially in a soft casing. The creator of this object had also decided to include four awkwardly formed stumpy legs, arranged as if on a cat or a similar creature. Two of the legs, both on the one side, had been broken off at one point, as was evidenced both by chipping in the paint and in the cosmetic adhesive that was employed in a clumsy repair of the object.
*Whoever made this, cared enough to preserve it through everything it saw. It was broken, at least once, and repaired with the same degree of care that went into its creation. It must have been special only to whoever took the time to make it.*
Slowly, I pick up my glasses, and put them on. This is the most difficult part, now that all the paint has dried. I am able to see the faint traces of a set of markings that adorned either side of the brick red center of this miniature idol, roughly puckered with the creator’s fingernail marks. With an era-appropriate replica of a permanent marking tool, I precisely mark a small “x” on one side of the figure, and two dots for eyes and a small curve for a mouth on the other side.
*In my mind, I see a different set of hands. They are much like mine, except they bear a scar that mine does not. I sit at a different desk and wear different clothes, and am bent over the figure, white and damp, forming it with fingers a chalky white from the clay. A second passes, and I am awkwardly mixing the paint into the appropriate colors. Another moment passes and I am holding the dry figurine and with an unsteady hand drawing on its features. I see someone take it from its place of display and accidentally break off two legs, and I feel the multiple adhesives that were used to improvise a repair to the misshapen creature. The hands that are mine but not mine set it down, and now I know its name.*
“So that’s who you are,” I whisper to myself, almost in awe. “Hotdog with Legs.”
|
I quickly learned after getting my first adult job at the Royal Museum of Ages that asking about the strange artifacts from thousands of years ago was more or less pointless.
“Jay, be a good lad and go and sweep the chamber containing the objects from the twenty first century.” The blue-skinned curator I worked for guided me to what was probably the least visited and dustiest part of the castle the museum was in.
“Sir, if I may interject, why? No patron ever comes back here.” I told him, standing at the threshold of the small room where dusty knick knacks from a time long ago lay out in the open for peasants and aristocrats alike to gawk at for several seconds before immediately leaving and going off to see King Hadron’s extensive armor collection.
“I know no one comes here, but this little chamber must always be clean, regardless of whether or not anyone ever takes time to even look at the useless rubbish inside.” He replied. “Just do as you’re told, boy. If you do a good enough job, maybe I’ll raise your hourly pay by five geld.”
“Alright, sir...” I acquiesced. After he left me to my own devices, I set to work, carefully sweeping the wooden floors and dusting off the shelves that held all the strange objects that the kingdom’s adventurers’ guild had found in the wilderness during their travels. I didn’t really pay much mind to these objects most days, but for some reason, one particular artifact seemed to call to me, as if I once owned it before...
After checking to make sure I wouldn’t be caught slacking on my work, I walked over to one particular object that sat on a desk next to a candle. It was black, metal, and it appeared to be bent into a distorted shape that sort of looked like the letter L. It had a small hole on the long end, and a rectangular one on the short end. A little metal bit inside a ring was located at the point where it was bent, and another metal box filled with strange copper bits lay next to the bent thing. I inspected the thing closely, not daring to touch it for fear of being caught, but something about this artifact, whatever it was, made me want to touch it. Before I knew it, I was reaching for the thing, as if my body had a mind of its own.
As soon as my hand touched the artifact and gripped it by the short end, I knew exactly what this was, and exactly how to use this. It was as if the way this thing works was buried deep within my memory, and I was simply recalling it like I would recall how to cook eggs.
*’This is a handgun.’* I thought to myself, smiling as I loaded the magazine full of bullets into it. *’My handgun, from when I was still a Marine...’*
A bunch of memories that I didn’t even know I repressed came flooding back into me. The strange portal that opened in DC. The war against the humanoid demonic aliens that suddenly invaded Earth. The nuclear hell-storm that the US government unleashed on what remained of the country. The sudden and brutal takeover of all the continents of Earth by the aliens. The sudden suppression of any and all military resistance by freezing the bodies of every single soldier, sailor, airman, and Marine, and erasing their memories of the past...
I suddenly remembered all these things as I stared at my gun, and I realized that the world I knew wasn’t as it really seemed. The curator had always told me that human technology was very advanced before the ancestors of the Royal Empire settled on this planet. The king and his prestigious family line were responsible for destroying what my ancestors built for millennia.
“Oh my god...” I knelt on the floor, tears streaming from my face as I realized the world I once knew was gone. Was there still time to restore what humanity built before? Could I, a human, even be able to stand up against the alien race that had invaded this planet? They had practically infiltrated every part of society to the point where humans like me were having blue offspring. I knew from whispers on the streets that there was a secret society of humans who got their memories back working to bring down King Hadron and his court, and I knew that in order for me to join them, I had to show them that I would no longer serve our blue skinned masters.
“Jay, what’s taking you so long?! This room should have been done by now, but I can still see the dust! I should fire you for this, if you can’t even sweep one tiny little room-“ The curator’s tirade was cut short by me as I popped a bullet in his eye.
“God damn alien bastard...” I smirked, putting my gun away. “Can’t believe it took me this long to realize that this shit ain’t right...” I grabbed a nearby knife from the same desk where the gun was and cut out my former boss’ heart. With his purple heart in my hand and a twinkle in my eye, I quickly left the Royal Museum and made my way to the slums of the royal capital, all the way to a nondescript doorway.
“What the hell do you want, kid? You don’t look like you belong here.” A gruff voice responded to me after I banged on the door twice.
“I’m here to join y’all. I have my passport with me.” I flatly replied. The man behind the door let me in. I was greeted by four more people like me sitting around a table. It seemed like they were expecting me.
“A heart, huh? Shit, kid, what made you want to grab that instead of a finger or something?” The gruff man asked me, surprised.
“I remembered everything as soon as I picked up my gun, Sarge.” I automatically replied. “Where’s my rifle?”
“It’s where it’s always been, private. Gilmore, give your boyfriend here his gun back.”
“Here you go, sweetie. I’ve kept this thing all clean and ready, just for you.” One of the girls who was sitting walked up to me, kissed me on the cheek, and handed me my M16.
“Thanks, Monica. I can’t believe I let those blue bastards take my memories from me and keep ‘em away from me for this long....” I kissed her back.
“Looks like the whole squad’s back together again.” My sergeant sat down next to me, looking at all the people around me with a grin on his face. “Brady, Jay, Monica, Maria, and Mason; are you five ready to start taking back what humanity lost with me?”
“Yes, sir!!” All five of us replied in unison.
“That’s what I like to hear. Now, let’s kick some alien ass!!” All six of us got up, walked out into the street, and began gunning down everything that had blue skin. We were gonna take back our world, no matter how messy it would be.
| 2019-09-23T20:41:52 | 2019-09-23T18:26:04 | 37 | 12 |
[WP] After superpowers start appearing around the world, businesses realize the use of these abilities. People with x ray vision are practically forced into being doctors and people with heat vision work as cooks. You are starting to get tired of your superpower-based job.
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After the awakening the world was in total turmoil for years. People ran amuck with these new found abilities. Social order had collapsed and civilization had almost gone with it.
But then the corporations came in. They had gained control in this Wild West of a world after the governments had been destroyed. The corps paid well, and they had no one stopping them now, and if they did they had arsenal enough to stop them.
They exploited everyone, no one had a job they wanted. They had the job they could perform. It wasn’t perfect, and by no means was everyone happy, but it had restored order. And middle class and high class society was restored.
The only set backs had been the corporation wars. They were constantly at each other’s throats. Each using the masses as their personal armies.
I had been captured years ago by the power company. I was unfortunately granted the rare and unique ability to produce pure energy, a lot of it. Most people would be excited, having the power of basically a star.
Well I wasn’t excited, I had spent the last five years isolated in tiny cell that sapped new for all my energy worth. For all I knew I was powering the whole world. Sure they kept me alive and fed but I was a prisoner.
The only exited times I ever have are when rival corporations try to assassinate me to get into the power game. I was a one man monopoly for anyone who could get me. Cheapest power available all at the price of one man. It’s so lonely here.
|
Nora woke up just like she did every other day. This time, however, was very different. Now, instead of wishing to be invisible, she actually was. And she wished more than anything to be fully opaque again.
She reported to headquarters, the same as the day before and the one before that. The days started to merge together. Her assignment was to go undercover, of course.
“Ugh. What else would be it?” she muttered under her breath.
“What’s that? Officer Tanner? Do you have something to say to me?”
“No sir, nothing at all,” and she turned translucent. When the powers first began she had control over them. It was exciting.
She thought back to the time where she caught her husband cheating on her. The idiot didn’t even have the brains or decency to not do it in the house. But she hated him and got some thrill from catching him in the act. She didn’t want to be the 26 year old divorcee and single mom without good reason. And boy did he give her one hell of a way out of that train wreck of a marriage.
She flashed into the memory of her daughter laughing as she turned visible and came to form once again. She was the best peek-a-boo partner ever. Her daughter loved every second. But now she’s 3 and wonders where her mom goes while she turns invisible in her bed. She cries while she looks for her and doesn’t understand what’s going on.
This power became an uncontrollable part of her. And it was increasingly more dangerous - not just for Nora but for everyone. People who were hired as messengers were falling out of the sky. Cooks were burning their customers to death. Super powers weren’t so super after all.
“Tanner. Tanner. TANNER,” her commanding officer screamed.
“Sorry, sir, I’m here. Where’s the job?” She shook out of her thoughts and came to form once again.
“Corner of 87th and Willow. And hold yourself together. We can’t have you turning back at the wrong moment. That would ruin everything.”
“Yes sir, I’ll be good.” He didn’t seem entirely convinced and neither was she.
After going through the details she knew what she had to do. She had to catch the mayor in action. The station had gotten a hit that he would be showing up to the biggest cocaine runner in the city to talk about their distribution route. No one was able to tie the mayor to it but it became increasingly obvious as time went on. The clues were there. Nora’s job was simple: put a video camera in 5 places, all while being invisible. She had to put 3 on the outside of the building, pointing towards the front, back, and side entrances. The other two were the hard part: get two in the room where everyone expected the deal to go down without being noticed.
It wasn’t the hardest task, she had done others before that were much more mentally draining. And this time, she probably wouldn’t see anyone get shot. She had seen too many horrendous acts on this job and didn’t have faith in humanity anymore. Being invisible wasn’t nearly what she thought it would be. It was hard. It was sad. And she saw the worst in people because she was there when no one was watching. The human wallflower was a title she no longer wanted. She wanted to go back to life before everything changed so drastically. But this was her reality, and it paid the bills for her and her daughter so each day she sucked it up and did it anyway.
She got to 87th and Willow in no time at all, and was able to place the 3 cameras according to plan. Now the hard part: getting inside without being noticed. She was invisible by sight but she still had form when she turned. One bump into a table or person and she was screwed. It had to be done swiftly. She had trained for 2 years to become nimble - she went to the academy that whipped her into shape while they watched her daughter during the day and paid for their shelter and food. But the job was stressful. No matter how many courses in meditation they offered, she always got nervous on the job. She had too much to lose. Her daughter needed a parent that wasn’t her shitty father.
Nora was able to catch the door before it closed and wiggle her way into the warehouse where the deal was expected to happen. There was a lot of space for her to roam which was always welcomed. She made her way into the room that she memorized before the job. She saw a shelf and deemed it worthy enough to climb on top of it. As she started to prepare she felt a tap on her shoulder.
“Fuck. Fuck. Fuck,” She thought.
Nora turned around and saw a man with glasses on staring back at her. She realized they were specialized made solely to see invisibles. She had come across a few during her job but they were really rare.
“I have a proposition for you,” the man whispered.
| 2020-02-05T14:59:35 | 2020-02-05T14:48:26 | 1,239 | 217 |
[WP] 37. That is how many times you have died of unnatural causes. Every time you do, you get reset to the age of 5, retaining all of your past memories. You think that this is finally the time you get to move on with life.
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She came into my bedroom to wake me up. I pretended to be asleep but the phantom pain of the car crash still coursed through my body. None of the previous attempts had never gotten that far. I thought that it was finally time to move on except I couldn’t do it.
Mom sat down on the edge of the bed and brushed hair out of my eyes. I opened them slowly to see her, my mother, youthful and glowing. The return shock was fading as I sat up and acted groggy. I leaned in for a hug and without realizing it, I started crying. Mom hugged me and whispered comfort into my ear. I was blessed. So blessed.
- 24 hours earlier, 49 years in the future -
The last mourner had paid their respects and I sat there next to the coffin with Jacob, my older brother, and our wives. In each of the previous runs I never saw her die. I had convinced her to quit smoking on run 7 which led to her avoiding the COPD. On run 16 I got old enough for her to get into a real bad relationship. It almost killed her. Run 17, that scumbag never made it to the front door. I made sure of that. It was smooth sailing until run 31 where we learned about her heart problems. The next few runs I got offed before anything could be done about it. This time, I was too late. It was the first time I saw her laying there in the coffin. It was just too much. The doctor said it was simple heart failure and that nothing could be done. I don’t buy it. I can fix this. I can change it! I have to!
Jacob’s hand on my shoulder tore me from my thoughts. “Ryan, we’re going to head to the house. We’ll see you there. Take your time.” I nodded and hugged my wife as she joined the others. I watched as they lowered the coffin and started covering it. I had decided before they had finished. I needed more time. I wasn’t ready to say goodbye. Not yet. I knew what to do.
On the way back to my parents home there is a turn pike. It’s steep, high up, and very dangerous when wet. It was the perfect place and the rain was coming thick. I couldn’t have asked for a better opportunity. As I came up to the turn my foot hit the accelerator, smashed the guard wall, and my car started falling. Just before I hit the ground my final thought was, “I’m coming home mom.” Then black.
- “present” -
After wiping my tears, mom asked me what was wrong. I gave a childish reply about a scary dream. She hugged me again and told me to get up and brush my teeth. I did and smiled in the mirror. Not many people got to get extra time like me. As long as this power works, I have all the time in the world. I’m going to use it to the full.
After breakfast, I went back to my room to reacquaint myself with childhood yet again when I saw a book on my desk. It was old and crusty. Never saw it before. I opened and started reading. It detailed all my past runs. My heart raced. Where this come from?! Who put I here? What does this mean?
On the last page of the book it was written, “Attempt 38. 2 more left. Use them wisely.”
|
We like to think of consequence as an exact science, one where we can predict the future with near certainty. Where, if I push the ball, I know it’ll roll off the table. And we’re right! To an extent.
Have you ever heard of chaos theory? Or the butterfly effect, where if one butterfly flaps its wings in a certain way, a tornado will form on the other side of the world? About how, if the air molecules are even slightly off-kilter at one moment in time, they’ll bounce and bounce, spreading their dissimilarity to the others, until virtually all the particles have deviated off their original course? You’ve probably heard of it somewhere. Through some chain of events, of consequence, that lead you to watch a movie on the subject or read a page on the internet or hear it from a friend. Maybe in a different form from this, a different explanation from mine, but you’ve almost certainly heard of it somewhere.
Going back to earlier, when I push the ball, I know it’ll roll off the table. And once it does, it’ll spring up exactly three times before settling on the level floor. But the factors that go into this—how I push it, the direction, the muscles I use, the gravitational attraction I give out, and so much more—will all change the future, altering the air and the particles within. Then, two weeks later, the weather’ll be different all around the world. And then, maybe ten years or so later, everything’ll be different.
For most people, this doesn’t change their thinking, making them prefer one circumstance over another. Because they don’t know what truly awaits them down the line. They don’t know of the unknown futures each seemingly inconsequential action belies.
And then there’s me.
I’ve lived 38 times now, died 37. I know of so many futures and their potential circumstances. Every time I die, I go back in time. Back to my five-year-old self, back to when I still had both my parents and, seconds before, the world still shone brightly in my eyes.
It’s like a second death—both of my actually deceased self and of my innocent naiveté.
A curse. That’s what this is. You hear from a lot of people about how they want to go back in time, to correct their pasts and remedy their mistakes, but they don’t have the same familiarity with chaos theory as I do.
I still remember my first life. Married with two children.
Avery was our firstborn. She loved to frolic in our backyard, climbing our oak tree with the seeming skill and aptitude of a spider monkey. It was as if nature thrived in her veins. We frequented the nearby parks and zoos throughout her youth, and, when she grew old enough, we began to bring her camping at Flat Tops Wilderness. S’mores by the crackling fire mixed with hikes by the flowers and lakes of Colorado. A crisp, fresh breeze always flourished in the air.
Gale was our second. He spent hours at the piano, playing and practicing all sorts of pieces, filling our home with music that seemed to liven up the world. He wasn’t the most skilled, but he practiced and practiced throughout the days. I still remember the first time he performed at a school recital. The applause thundered the auditorium.
They were both off in college when our house burned down. Did you know that it’s hard to see stairs when there’s smoke fogging the air?
I couldn’t move. Couldn’t wriggle, couldn’t shout. The inferno flickered in my vision and the smoke blinded my eyes, but all I could do was wait for the end.
But then the smoke cleared and the heat seemed to melt away. I opened my eyes to find a different room, a different place. My childhood bedroom, shrouded in shadows save near the night light beside the door. Rain licked the casement windows, punctuated only by the occasional shake of thunder and blinding of lightning.
I thought my previous life to be a dream at first—a fantastical production of my brain, serving to distract from the night terrors that usually plagued. But the memories spanned decades of life. Too long for a simple illusion, so I settled on it being a prediction.
And it seemed to be accurate, at least for a while. The storm lingered throughout the rest of the night, only dissipating when the sun broke free from its wispy grip the following day, bringing brilliance to the previously dark world. Just as I remembered.
But the differences made themselves apparent a few weeks after. Our television blared news about a hurricane coming to California, the largest seen in a while. We hid away at our grandparents’, who lived away from the storm. But when we returned, we found our house destroyed.
Only during my second life did I realize what was happening. That for me, whenever I die, the hands of fate turn counter-clockwise until that moment in the bedroom at five years of age, with a storm thundering right outside.
It was also when I realized how painful it is.
My memories speak of times that never existed, that never will exist. Of events and circumstances out of my control. Of the products of micrometers of variation, unreplicable without perfection.
I still remember my first two children, even after these centuries of life. Avery and her penchant for nature. Gale and his relentlessness for music. But when I think about them, the thorns in my heart sink deeper, as I realize that, for all intents and purposes, they never got their chance in life. They’ve never made their mark on the world, and their dreams and passions exist as nothing more than a memory in my mind.
37 times. 37 past lives. 37 deaths. Each one is almost completely different from the others, the only similarity myself, but even then, I’m inconsistent. Afflicted by these thoughts, these realizations.
I think that each time, when I return to my childhood bedroom, it’s because of how I still wanted to keep going. To try again.
But as I lie here now, at 84 years old, feeling my life trickle away from my fingertips, I don’t feel like doing so—no reason to have a do-over, to prolong my fate by going back for another chance.
When I started this life, I knew that’s what I wanted to do. For the first time in a while, I fell in love. Started a family. Watched my children grow up with dreams and passions twinkling in their eyes.
I know I can go back. I can experience life again. But, this time, as I lie here in the hospital, dying, I’d rather leave knowing that they still exist.
That they still exist in a world where they can live lives of their own.
---
Thank you so much for reading! Feedback is both welcome and appreciated.
r/TenFortySevenStories
| 2021-05-30T10:49:30 | 2021-05-30T10:15:44 | 133 | 71 |
[WP] The Princess glared at the knight and dragon. "If I'm going to be kidnapped like this regularly, I want a cut of the profit," she said.
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The dragon laughed ominously, "A cut of the profits? And what pray tell do you think I'm earning here?"
The princess stared angrily. " I don't know what you get out of this, but it must be worth something if you're willing to do this time after time" she yelled, frustrated to no end at the constant kidnappings.
The dragon shook his head. "I'm sorry but the only thing I get out of this deal is not being constantly harassed by your subjects thinking they can come in here willy nilly and steal my wealth".
The princess looked confused, "What do you mean?"
"This was simply the plan your father begged me to accept instead of razing your town to the ground for it's constant attempts to take what is mine." The dragon explained, "No offense, but this does work, your subjects live in fear of what might happen to you and are reminded of how powerful I am, and thus don't cross me."
The princess stared, dumbfounded, "You mean my father is ok with this?"
The dragon eyed her, "How do you think you keep ending up here?"
The princess looked unsure "I don't know, I would always just wake up here, so I assumed you snuck in and used sleeping magic of some sort".
"Princess I am a proud dragon, I do NOT slink about like some thief in the night, if I had wanted to take you, I would have fly down there and demanded it!" The dragon pronounced proudly, stomping it's foot for emphasis.
The princess pondered his statement for a moment. "I suppose that does make a fair bit of sense" She then turned to the knight who was desperately trying to avoid eye contact. "What do you have to say about this BRAVE knight" she muttered sarcastically.
The knight looked about shiftily before turning to face her. "I'm not a real knight...." He finally remarked.
"You're not even a real knight?" "Why am I not surprised..." The princess looked down dejected "Well then, what exactly are you getting out of this, are you trying to woo me or something?" "Is my father promising you my hand in marriage or what?"
"I uh, I got caught stealing" the man explained
"And" the princess asked snappily
"And in exchange for risking my life coming up here and "rescuing" you I avoided prison."
"So you don't love me at all?"
"I wouldn't say that", the man said "You seem like a nice person, but we never interact outside of these situations, so I don't really know anything about you."
The princess thought for a moment. "I still wonder why he didn't send an actual knight"
The dragon cleared his throat "if I had to venture a guess, he probably didn't want to risk actual knights on this, they tend to be a proud bunch, and I AM dragon after all."
The man nodded "Yeah, that's pretty much it, plus the fact that I'm expendable."
The princess walked in circles, her anger building.
"Well I've had enough of this!" The princess declared, "What would you say to a new deal?" The princess eyed the dragon warily wondering how he would respond.
"I'm listening" The dragon stared at the princess wondering what she was scheming.
"And you?" She asked the thief.
"Can't be any worse that what I've got going on now...."
"Alright then!" The princess shouted excitedly, seeing a light at the end of the tunnel. "Here's what we'll do"
And thus began the legend of the Princess of Dark, a poor girl corrupted by an evil dragon who ruled the kingdom with an iron fist, protected by her Dark Knight, a lower noble so steadfast in his love and devotion to the princess that he became evil to stay by her side.
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The knight had traveled for several day, through dangerous forests and up a treacherous mountain pass to make it to the dragon’s castle. It was an old, abandoned castle that this dragon had taken residence up in. The knight slipped around the side and in through a large gap in the wall. Several other knights had managed to slip into the castle and save the princess and it seemed nothing had changed. The knight just had to sneak through the courtyard, go through the servant door in the back, and grab the princess from the room on the second floor. Instead, he came face to face with the dragon and princess in the courtyard. He reached for his sword and prepared his shield as the three stared each other down. Then the princess spoke before the knight could pull out his sword.
"If I'm going to be kidnapped like this regularly, I want a cut of the profit." The princess stated.
“Profit? You think there is any profit being made here?” The knight asks, confused and bewildered at the turn of events.
“Yes, I want a chunk of the reward.” The princess coolly replied.
“What reward? I’m a salaried knight!”
“You must get some reward for saving the princess.”
“I might get a small bonus or a promotion. Maybe even given a noble title. They only reward mercenaries or adventures with gold so that they don’t turn around and sell you to some other country.”
The princess looks at the knight for a little while before she starts pacing. “So the king has offered you no reward for saving me?”
“It’s just part of the job.”
“Why don’t you sell me to another country?”
“I would have to leave the country and then find a new job. No one hires a disloyal knight.” The knight pauses, “And I’ve got a family. I can’t just pull them from their life and put them on the run. My boy wants to be a mage and they say he’s got the talent to be one. He talks about what he’s studying and it’s all gibberish to me, but it’s what he likes.”
The princess stops pacing and looks at the knight. She lets out a big sigh and then says “I understand. I was just hoping to get a small piece of the reward.”
“Uhhh, Princess. The King would give the reward. It’s already your money.” The knight asks, a bit confused.
“The King doesn’t give me access to the treasury. He doesn’t want me to have that much power.”
The knight looks dumbstruck, before asking “Are you thinking of overthrowing the King?”
“No. My father is a good King, but not great. I want him to step down and give me the throne.” The princess says, then adds “I though that is why the Dragon was kidnapping me, to interrupt my work. I was supposed to negotiate our trade with Kothus tomorrow.”
“I haven’t heard anything about a new trade deal with Kothus.” The knight says.
“It’s an informal meeting. I’m trying to keep it secret until we had a starting agreement at least.” The princess says, but the Knight still looks unconvinced. “Kothus wants to reduce the tariffs of selling to us, but our roads to their kingdom are in disarray. I was going to have them pay the upfront cost to repair the roads. We were just trying to agree on prices and a couple agreements for excusive trade of some goods. I was going to use the reward to fix the west gate road in the capital.”
“The west gate road is finally going to be fixed? I felt like I spent half my time pushing carts when I was stationed over there.”
The princess says with a slightly smug smile, “Yes, it was even affecting the amount of trade we were getting through the west gate.”
“Ummm, I don’t mean to interrupt your conversation, but what is going on here?” The dragon asks, surprisingly politely. Both the princess and knight turn to look at the dragon, having completely forgotten he is even there.
“Well, um, I was hoping to take the princess back to our castle” The knight says.
“Oh, well that is fine. I have spoken enough with her.” The dragon replies.
Both the knight and princess stand their shocked, not expecting to be simply allowed to leave. “Not going to fight us? Scorch us with your fiery breath like you did with the other knights?” The knight finally asks.
“No, I haven’t fought any knights in the last few years. Maybe they died getting here, it is a perilous path to get here. I was just looking for someone to talk with, so I grabbed the princess. We talked enough the last couple days, so I’m fine with her returning.” The dragon replied, nonchalantly.
“So, I was only hear as a conversation partner to you?” The princess asks, irritated, but keeping a polite tone. She was not used to being used for other people’s whims, but this was a dragon they were dealing with.
“Yes, it gets quite boring being here, so we dragons sometimes grab a human to talk with. Princess usually now about what is going on in the world and are good at communicating, so we grab them.” The dragon pauses, adding on “Plus you humans always send someone to pick them up. I once grabbed a boy from the countryside and had to raise him myself as no one came to get him.”
“Wait, the legendary dragon hero was just an abandoned boy who you grabbed to talk?” The knight says.
“I do not of legends, but I did raise a boy. He would visit from time to time and tell me what he had been up to.”
“He was the greatest warrior to have ever lived. Undefeated in any duel. He could” the knight begins, but the princess cuts him off.
“Dragon, how would you like to visit our city? It would be easier and more comfortable then kidnapping someone whenever you wanted to talk.” The princess says.
The knight looks at the princess “Are you inviting a Dragon into our city?”
“I’m inviting all the dragons into our city. They have knowledge, wealth, and power that we can only begin to imagine. I would be more than willing to host them as guests for this.” The princess replies. The knight is still surprised, but he cannot deny the potential of being on close terms with the dragons.
The dragon smiles, or at least as close to a smile a mouth full of teeth like razor sharp daggers can be. “I would like that. I don’t think I’ve gone in a city in decades.”
“Well then please drop by in 2 weeks. It will take us some time to get back and prepare a place for you to stay.” The princes said.
“I will see you then.” The dragon replies. The princess performs a curtsy, before turning and leaving with the knight in close behind. The dragon turns and lumbers towards his treasure trove, wondering if he still has the transformation necklace he found so many years ago.
This is the true beginning of the city known as the Dragon City. It would raise many legends and be a center for trade, learning, adventure, and peace talks. It would be a single city more powerful than most countries. However, for the masses, the founding story for the Dragon City will be romanticized, but the start all began with some unlucky timing for a knight and an opportunistic princess taking her a chance with a bored dragon.
| 2021-08-22T13:36:54 | 2021-08-22T11:21:56 | 43 | 25 |
[WP] When they turn 14, every human gets an obscure super power with a lengthy description of it so they know what it is. But when yours arrives, it only says four words. “Don’t…
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"Don't sign the form".
This did not surprise me. Since I've been 7 years old I've been receiving these messages.
"Don't chase Jimmy" was the first. It was my birthday party, and I had received a bright red, toy car. I instantly fell in love with it's shiny coat and slick design. On the card read the usual message of my parents, wishing me happy birthday, and how much they loved me. But underneath, in red marker was, "Don't chase Jimmy". I was confused, but decided the toy car was more interesting than the strange message. Then my cousin Jimmy grabbed the car with glee in his eyes, spit on my shirt and ran. I almost ran after him, then jerked back, remembering the message. At the time I didn't know why I remembered it or even decided to heed its warning. At the time, I didn't realize how much I would learn to trust this voice, that the voice knew I would have no choice but to listen. I watched as Jimmy ran across the street in the middle of the road and be struck by a large truck, the toy car's pieces scattered, no more.
The messages followed, mysteriously. I never could catch who wrote them, but I soon learned this person, or being, knew my life intimately. They knew who my crushes were, my fears, desires, and even my thoughts. More importantly, it knew my future. "Don't pursue Rebecca". My crush at the time, but I listened. A week later I learned she had secretly been a lesbian. Some messages were commands. "Talk to Mr. Latham". He was my 7th grade biology teacher and after speaking with him, I found I developed a new found love for science. Perhaps it was his encouragement, or maybe even my enthusiasm born from reaching out, but I had become an A student in he class. In fact, I was the best student. I wasn't sure what the implications of this would be for the future, but I had learned many of the warnings and commands had far reaching consequences.
The future. It seemed almost predetermined for me. I felt lucky, incredibly charmed, that I had a secret informant. I've often tried to find ways to communicate with my benefactor. I would go out in the predawn hours, visit crossroads and graveyards, whispering, "are you there? Who are you?" I would plan for potential messages, spying on birthday cards, graded tests, letters. But the mysterious informant was always ten steps ahead of me. I never spoke of this to anyone, because I was afraid it might stop. I was afraid I would never have this help again.
So when I became 14, I was expectantly very excited. This was the time when one was given their powers by the Donarius Imperium. A vast, super-computer being created in the 70's. It had solved all of humanity's problems, such as disease, food waste, and war. Now, we have healthy conflict, nutritional exposure, and human cropping. All this has been possible due to the D.I.'s gifts - powers granted to humans when they turn 14. We are then drafted into our new roles and trained. I'm not sure why I never suspected the D.I. for sending me the messages. It probably had to do with the messages always being hand-written.
But after I had been given the edible tablet that would transform me, after I had been given the report, did I finally realize who had been writing me. I don't know why it took this long to realize, but it had been obvious from the start. The writing was unmistakable, but too strange to even comprehend. The writing was my own.
​
"Don't sign the form". Within the packet was the form asking if I would like to join the Peace Division. I had always wanted to be a part of the healthy conflict sector, to do away from those who would threaten our peaceful society. But the voice had spoken, I had spoken. And they have never once, in 7 years, been wrong. I took the form and then placed it into the shredder, waiting for the consequences to follow, as they always do, like dominoes.
|
[1/2]
My dad handled my **Instructions** in the same way he had always handled everything in his life. With absolutely zero nuance, and without asking a single follow-up question.
It wasn’t his fault. Dad had told me many times that the only way things didn’t go absolutely downhill for him in life was when he followed the rules without any questions or overthinking. Which was probably a good thing in his case, otherwise he would’ve ended all life on earth with his powers of molten nuclear destruction.
But my dad carried the manual with his **Instructions** always in his pocket. It’s as thick as a phonebook, and he’s been thumbing through that thing for as long as I could remember. The pages had long since become worn and wrinkled from constant use. He knows all of it by heart - every letter, every line, every stipulation, safety measure and footnote. I’m pretty sure he even has the table of contents memorized.
Which is why it was a little bit insulting, when he decided that the best way for me to memorize my own **Instructions** - a four word sentence, keep in mind - is for him to make me a bracelet with the phrase to wear on my wrist for as long as I live.
“Just humor him, darling.” my other dad said to me, granting me a rare bowl of afternoon ice-cream along with a fond smile. The ceramic felt extra frosty from his icy touch, “You know how he worries.”
I did know. I did understand. I understood even better with the Owl sitting next to me. It was a manifestation of wisdom, I later found out, which I’d created without even trying. I was more insightful while it existed, and it helped me understand the world with the acumen unbefitting a confused fourteen year old with knobby knees and awkward elbows.
I’m not sure why the Owl was the first thing I made. I was just angry and confused - already upset by the lack of instructions regarding my powers, and now also insulted by my brilliant father’s lack of trust - and the Owl showed up, as though to help me understand.
That’s why, even though I hated it with all my heart, I accepted the bracelet when dad emerged from his workshop. I put it on my wrist without complaining and stared miserably at the four words I was supposed to live by:
Don’t heed the Cat.
I looked at the Owl next to me - owls were kind of like bird-cats. But it just blinked back at me with huge, round eyes.
And so began my life with my Animal Guides.
The Cat didn’t show up for a long time. I waited for it every day, knowing that it would probably pop up the same way all the others did - when the situation demanded it, or I was in desperate need of its abilities.
That’s how it went with the others, at least. I didn’t have clear instructions on what to do, like most people, so everything played out through instinct and gut-feelings.
I won my first school race with the Cheetah running by my side. I aced every test with the Owl on my shoulder. I stood up to my childhood bully with the Lion looming at my back. When I was with my friends, the goofy little Monkey would clamber things near me, making me feel giddy and making it easier for everyone to like me. And when I was feeling sad, the Dog would plant its scruffy head in my lap and look at me with big, soulful eyes, offering unconditional love and understanding. The Dog made me emotionally robust and helped me handle loneliness.
Nobody could see my animals, so it was a little bit like cheating my way through life. My dads tried to discourage me from using them too much, but eventually they gave up. It’s not like I had much control over when they’d show up, and other kids my age liberally used their power wherever they could.
It all went along somehow, and became a normal part of my life, but I always kept wondering about the Cat.
What was it for? When could I need it? What could it give me, and why was it forbidden?
I got the answer on the day of my 21st birthday.
It probably wasn’t an accident that my regular assessment was on that day. I showed up at my counselor’s office bright and early and planted myself into the plastic chair by her desk. The Lion sprawled on the floor next to me, shrinking the space of the tiny office even more.
“Good morning, Liam.” Mrs. Peterson was deeply focused on my file, like always, “Which one is joining us for this meeting?”
“The Lion.” I replied. It had never occurred to me to even try to hide it, even though I hated the way she narrowed her eyes at me.
“Oh? Are you nervous?” Mrs. Peterson was smug, like she cracked some kind of complicated code.
“No.” it came out defensive. I didn’t want it to. But it was like that thing where you see a police car and try not to act suspicious, even though you’ve done nothing wrong.
“Then why the Lion?”
“I don’t know, why so nosy?” is what went through my head, but what I blurted out was sadly the truth, “I’m actually going to ask someone out today. I’ve liked them for a long time, so I guess I needed the courage.”
“Oh.” Mrs. Peterson’s entire face shriveled in disgust at something as plain as normal human interactions. She sniffed and click-clacked something down at her laptop, “Has everything been normal since our last meeting?”
“Yes.”
“No sign of the Cat?”
“No, no Cat.”
Clickity-clacking continued, less enthusiastic, for a minute. She finished and finally looked up at me and her face did a thing.
Holy shit, what is that?
“Now, Liam,” Mrs. Peterson said, as I came to a reeling realization that she was smiling. It was the most horrible leathery smile I’ve ever seen, “you’re at that age when you should start considering your future.”
“Yeah.” I said, staring at her teeth, “I mean- yes. I don’t know if college is for me, but-”
“We here at Jötunn Corp. feel that you would be an excellent addition to our executive offices.” Mrs. Peterson’s teeth said, “You’ve got very unique, adaptable abilities that could be really polished into a shining diamond in our care.”
“They…could?”
“Of course! We know you’ve been using your Enhancers as crutches to get by in everyday life - and there’s nothing wrong with that.” she said, a bit too quickly not to be rehearsed, “But imagine if you trained? Imagine if you unlocked things you couldn’t even dream of? What if you could have a Bear give you incredible strength? Imagine if you had a Hawk that could make you fly!”
“I don’t know about flying, I’m not good with heights.”
“That’s beside the point, Liam.” her tone turned razor-sharp within an instant. She stabbed a blue flier in my direction. The surface was a deep indigo, with an emblem in the corner depicting three white birds taking flight, “Don’t let your gift waste away. You could do great things with us.”
“You should totally knock that ugly mug off her desk.” said something small and black, perched on the arm of my chair.
I looked down at the ugliest yellow mug I’d ever seen in my life. My hand moved without my input and I swung hard, slapping the atrocity off the desk and onto the tiled floor.
| 2022-05-08T10:12:49 | 2022-05-08T09:30:39 | 646 | 217 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"Alright, Mr. Johnson," the warden had begun six months ago, easing back in his leather chair. "What is your last request?"
I had spent years in prison as court proceedings dragged on, the final result being my guilty verdict and subsequent sentencing to death. I had spent years researching my way free, only to realize I had none.
The court was built to keep people like me imprisoned for life. This is the American Reign of Terror, but instead of aristocrats sent to the guillotine it's the folks who don't have the means to conform to society who find themselves tied down in the chair, or facing a row of well-to-do men aiming rifles at their head. These riflemen are protected from guilt for their murder via the Schrodinger's bullet- is it real, or is it a blank? Who knows. . . and who cares?
So I figured out how to get back at them. How to end their perfect streak of executions against the burdened and struggling of our society. I knew what my last request would be.
"Mr. Johnson?" the warden repeated.
My glazed-over eyes refocused on the man in front of me. I cleared my throat. "Apologies, Mr. Hobbes. I would like my last meal to be the man that I murdered."
The warden's eyes narrowed, and he leaned forward. "Pardon me, Mr. Johnson but I think I misheard. You would like your last meal to be the man you murdered? The one whose murder landed you here, in my prison, facing the death penalty?"
I nodded. "That's right, Mr. Hobbes. I know y'all have quite a streak going, what with the dragons and aliens you've found to satisfy your prisoners' requests, so I figure this should be pretty simple for you."
"Indeed it should," the warden answered slowly, although a frown creased his face. I knew what was going through his mind- I had willingly confessed to my murder. I pled guilty, I signed the papers, I made peace with the fact that I would spend years in prison only to have my life abruptly ended at the green age of 38. The one thing they didn't have, was the body.
My victim was never found, and it remained a sore spot for their family and the police who had worked on the case. I knew that was the case, and I frankly didn't care. The man I killed had grievously wronged my family, and absolutely deserved what happened. He deserved to never be found, never be buried, never be sent off.
"If you've done so much research," the warden continued, "then you know we have six months to meet your request before we terminate your imprisonment and release you. But don't you worry, Mr. Johnson, it never takes us that long."
"Oh, I have faith in your abilities," I replied with a smile.
And now, six months later, I found myself sitting on my thin prison cell cot, stomach growling and awaiting my freedom. Their smug belief that they'd find my victim in time was almost comical for the first few weeks, and then whispers began among the prison guards. Even the other prisoners started to talk, and my freedom, the first to be awarded in decades, was about to be cause for celebration among my peers.
Finally a guard unlocked my cell and led me to the warden's office once again, where I sat across from Mr. Hobbes in his plump leather chair. This time he was stroking his chin thoughtfully, as he knew I had won. He gave a chuckle as I sat down and met his gaze.
"Well, Mr. Johnson, you've done it. You've outwitted our best acquisitors, and as promised we are prepared to offer you your freedom." He grabbed a sheet of paper from the counter behind him and placed it on his desk. Sliding it toward me, he said, "Go ahead and sign at the bottom, and I'll do the same. Then you'll be free."
I did as he said, and slid it back to him. He lowered his pen to the line, then paused and leaned toward me like two friends sharing a secret. With a smile, he asked, "How did you do it, Mr. Johnson? I won't break our promise to you, I just want to know. How are you not eating that poor man for lunch today?"
I smiled and leaned in until our faces were but a foot apart. "If you insist, Mr. Hobbes, I'll tell you why I'm not eating him today- because I already ate him for breakfast, lunch, and dinner, the day that he died. That is, my dear warden, how I am a free man."
​
Read more of my work at r/benspaperclip!
|
It's a normal tradition, that prisoners can ask for anything. Anything at all, for their last meal. Apple pie that you get to make yourself, with chocolate-milk in a carton, like your mom used to make back when you were an innocent kid. A plain cheeseburger. Delicious ribs. A few people are aware that you can ask for anything. No matter what. A rock. The skull of a bishop. The scripture of Gautama Buddha written on a perfect oak leaf. Whatever you like, you can ask for. No matter how ridiculous, rare, and impossible to find. And technically, if they can't find it, can't provide you with your last and final meal, then you can't be executed. You're set free, though usually not in a manner that allows you to get back to normality. They have to obey the word of that ancient ritual's laws, not the spirit. If you're a particularly vile person, you might get set free on a rowboat in the middle of the Indian ocean, or on a deserted island. This isn't exactly a thing that's particularly nice of the people in charge to do, but they don't want the people on Death Row to go properly free.
Not that it actually mattered. Nobody has ever been disappointed by the people in charge of the last meal. Well, in terms of them not finding the meal in question. Some might have been disappointed by having to get executed, even after they came up with a particularly difficult and absurd thing to ask for. Jabberwocky jerky. Cthulhu-calamari. The actual flesh and blood of Jesus. Fruits from alien worlds. The concept of forgiveness made into a delicious yogurt. The idea of the sport of football condensed into a sportsdrink. KFC-style fried angel wings. A rainbow-icecream with colours that cannot exist in our universe, such as octarine or irrigo. Wine from the sloping hills of Perdition in Hell, where Lucifer has his vineyards. It's always been found, and cooked to perfection. Any man who goes to his death does so with a belly full of his last request, and can thus not cast a curse against his jailors and their masters. Nobody wants death-curses from those who are rightfully executed. And they definitely don't want them from those who were executed wrongfully, for those are a hundredfold more powerful than the curses of the guilty. Of course, as all men who have passed towards the guillotine or the noose, the chair or the firing squad, have been fed to their last request, they can not curse their executioners.
But today, it is a different day. In the cell awaiting his final meal sits a man. He is thin and tall. The olive skin on his hands is bruised and bloody. He did not move to this room without a fight. He has a black ring around his eye from a punch one the guards gave him. He does not look repentant for his crimes. He does not look like he has accepted his fate. He does not carry the face of the innocent man that has given into despair, or the guilty man who looks forward to the forgiveness of his saviour. His fingers are drumming on the table. The plate in front of him is empty and bare. From the distant kitchens comes weeping and screaming. For the first time since they started doing this back in the Roman empire, for the first time in two millennium, they cannot bring the man-to-be-executed his final meal. There is no way that they can get what he asked for. There is no method in any of their ancient gastronomic sorcery and strange dimensional abilities that can bring him what he demands. The guards beg him to ask for something different. They weep as the tall man, his eyes burning with the rage of righteousness, restates his demand. Or that they let him go. The sorcerer-chefs come to him, pleading for him to pick anything else. The prisoner spits in the head sorcerer-chef's face. Either they kill him without fulfilling his final request, letting his fury tear the heavens asunder in a curse which is a thousand-fold the horror that the curse of an innocent man could ever release. Or they let him go.
They cannot bring his request to him. The guards collapse and fall down to the floor, leaving only the warden to release him. The other prisoners turn from the tall man in fear as he pass them in their cells on death row. The normal prisoners kneel before him as the clouds unleash a storm upon the prison. He retrieves his meagre personal belongings, he says not a word, he answers not the warden's babbling words, rapidly turning into a madness from which there is no escape. He walks through the yard, where each of his footsteps is announced by the loud strikes of thunder from a black sky. The man who is free, opens his mouth, and sings an ancient tune. He is free, against the odds he is unleashed upon the world. He is not caged anymore. He asked for the heart of the man who did the crime he was in for. The freed prisoner knew well that they could not rip that nightmare organ from its bone-cage. He knew well that by even accepting the existence of such an organ, was proof of his innocence. They could not, knowing he was innocent, kill him. Even if they had found some method of extracting that putrid thing from the chest of that blemish upon existence. Even if they had succeeded, he would have been freed, and he would have had his vengeance.
His justice.
But as Heaven itself buckles and bends, the freed prisoner, who has lost everything to an enemy more powerful than anything in creation, is free to continue on his quest. His enemy slew the freed man's wife. Burned the freed man's lands. Took the freed man's children. The freed man was blamed for it all. For the horrors done, when he had been nothing but kind, just, and loyal. He was cast into jail on false charges, and sent to die for the opportunity of his enemy to see him beg, pray, whimper and weep. When he had done nothing wrong, done nothing to offend his enemy. He had even admired, worshipped, this enemy before everything he had was cruelly taken from him. As a joke. Or a test. But he did not do as was demanded. He did not bow down to his enemy. He did not pray. And having seen what his enemy is, he never will again.
His enemy is a monster, who dares to call himself the king-of-kings. The highest upon high. The freed man's name was even taken from him. Behind him, the walls of the prison cracks. The bricks fall down and the concrete breaks down. The prisoners flee, not for the sake of their freedom, but out of fear. The Freed Man is met by his accomplishes, outside the ruins of the prison. They have no names either. Their names have been taken. Their loved ones slain, stolen, or otherwise ruined, by the machinations of an enemy that is more powerful than any infernal or terrestrial force. One is the Prince of Maybe, one is the Lady in Scarlet. Another is named the Dragon of Sunken Mu, one is the Harbinger-Bird. All of them are angry, powerful, out-of-step with reality. Creatures who no longer bow or allow themselves to be under the rule of the judgment of Heaven. They are a band of five, who stand against the puppetmaster, the demiurge who plays with the fates of men like toys. Toys that the enemy so enjoy breaking. They are nameless, formless, and terrible to behold. The failure of the prisons to execute the Freed Man, was the last straw. The last attempt to do their plan, their hunger for vengeance, without setting Heaven ablaze, and uprooting Hell.
The Earth shifts underneath the five of them led by the Freed Man, as they begin their assault upon Paradise, to bring justice or vengeance to the enemy. The Freed Man is coming to reclaim his family. To avenge his wife. And once more take the name his father gave him; so that he shall once more wear the face and name of Job.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2022-07-17T15:51:37 | 2022-07-17T15:39:02 | 1,563 | 331 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
I've seen a lot of criminals head to their deaths before my. My first celly was a serial killer, felt a bit brooding, but maybe that was because when I first got in, it was less than a week to his execution. Second celly was much more upbeat. Also a murderer, and a child cannibal to boot, but if you could stand his sense of humor (which could be hard at times - I can't tell you the number of times he made the same play-ground-beef joke), he was a fun guy. Great at cards, knew some fun magic tricks, and taught me origami.
I feel like there's a difference though. It's easy enough to get put on death row for a crime you committed, but I got stuck here for one I only attempted. Treason's a big deal, I get it, but hey, the president's alive, right? I never even got to take aim.
I plan to fix that when I get out. I've got time to learn from my mistakes. See, they goofed up. They made treason too big of a deal - it's a mandatory death sentence. So long as they don't serve me my last meal, I can take as many shots as I like (pun very much intended).
"So, what would you like your last meal to be?" the man sitting across from me asks. He's got a smile on his face, I think it amuses him to hear what seemingly impossible things people request. He's the sort who likes to win, and I'm sure he's good at it. But they're all missing the point. You don't select something they can't serve, but something they won't. Because if they do, you win anyway.
"I'll take the president as my last meal, sous vide, please."
|
She was a born killer. The moment she snapped she turned from hero to villain in just a matter of seconds.
Thousands of people were victimized in her warpath, and she got away with it for MONTHS. That was, until she was caught, and placed on Death Row.
Now, the world had changed drastically since she had been gone, and the death row system had evolved. The police force was even more brutal than it ever had been, and the baddest of the bad were said to have made deals with the devil.
The only reason this rumor went around was because of the new last meal rule.
They could ask for anything in the world. Anything at all. From steak dinners to apple pies to some of the impossible. But the catch? If they couldn’t find it, they were set free.
No charges.
No court hearing.
They were just let go.
This was the norm now for our government, and Horizon, the notorious hero gone bad, was out to break the execution streak. Whether the government liked it or not.
It had been months since she was first placed on Death Row, and Horizon had enough of waiting for her so called inescapable demise.
“Phoenix, I never thought that I’d be here waiting for them to ask me what my final meal would be, but here we are.” Horizon sighed as Phoenix messed around with the small holes in her blanket. Phoenix had been considered quite insane with her love for arson, spam, and a strange gecko landing her alongside her blonde psycho of a cell mate. But she didn’t mind, she actually enjoyed her company quite a lot. “I mean, it was bound to happen eventually. Especially when HE found out.”
Horizon stopped brushing out her hair with her hands and looked over at her arson loving friend.
“We don’t talk about him. You know that, correct?”
Phoenix nodded, shutting her mouth.
“Alright, prisoner 103, come with us.” One of the guards tapped on the cell bars with his baton, as another opened the door, ushering for Horizon to exit the shared cell, leaving Phoenix alone.
The guards took Horizon to a dimly lit room, where she sat down at a table with a light shining over it. She was the only one inside, while the guards watched from a two way mirror.
“So. What’ll it be?” One of the guards asked the prisoner.
“I’m not sure what you mean by that.” The girl responded, playing dumb. The guard grumbled in frustration. “Your last supper.”
Horizon thought about it for quite sometime. No matter how many times people have requested for something simply impossible to collect, it always seems as if the chefs manage to find it. Every. Single. Time.
“Hurry it up, or we won’t get you anything.”
Horizon looked up from the table and stared. With a straight face, she answered:
“The tears of a banshee, the radishes of a Snurp, and a Devine Meal from the darkest of suns.”
The guards gulped and nodded. They had never heard of such a request, but they knew it must be done.
And so Horizon stayed there. In the room.
Alone.
Meanwhile, the chefs and hunters went day and night searching for these three things, but to no avail. No matter what world they went through, they couldn’t find what exactly was described.
“We have to give up. We don’t know where this is!” One of the hunters spoke to the head chef, who shook his head. “We cannot. Do you know what this would mean for our reputation? The girl could get out and start havoc with no consequences!”
“But sir, you have to understand—“
“BUT NOTHING.” The chef was about to continue, but he was suddenly struck down by a large dragon, who roared fiercely at the strange group before him.
“Run.”
They all ran off, leaving the injured chef there to perish.
“We need to go back. We can’t proceed with the dragon there guarding the next portal zone.” The hunter spoke up as the others reluctantly agreed.
They all went back to the previous portal zone, and made their way back to the prison.
Meanwhile, Horizon sat there, bored out of her mind, when suddenly, she heard arguing, perhaps between a few guards. They continued to argue until one of the guards walked into the room.
“…Come with us, Prisoner 103.”
She nodded, following the seemingly upset guard outside to her cell.
“Get your things. Now.”
Phoenix turned to face Horizon, who was busy getting whatever she had on her side of the cell. “What’s going on…?”
“That is none of your concern, Prisoner 104.” The guard said sternly as Horizon exited the cell once more.
“Say goodbye to your former cell mate.”
Horizon grinned maliciously and waved goodbye to the confused arsonist, before leaving the halls.
It turns out that Horizon had beat the system, and was being set free.
Though that was perhaps not the greatest thing for anyone else.
As she walked out, Horizon pressed a button, and the entire prison exploded into flames, and in the distance, someone ran up to the newly freed prisoner.
“You did it.” She said, readying her lighter.
It was a good thing that Phoenix was a part of Horizon’s clever plans.
“Sure did.”
| 2022-07-17T18:36:24 | 2022-07-17T18:09:54 | 904 | 24 |
[WP] Prisoners can ask for anything for their last meal. The catch is, if it can't be provided to them, they get set free. They've asked for many things : alien egg omelette, dragon steak, the flesh of Jesus Christ, etc. The execution streak remained unbroken for decades, until today.
|
"I don't get it, how? How did you do it" the warden said as he signed the release form.
"That's the thing, I didn't do anything, you guys did with your stipulations and what not" I said grinning at the warden.
If my requested last meal wasn't prepared and ready for me within a year, I'd be a free man is what they had told me. Nothing more nothing less, people had tried for the most outlandish things such as dragon steak, alien egg omelettes etc. But the prison had provided because their stipulations never stated the meal had to fit the intent rather it had to fit the writing.
An alien egg omelette for instance sounds impossible, I mean we've never found any sign of alien life. But I had noticed when they brought these outlandish things that an alien egg for instance in this case had been the egg of a Kiwi bird because by definition it was alien to our country. Same thing with dragon steak or the flesh and blood of Jesus Christ, komodo dragon steak, communion wafers and communion wine. The face on the guy who'd ask for the flesh and blood of Jesus had a bit of a shock at that one.
So as I awaited my execution, awaited my turn to request I thought long and hard about it. Until I came to a conclusion so sick and twisted even demons would be in awe. So as the request personal came through and told me it was time. I requested the one thing they could not bring me ever due to a birth defect, but I wouldn't tell them that.
"Prisoner D-666, what do you request as your last meal? If we can not prepare it for you within a year you're free to go. You will continue to be fed regular meals until such a time we can procure it, because starvation would not be in the spirit of this."
"I wish to eat my first born by blood. I shall refuse to eat anything served proclaiming to be as such without written confirmation of paternity from five separate laboratories."
"Very well you sick fuck, if that is your request don't expect to wait too long." they said.
Days came and went, after a week they started bringing volunteers from the women's section all in the hope of providing me with my first born by blood. Why they did not do artificial insemination was because I had refused any medical examination as that was not part of the deal.
The real reason I had refused medical examination was because I've been shooting blanks since I was born. Infertile since birth, but now I was a free man.
|
It was nearly sunset on death row in the Alberation system of the Galaxy. Although her 37 years on Brigdon block seemed like a lifetime, Salmma never realized the day of her sentenced death would come so fast. Her green eyes slide over the metal frames of the cell, the discolored wall that made an inappropriate figure if looked at every so slightly and the slit window showing the two suns of Alberation.
Salmma had heard the stories. Death row inmates asking for radical meals to be set free. As long as she had been imprisoned, not one inmate had been set free via the last meal protocol. The stories circulated of beaches sky whale, vampires blood and pieces of the star explosion from Fria-6.
To say her mind was not preoccupied with her own mortality would be an understatment. Salmma shifted uncomfortably in her hay filled cot as the thought swept through her mind. She deserved the sentence she had. She was guilty. Her sorted past was not what made her uncomfortable, no, it was her future. The idea that she could be free if she wanted. The taste of a freedom once more made her body shiver in way it had not for years. The room grew darker as the second sun started to pass into the deep. She knew what she needed to do if she was to be free once more.
A sharp rattle of the hinges between Salmma and the hallway caused her to jump up from her cot. A familiar scent of incense wofted from the sky slit into her prison cell. The morning worship had already begun as she noticed prison guard 686 who woke her every morning.
"Are you ready to give an account for your last meal of the day?" The guard spoke in a quick and authoritative tone.
"Must I give my meal account now?" Salmma asked with a pensive brow. The guard let out a sigh as she shifter her weight from one leg to the other.
"You know how this works. I will take you to the judge and you will give your last meal account. If the cannot provide the meal to you, then you are set free into the galaxy to live out your days in freedom." The guards blonde hair and blue eyes waivered annoyingly as she gave the speech she had given several times.
"Well I guess then we better go to the judge" Salmma stood, allowing her hands to be locked within the electric chains. Together the guard and the prisoner made their way to the last meal room.
The air seemed thick with anxiety as the court room was filled with former worshippers there to witness another last meal protocol. Many bright colored robes filled the seats in the oval silver room. Painted faces from the Tabernacle watched on as Salmma and guard 686 walked down the long path to the front of the room. The room grew silent as the judges seat raised high above everyone. His voice boomed in a dark growl that filled the space.
"Welcome to the courtoom of the last meal. According to our bilaws and traditions each inmate may request any meal as rare as they see fit. If we cannot give the inmate the meal, we shall see you free under the terms of ritual foods and meals." Eyes shifted across the room as the proceedings began.
"Guard bring the prisoner forward to plea her last meal rites to this room." Selmma felt a wave of energy rush over her as she was lead to the tall podium facing the judge.
"Prisoner, you may state your last meal request" the judge spoke nonchalantly as if he would not be fazed by the small woman with green eyes.
Salmmas figure suddenly grew tall. Her small body held an air of confidence that the meek woman had not shown before.
"My name is Salmma from Giad-93 near the moons of Becksmith. I was brought here to serve more that 30 years and await my own death for the crime I committed. According to your traditions, I will let my meal be known. I request Guard 686's unborn child as my last meal!"
Horrified gasps and whispers filled the room as the bright robes shifted in a chaotic fear. Salmma took in the shocked face of Guard 686 with a grin.
"Silence! Silence will fill my courtroom!" The judge snapped quickly.
"Prisoner! What is the meaning of this debauchery! How dare you suggest such a thing in my courtroom!" His anger poured out from behind his teeth. Guard 686, unbeknownst to her, placed a hand on her own stomach. The fear written her face could be seen across the room.
"Debauchery! How dare you suggest that my last meal rites under your bilaws and traditions is a debauchery! I am granted any meal I request, unless you have forgotten your own laws. My request will be met or you will let me go free!" Salmma screamed towards the high chair above her.
"No, No you cannot grant this request!" The guard shouted. Her eyes meeting salmmas for the first time since the words exscaped her lips.
"I would like the child presented with a bowl of gravy and veggies on the side" she shouted. "What? You didn't think I was unaware of your...delicate state, did you?" Salmma whispered as she leaned down towards the guard, licking her fingers in a devious smile, she shot her green eyes back towards the judge.
"Well! Well....do you grant my request!" She screamed upward in defiance. The judge shook his head in disbelief. The crowd became restless at the apparent disrespect of the prisoner. Guard 686 becoming ever more unhinged at the request while tears started streaming down her face. Slowly the judge stood, waving his hand to the gaurds to take the prisoner and turned his back away from the podium as he made his way out of the courtroom.
Cool air filled the room with the scent of lavender and hyssop unlike any aroma in the galaxy. The night brought a unexpected chill and silence that was unmatched. Salmma closed her eyes, taking in the smell of the room. Her own freedom she finally had.
| 2022-07-17T20:01:08 | 2022-07-17T19:39:13 | 129 | 62 |
[WP] The world has taken precautions against super-powered beings, handing out inhibitors if deemed too 'destructive.' You sat in the principal's office with horror etched on your face as a pair of inhibitor gloves were handed to you. The smug grin of your life long bully telling you everything.
|
Anya faced her archenemy, as he smiled smugly at the suppression gauntlets on her hands. Unfortunately, he was actually right about the danger she posed, even if he didn't know it.
Jason Narra had been a pain in her ass for about a year, now. They first met at the Academy at the beginning of the previous school year, and it wasn't long before it all started. She found out from a friend of a friend that he had a crush on her, unfortunate given her tastes. Eventually, he worked up the courage to do something about his crush, only to be crushed by the reality that he never had a chance. Anya was a lesbian.
That should have been the end of it, but Jason was...well, he couldn't quite grasp the possibility of her having literally no interest in him. So he tried to get with her twice more, failing both times. Around that point, someone had actually figured out his power, and it became clear why the rejection never really stuck. Literal superhuman sex appeal. Unfortunately, she was still a raging lesbian no matter how attractive he might be, so he held no appeal to her.
At that point, he became a pain, and had been getting increasingly irritating for the past 10 months. Then came the finisher, the gauntlets she was bound in.
Someone had hacked into the federal power database for Jason, and found out what her powers were. Telekinesis, extremely potent and precise, if low range. Then they set her up. Just a dodgeball to the head, which she deflected with a push of her abilities. A dodgeball filled with solid steel, as she soon found out from the crash it made as it hit the gymnasium wall faster than it had been thrown at her. She suspected someone else had messed with it too, speeding it up after she deflected it.
They blamed the damage on her. And so she was here, in the principal's office with Jason Narra, and the principal himself.
"Miss Anya, what do you have to say?"
"I had a steel-filled dodgeball thrown at my face by some super strength meathead who can't tell the difference between one pound and 100 pounds, and I would be dead if I had not done something."
"And you, Mister Jason? You reported the incident, after all."
"As you saw on the footage from the school cameras, what she said is correct. However, it should be noted that the ball accelerated after being deflected, causing more damage than if she had just leaned out of the way. It is a shame that this happened, but I must still argue that her powers should be restrained in light of the damages caused."
The principal, a man, an apparently not completely straight man, agreed to Jason's flawed logic. Because of course he did.
And so here she sat, in the principal's office, across from her archenemy, as both looked down at her metal-clad hands.
|
Jackass... I think as my powers while they could be used to cause a lot of annoyance because it is power to play any musical instrument to perfect decree. I am a girl and this is how he wants my attention? Wow, nice... I love music... I feel my heart drop as the gloves are worn on. I immediately start thinking about one upping Uval.
It was my powers that allowed me to play the instruments perfectly but, it also has taught me quite a lot too... Yeah, pretty lame ability but, I helped a lot of people here to focus and be comfortable while in school. I am going to accept this for now, but, for now I am internally cracked. We go outside and before Uval was able to get out a word.
Teren told him to shut it, sighed at my gloves, motions to me to come go with him and we go outside. Uval is not at all comfortable around Teren who has been proven to be completely normal but, Teren is very sports loving individual so, his physical condition is impressive for so young and he knows Uval is just a blowhard without skills.
The ruse is good. When we are far enough from others 'Sari, I will figure out how to get these off' Teren says as we walk to a place where I can have a seat and process this. There isn't really need for that but, Teren's presence is always welcome, he mostly just listens to the music I play as it helps focusing and relaxing.
Uval himself does have powers but, it is difficult to say what they exactly are, probably something less impressive than my own, which caused him to be such a jackass towards me. 'No need, I will just study and practice hard to just play the instruments on my own' I say 'Looking to one up him... Sounds like a plan, let me keep them in check then' Teren says.
'Be a bully to them in a rink? I would prefer that you didn't. You have no idea how horrible the heart sink is' I say pouting a bit 'Hey, I don't have powers, everybody just knows I practice a lot and because of that, I am good at sports and have admirable numbers in physical education' Teren says smiling warmly.
'They don't look that bad to be honest and some hand protection in case his stupid side comes rear it's ugly mug again' Teren says being practical as always and it does make sense a lot 'You also can go through tests which will clear you of those' Teren adds 'Oh yeah, I just never wanted to go through them...' I say and look at my hands.
It was mostly a waste of time considering how well I know my power. There just has to be that one person... Uval is not the only one unfortunately Julia is another and Teren only gets involved if Julia does something that absolutely permits him to get involved and stop her. Helps with the physical bullying but, not with the mental.
I admit, I do have feelings towards Teren, he puts effort and he did inspire me to one up Uval as he has several times... And once apprehended Uval when he decided to provoke Teren with going physical and swinging a fist at him who then apprehended him, it certainly left an impression that, he just wants continue practicing and is in school to learn.
Teren is known for this type of behavior by both classmates and teachers. They know the boy is thick skinned and only gets physical in self defense, even principal knows this as he himself saw Uval swing at him and Teren replying. 'Have to consider adding more sports to my repertoire...' Teren says thinking about it.
'Thank you Teren. For getting my mind off and helping' I say warmly but, I accidentally do show my feelings a bit. Thankfully he was in deep thought 'Hmm? You are welcome' Teren says and after few months I got the results of tests during those months and I proved that I can play any musical instrument without my power.
This made Uval quite nervous and looked at Teren who is our classmate who just shrugged to him. Uval went straight to principal's office and I headed there with Teren but, he waited outside and I went inside of the office. Uval was struggling to find words to what he just witnessed and I hand out my power tests results.
Principal goes through them, telling Uval to wait, man the look on Uval's face as Jake, our principal verifies the info and looks at Uval with increasing discontent. Oh, wow, this moment is... So, sweet. 'I deeply apologize Sari' Jake says with honesty and regret. He takes out a key from safe. He was about to put in right hand lock when Uval snatches it and runs.
'Uval give it back!' Jake shouts and took a few steps to go after Uval but, outside Teren has Uval pinned against a wall 'Going this far, to steal from a principal... Pathetic as heck Uval' Teren says very coldly. Teren hands the key back to Jake 'Hold him for a bit longer please but, not too hard Teren' Jake says 'Roger' Teren says in prepared manner and Jake finally takes off the power inhibitor gloves from my hands with the key.
I wish I could say, shout something or jump from joy, but, I have to contain myself. 'Guess, who is going to wear them as a punishment for false indictment' Jake says, Uval is now horrified. 'Sounds like a fitting punishment to me sir' Teren says in prepared manner containing his joy too.
Teren keeps Uval pinned until gloves are put on 'This is not fair' Uval says defeated 'Maybe don't be rear end to others for once. Thank you Teren, you may let him go and Sari... I apologize for following through with the false evidence. I had my doubts but, there weren't evidence to back them up' Jake says as Uval walks away.
'Don't worry principal Jake Merecoast, it was growing experience' I say and unfortunately do show my joy of this moment. Jake looks around then approaches us both a bit closely lowers his speaking volume 'You both earned a reason for joy but, do it outside of school area, I will tell the other teachers of what has happened' Jake says smiling in mischievous manner.
Well, that confirms both of our suspicions of Jake already being knowledgeable what kind of jackass Uval and maybe Julia are. Me and Teren go have ourselves coffee and cinnamon bun.
| 2022-12-25T04:09:03 | 2022-12-25T03:24:03 | 133 | 19 |
[WP] You were asked out by your crush to come and hang out with her after school. On your date, she drained your blood and buried you in the woods thinking that you were another easy victim. And now, the next morning, she looks horrified when you walk into class.
|
T4M-A5 walked into class at exactly 9:35AM.
To the outside world, the machine was simply Tomas, a polish kid that emigrated with his family to america.
In reality though, he was an infiltrater class hunter killer drone. His handlers in the foundation jokingly referred to him as the Terminator, in reference to the movie series.
Tomas was a unique specimen, he was classified as a drone, but cyborg would be more apt. Grown from a single cell and molded by the greatest minds in the SCP foundation, incorporating the most advanced technologies and biological research they felt was safe enough to use. The cyborg was a masterpiece of genetics and engineering.
So why was he in a backwater highschool in the middle of a dusty texan town?
Tomas already new his assignment and didn't need any pointers, but he made a habit of checking the file, just to ensure there were no mistakes.
A quick binaric burst flittered through his circuits, activating the supercomputer in place of a brain.
<files>
<assignment>
<sarah elington>
DoB: August 2nd, 2030.
Age: 17
Blood type: unknown
Ethnicity: Caucasian
Possible bio mutant. Multiple homicides in local area. All share same method of kill. Blood completely drained from body. Body left where they died. No attempt made to hide evidence.
Cctv footage has subject always within a quater mile of murders. Footage glitches out between last sighting and murder.
Foundation note: likely a vampiric bio mutant, extremely strong, fast and intelligent. Advise that you activate combat protocol before any interacting with her, bio mutants are known to pull 180's in attitude on a moments notice.
MTF blackwater is on station at local outpost, will deploy on order.
Closing the dossier, tomas looked across the classroom as he took his seat. His classmate and.....friend, elijah, sat next to him, patting his shoulder before pulling out a notebook and scribbling nonsensical shapes in it.
"Did you sleep well?"
Elijah looked up from his drawings.
"As well as i could with everything that is happening around the town. The murders have everyone tense, y'know?"
Tomas nodded, noticing tension on his classmates faces, some hid it well, but others couldn't.
He didn't blame them, they were human. Prone to emotional distress.
Beside him, elijah opened his mouth to speak.
"What about you? You sleep well?"
Tomas smiled ruefully.
"No, i had a date last night, remember?"
Elijah grinned.
"With sarah of all people, you lucky bastard. I'd kill to have a chance with her."
The cyborg grinned as well. Though there was no humor behind it.
"Lets just say. It was a night to remember."
Elijah shook his head.
"Don't leave me hanging! Spill!"
Tomas leaned back in his seat.
"Right, well. It went like this."
TBC?
|
I was walking home from school with my heart almost beating out of my chest. Eileen actually asked *me* out, not only just for a date but to go to prom with her! We had been friends for a few years at this point and I’ve really started to like her. I showered, shaved a little, and got dressed as well as I could without overdoing it.
I walked to her house a block or so away and knocked on the door. I checked to make sure I put on some deodorant, fixed my hair a little bit, and just tried to keep my heart at a decent speed. Every second I stood at her front door felt like a small eternity. After the longest twenty seconds of my life Eileen finally opened the door. She just got home from school and her long black hair was only a little messy with casual clothes. She was really really pretty but she always wore some variation of long sleeves, jeans, and a big hat. She invited me inside and I nervously walked in and she motioned for me to sit down on the couch.
I awkwardly sat down and she sat directly next to me and put on the very first Saw movie which was one of the first things we talked about when we met each other. We both were big horror buffs and we both started discussing the movie just like any other day until she learned on me and put her chin on my shoulder and wrapped her arm around my bicep.
I stopped talking as I really took in just how pretty she was and looked in her eyes just for a second and I felt totally helpless against her. Like she in that very moment with only a smile had managed to break down every emotional defense I had built up over the years. It was a combination of delight and pure fucking terror as I struggled to form words as she snuggle up against me. I could feel the warmth of her body and worried that she might be able to hear my heart beating in my chest and was even more worried that my nervousness would make my hands all clammy.
She waved her hand in front of my face “You still here champ?”. I blinked and pulled myself back into the world “Sorry I was just making sure this was real” and I jokingly pinched myself and she responded by punching me in the side. She had a skinny figure and was only 5’6 but man she is much stronger than she looks.
“Sorry I’m just getting you used to me being physically abuse to you.” “That’s alright, it just gives me a reason to get a head start on my drinking problem”. We snickered and watched the movie for a little bit before I put my arm on top of her head like it was an arm rest. She looked at me and pretended to be annoyed “What do you think you’re doing there mister?” She said from under my arm.
“Hmm me? Oh I was just enjoying the movie with the your ‘splendid’ company.” “Oh yeah dumbass” and she tries to move away and I keep my arm on her head even though I am leaning in a fairly uncomfortable position just for the gag. She playfully narrows her eyes at me and in an instant kicks off the side of the couch and pounces on me. Catching me mostly off guard she manages to pin me down for a moment before we start wrestling each other for the right to use the other ones head as an arm rest.
We wrestled for a few minutes and she really held her own until I got the upper hand and pinned her down to the couch. I locked eyes with her for a moment but my nervousness kicked in and I got off of her. I reset myself on the couch and started watching the movie again. I could see from the corner of my eye she looked a little disappointed before fixing her hair and leaning on me again.
If she could read my mind it would be saying “You fucking idiot, you dumbass, block head, nitwit, ass for brains, dolt. This was your chance to go for it! But you threw it all away! It was right there in front of you and you didn’t take it. I know you listen to Eminem shitter, do you remember the lyrics? Because I do, you listened to that song a few dozen times and I a figure of your psyche can never forget it”.
I hyped myself up a little bit and raise my arm that she is snuggling on and wrap it around her shoulders and pull her into a half hug and she places her head on my chest. I look down at her again and see those pretty brown eyes and I just can’t stop thinking about her. She looks around and whispers into my ear “My parents aren’t home . A little mischevious smile grows across her face as she leads me off the couch and towards her room.
Whatever lock she gave totally overrides my stress and nervousness when she stopped outside the door “I don’t want to get my room messed up, would mind if we did this somewhere more… private?”. She could have said anything at that point as whatever state I was in had totally reduced me to a smiling, giggling, mess. She lead me down the basement and we started going at it. Whatever state I was in vanished as my monkey brain kicked in. She went in for a kiss on the neck and as she pulled away I couldn’t help but notice her mouth was full of heavily salivated teeth and a jaw that has been unhinged to reach past her cheekbones.
I was a little unnerved by it I was mostly just confused when she kissed my neck again and whispered into my ear “ Sorry, but don’t worry, you won’t feel a thing”. Her jaw clanked against her collarbone and she lunged at my neck tearing it completely out in one bite. I fell to the ground to hold my veins closed but she knocked them out of the way and started siphoning out my blood. I tried to pull her off but the more she drained me the less power I had to fight back until I lost consciousness.
I woke up the next day three feet deep underground but still very much alive. I crawled through the dirt before reaching sweet air.I looked at the sun and realized I would be late for school and started running with whatever I had on me at the time and made it to class just in time. I walked around the class and after spotting Eileen I Waltzed over to her and sat down with the biggest shit eating grin ever created. If Eileen. could turn more pale she would as she starred at me with each parts curiosity and horror. I didn’t even have a scar on me.
“So, about last night? Are we still ok for prom?”
| 2022-12-30T01:17:35 | 2022-12-29T22:24:19 | 24 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity is the idiot savant of the galaxy. We're terrible at almost everything compared to every other race, but we surpass them in spades in one thing.
**DO NOT CHOOSE WARFARE**
It's a boring and overdone answer.
This is inspired by the book Year Zero, where humanity is laughably incompetent in most of our cultural endeavors, but there isn't a species alive no matter how old that is better than us at [X]. It's up to you what [X] is. Maybe we're the best cooks in the galaxy, maybe we're the best dancers, musicians, clowns, that's up to you!
**All I ask is that you do not pick warfare**
|
I went into archeology for the money, not for humanitarian reasons. Sure, I'd like to be the one to save the human race, I'd just like a beach house/ski resort on a designer world even more. The market value of digging in the dirt only goes up as the search for a working wormhole drive becomes more frantic. We've found plenty of fragments, but the tech is far too complicated to rebuild.
The people who made this stuff were geniuses. All of them. Besides custom planet factories, we've found teleport machines, a bed that records your dreams, sentient computers the size of a planet, and trees genetically built to grow and twist as you sing to them, whose petrified branches recorded at least a thousand years of song.
Even though the search for a way to leave the Milky Way is the most urgent reason we go digging, and more and more so as the population grows, there's still a huge market for collector's items. Ancient art and pottery fetch quite a bit, but most people who get rich do it by finding a probe. Morbid as it sounds, Voyager I and II sold for $45 and $40 million each, and the other objects launched by Old Earth, picked up by curious and brilliant (and forgotten) races are worth almost as much, even though there are thousands and thousands of them.
It creeps me out, personally. Why would you want to own something from the age of "first contact" -- to use the modern euphemism?
Not that it's anyone's fault. I'm not one of those nuts who thinks we should all spend our lives atoning for what our ancestors did in the name of exploration and discovery. Every one of those probes carried a message of friendship and goodwill for the people who'd find them, and they were sent long before we found the first ruined city on another world. Long before we knew what we had done.
By the time we understood that the human immune system was anything special it was too late. We had sent probes, or satellites, or golden records to every planet in the galaxy that harbored life. All carrying a message of peace.
|
:Mode Comm 22222000202000200:
-Observational Log
-Scout: Amarath Kra
-TimeDate: XXXX.X.XXXX.X.X.
The letters came through, and so followed the voice. Amarath's words moved from one end of the universe to the other. The pause in communication was only that of a half-second--information shooting past light through microscopic wormholes that cut the distance by fractions multiplied. The cadence of his language sounded as liquid metal sliding down glass.
"I have made a decision." The voice paused. The receiving communicator waited patiently. His grey fingers gently tapped the comm. Dark eyes thoughtful.
"We should wait. It would be advised against to move forward with contact... but nor should we bar it completely. As originally concluded, the species is at a substandard level of development. Self-aware, yes, but planetarily disjointed. Separated by geography, race, culture, and differently levels of technological advancement. Entire groups and 'cultures' of this species suffer and starve on one side of the planet, while the other half... doesn't seem to care."
Amarath paused. The receiver crossed his hands about where a chin might be.
"But... They have something we don't. Something that all of the Common Coil species lack. No, they have not gone interstellar. No, they have not cured all diseases present for their species. However... they have the ability to □□□□□."
The receiver started and leaned forward.
"Amarath---I did not catch that. What was that?"
"We do not have a word for it... sending translation from one of the native languages. Thankfully, they at least had a competent language system."
The receiver nodded and typed in a few inputs. The computer clicked its most inner-workings and thought it out, and displayed the following translation:
**LAUGH**
"It's pronounced," Amarath said, "'Laff". They have their separate tenses, but essentially, it's a new emotion. A new feeling. This, I think, is special. They even have a modus of language personal to them, completely honed through several forms of media, to induce emotion. Sending translation now... They call it 'humor'. "
The receiver began sending messages through the main computer-comm. This was important. *Really* important. After a few moments, he looked either side of him, noting the emptiness of the Scout Check center in general. He hunched forward.
"Amarath?"
Amarath, cut even by the distance he was, could hear the change in tone.
"Yes, receiver."
"What does it do? Laugh? Humor?"
Amarath's voice was laced with nervous gusto. "Oh---it's entirely impossible to explain. They display it from nowhere. And it's confusing. Many of them come from... *word* tricks. Of the language, I mean. When 'laughter' happens it causes deep and uncontrolled euphoria in the being, sometimes bleeding into emotions such as sadness, anger, or even love."
"How?"
"No one knows. At least no one on the ship. I even explored the findings with the mechanic Scurs , and they had no clue. Best we summarized, it's part catharsis, and part recognition of ironic elements within their language and life. Sometimes nonsequitur. In fact, "
"... Elaborate. What do you mean?"
"Listen to this, receiver. I'm going to tell you something I made up. I read and poured over their language media, and I... might have come up with some 'humor' as they have called it. It requires context. It reflects their values and their beliefs sometimes, so I had to make my own. Are you ready for it? It's called a 'joke' in their language. "
The receiver nearly declined. Nearly hung up. But curiosity kept him glued.
"I'm ready."
"What thrusts and thrusts until it's load is unloaded?"
The receiver froze. Certainly... certainly Amarath wasn't talking about *that*, was he? He certainly knew of it, even if they were different species. Because, well, most biped species usually mated that way but... how was that...
"Receiver?"
"Uh! Yes, Amarath, I can't think of anything! Honestly. You're speaking awful vague and--"
"The answer is the engine of a transport."
The receiver blinked. The engine--the engine thrusts and a transport unloads, not unlike....
"Heh..."
The receiver clapped his hands over his mouth, a strange and foreign giddiness entering his being. It was a little devious. And the 'joke', yes, it was a little... racy, but oh! That had been a laugh, maybe? He couldn't stop smiling. He hadn't been this euphoric since meeting his own mate back home.
"A-amarath! I... what was... was that it? That sound?"
Amarath returned the same sound over the comm.
"It's called a 'chuckle' and they are a minor form of 'laughter'. "
The receiver balked. "Minor?!?"
A fluttering sound poured over the comm. It rose and fell and he realized Amarath was making the sound. He--he was *laughing*.
"Receiver, I think we're all going to be entering a new era soon. Because we've discovered something. This 'laughter'... This phenomenon that is like a drug. It's... "
The receiver gripped the ledge and leaned forward. "What? What is it?"
The receiver could hear the smile over the comm.
"It's contagious."
| 2014-07-16T13:34:49 | 2014-07-16T12:55:19 | 88 | 29 |
[WP] A trapped demon calls a priest for excorcism because his host is too obese and can't get out of bed
|
The magic of the supernatural does not come from learned scholars or family tradition, nor does it come from the power of faith. Those are other variants of power that have complimented or opposed natural magic.
However, for the unruly and the truly chaotic such as demons like Rudy, his natural power came in the form of possession. In his previous hosts, they had a knack for invention, learning greater pursuits, perhaps ambitions above the average man. The modern age provided for a hunting ground like no other, but his eventual host, a man who started off in life so promising had taken a turn for the worst.
Focusing his words into a repeated mumble, he opened a channel to his long time opponent, revisited and reborn into numerous bodies, Father Chapman of the Lord and Almighty.
"What manner of interruption is this? Solomon, if this is another one of your-"
"Hello Father, I have sinned."
"Rudrathenagortha?" His voice cracked a bit. His newest form took on a youthful version of his Italian Renaissance form, a blonde fit thing on the prowl for his doctoral thesis.
"God, that is a mouthful. Are you sure you didn't hear me right?"
"Rudy, I'm studying right now. Go bother Father Liliman, I'm sure he'll oblige to stop your archaic ways."
Rudy paused for a moment. He was sincere in his last statement, and his rushed voice sounded weary. Even over hundreds of years, souls can still be stuck in the moment. "I need your help Father."
"Excuse me, demon?" The emphasis on demon was sharp, an accusing tone, despite Rudy's simple statement.
"Find George Butler on 2200 South street, apartment suite 207. He'll be eating a bag of chips beside a mound of takeout boxes."
"What have you done?" His voice was low. There was no malice, no anger, just sheer fear. Even being a demon, Rudy had never killed a human being, not directly nor deliberately. He had once poisoned a cat, but that was accidental.
"The poor sod is depressed and hasn't left the apartment in three weeks. I need to move my own hypothetical legs once in a while and this fat bastard has a bad case of the Mondays."
"What do you want me to do? You inhabit the shell of the man until he passes, this is all rudimentary."
Rudy shrugged, suppling his response. "Well, the only other option is death, which you won't oblige, or an exorcism."
"...What was the address again?"
"You'll help me?!"
"On the condition that you don't ask for this ever again, and will never talk to anyone about this."
"Done. Also, bring a pizza. He won't open the door otherwise."
|
***Quick warning - this is going to really bad. Like extremely bad. Wrote it at 2am, extremely tired, made it way longer than it had to be, and over fucked up. Enjoy anyway!***
Somewhere, in suburban London, a clergyman of St. Magdalene’s order steps onto the porch of a terraced house. As he knocks on the door, he sees feminine silhouettes flitting past its windows – hushed and hurried murmurs permeate lightly through crisp night air, before a deathly silence falls.
After a few moments, a high pitched voice calls “Father Pritchard?”.
“It is I. You are in need of an exorcism?”, he responds.
More whispers seep through to the outside – although they are indiscernible, the women are clearly not as quiet as they believe they are. What seems to be a fierce debate is raging on. On the road behind Father Pritchard a car drives by – the birds cannot be heard chirping yet, but he occasionally soft padding of a fox sifting through the days detritus. They often come out at this time of night, slightly before the usual hustle and bustle of Southwark has taken hand – or at the very least, the Father has never heard them out at any other time – perhaps, now that he thinks about it, because the ones that are out during the day are too quiet to be heard.
Or perhaps they just get run over.
*Why on Earth haven’t they opened the door yet?*, Pritchard wondered. *Perhaps they’ve lost the key? Have I got the wrong address?* He frowned for a moment. *But then why would they assume I was -*
While the Father pondered over the daily habits of urban foxes, it seems a consensus had in fact been reached – he noticed what appeared to be a child’s eye peering through an opening crack in the door.
“F-Father Pritchard? My mother would want you to come in”, said the child.
The Father nodded and slowly made his way into the house. Inside he realised his first mistake – what he had taken to be women – sisters, or mothers, were in fact two children - their voices had been high-pitched enough to fool him. He smiled wryly to himself – his senses were getting dim in his old age. After taking in his surroundings, he kneeled to eye level with the children.
“Don’t get me wrong, children – I am not angry with you. But what took you so long to open the door?”, he asked inquisitively.
The children hesitatingly glanced at one another, but after some coaxing revealed to him that after calling the Saint’s Order their mother had locked herself inside her room – apparently her call was the furthest her nerves could go without breaking after the possession of their father. The children were debating over whether or not to open the door for him, given that their mother was not there to give permission.
“Well, that was very brave of her, for what she did,” he said appraisingly. After a brief frown, he then beamed approvingly at the children and said, “And very brave of you for staying up to open the door for me! Would you lead me to your mother’s room? I have a few questions I would like to ask her”
The children gave each other another hesitant sideways glance, but regardless led him up the stairs. The house smelled vaguely of food – it seemed that many years of cooking had stained the smells into the very grains of the woodish décor that seemed to run throughout the house.
At the top of the stairs, the children turned right and led the Father to the end of the hallway. At a certain point, they pointed to a locked door with a faint sobbing coming from it. The smell of barbecue had become stronger.
Taking all he had heard into account, plus the sobbing, Pritchard decided against asking her about the circumstances of the possession. He was too old and too tired to account for a possibly unstable witness – a possession could be, depending on its severity, an extremely traumatic event to witness. He did not want to risk personal injury and jeopardising his mission. He instead asked the children to lead him to their father’s room.
One of the children instantly yelped and ran into their room, slamming the door on the way in. The other jumped slightly, but said somewhat stoically, “I’ll take you there”. After clenching his fists and gulping, he quickly said, “Follow me this way.”
As they made their way to the opposite end of the hall, he heard what sounded distinctly like a distraught muttering of *“No…not my fing suede”*. He whipped around, staring again at the mothers door. Fing suede? What on earth was that? His suspicion was rising. Why did the second child run off? Was it him that said it, or the mother? Was this some kind of false flag? A prank? Before he could investigate, however, the first child hurriedly tugged his arm and ushered him up another flight of stairs.
The stench of sauce, here, became unbearable. He felt as if he was nose deep in a bottle of HP steak sauce – the child, no doubt with more sensitive nostrils, was watering at the eyelids. There was one door here, at the end of an empty passageway around 10 meters long. The child, sagging, jabbed at the air toward the door and ran back downstairs.* So this is the room,* Pritchard thought to himself.
As he made his way toward the door, the aroma of cooked protein became strong again. It was quite apparent that the smell he had noticed coming into the house was not simply due to smoke soaking into the walls and carpets – no doubt this was the demons aura he was experiencing. Looking at the door, he could almost feel the dark energy pouring from it. He took a bible from one of his cloak pockets and a canister of holy water from the other. Reaching the door, he crossed himself and clasped his hands in prayer, preparing to enter. He tried the handle, which wasn’t completely budging – it seemed to be stuck in something extremely viscous. Instead, he kicked the door down.
*So I can still do that!,* he thought to himself. *Not so old am I, huh? I’ve still got i-*
The aura overpowered him.
***second half below***
| 2015-12-22T18:14:07 | 2015-12-22T18:00:59 | 56 | 36 |
[WP] Your roommate is 2nd most powerful superhero in the world and he will not shut up about it. He does not yet know that you are the 1st.
|
"For God's sake Bob. I get it' you're strong"
My roommate didn't seem to be listening. He was to busy holding the world on his shoulders. And i mean the literally the world. This asshole had ripped earth out of its orbit to make a point.
"Check it out brah, I can do this all day"
"I bet, now put it down so we can go back to watching Jessica Jones"
"Geez, you're no fun" Nevertheless he obeyed.
They always do.
|
"A superhero? Wow," I said, rolling my eyes at the back of her head. "You didn't strike me as the type."
Karen laughed as she closed the freezer door, holding an ice pack to her shoulder. "That's kind of the goal," she said slowly, as though explaining it to a child. "Secret identity. Blend in. Make it look like I'm just a common person. It keeps me safe - if the villains knew who I was, they could use that to get to me. That's part of why I had you fill out that extra liability form when you signed your lease. Basically it says that I'm not at fault for anything that happens to you as a result of my superhero-ness."
I had to laugh to myself at that. As if anything *she* could do could hurt *me*.
But more importantly, I had to keep playing along. This was too good. "So, you know I just moved to the city. We had a whole different set of superheroes where I grew up, so I don't know many of the ones out here. You said you were called Golden Girl? You any good?"
She scoffed in badly-practiced indignation; glimmers of a smile danced on the corners of her mouth, giving away that she had been hoping I would ask about her power ranking.
"Good? Jason, I'm better than good. I'm second strongest in the city. The only reason I got hurt here was that The Executioner had half a dozen extra goons on top of the twelve I was counting on. I guess my limit is closer to 1-on-15 than 1-on-18."
How adorable. Last week I broke 1-on-50 without breaking a sweat.
"Impressive," I said, widening my eyes a bit to convey a (totally fake) sense of awe. "If you can do all that though, who's the most powerful?"
All of the happiness and laughter left Karen's face in an instant. "That," she said, voice full of spite, "Would be Captain Justice. Captain "Everyone look at me, I'm so perfect" Justice."
She said it, not me.
"I, uh...." I said slowly, "I take it you don't get along all that well?"
That was an understatement. She hated his - my - guts with a passion so fiery it was matched only by The Incinerator's flamethrowers. And I knew it. I just wanted to hear it from her directly, because in costume we were always... professional enough, let's put it that way.
"He's such an ass!" Karen started to throw a punch at the nearest couch, then stopped and grimaced as her body reminded her that her arm had been dislocated less than an hour ago. "I mean, we're on the same side, but he never lets me team up with him, he always tries to take credit for stuff I did, and he has the *biggest* Holier Than Thou attitude I have *ever* seen. Oh, and the colors on his suit are ridiculous."
That caught me off guard.
"His... His suit?"
"Um, yeah. Have you never seen a picture? Teal and burgundy, man, like come on."
"...... Right." I poured myself a glass of water and walked toward my bedroom door. "Well, I've got people to kill in *Black Ops XVII*, and it looks like you could use some rest and healing, so I guess I'll see you in the morning."
"Yeah, see you," she said rather melodramatically. "There's a part of me that wishes I could just relax and play video games, but when duty calls...."
Whatever else she said was drowned out by the sound of my door closing. I slumped down at my chair and glanced down at the box under my bed which held my suit in all of its teal and burgundy glory. A smile slowly played across my face.
She may think we're on the same side. But Justice is blind, and it will come to all eventually. Nothing wrong with me 'helping' it come to Golden Girl sooner than expected.
| 2016-03-23T19:32:34 | 2016-03-23T15:53:56 | 213 | 23 |
[WP] Google begins matching people romantically based on their browser histories.
Based off of [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/Showerthoughts/comments/4p6cc1/if_google_matched_people_up_by_their_browsing/) by /u/hobbitfeets over on /r/ShowerThoughts.
|
**Google Love 8/15/16
Welcome**
Welcome to Google Love, Olive!
Google Love is committed to finding you the perfect match based on your mutual interests. At Google Love, we already know you. There’s no profile to fill out or questions to answer.
All you have to do is be yourself while we do the hard work of importing your entire Google history and match you to your special someone based off of our Google search algorithm.
We have selected the below photos from Google Photos to add to your profile. Lookin’ good!
You’re halfway there! Just click here to confirm your email address and start Googling for love!
**Google Love 8/15/16
Three New Matches**
Olive,
You have three new matches based on your imported Google search results.
Keith (28) – *Googling now!*
Searches you have in common:
* How do you spell receipt
* Lyrics work from home
* Why does Windows 10 suck
* Do I need antivirus software
Other things Keith has searched for that you may be interested in:
* Big tits
* Best cafe downtown
**Click here to start a Google Hangout with Keith**
Seth (31) – *Last Googled 1 hour ago*
Searches you have in common:
* Hangnail treatment
* Urban Dictionary smh
* Brunch places open now
* How to get out armpit stains
Other things Seth has searched for that you may be interested in:
* Can water be organic
* Food gifs
**Click here to add Seth on Google +**
Ben (30) – *Googling Now!*
Searches you have in common:
* Download Game of Thrones
* Best Indian restaurant in town
* Jon Snow shirtless
* How much lemon juice is in a lemon
Other things Ben has searched for that you may be interested in:
* Game of Bones
* Do penguins live in the north or south pole
**Click here to start a Google Hangout with Ben**
Keep Googling for love!
**Google Love 8/17/16
You Googled for Love!**
Olive,
We saw you Googled Seth, so we thought we’d help you out! Click the social media buttons below to be taken directly to his profiles.
Google + | Facebook | Twitter | Instagram | Tumblr | MySpace | LiveJournal | NeoPets
We think you’ll be a great match with Seth based on your mutual recent Google searches of:
* Baby giraffes (Seth Googled this **today**. You Googled this **two weeks ago**)
* Costco hours (Seth and you both Googled this **one month ago**)
* Where should I go on vacation this summer (Seth Googled this **a year ago.** You Googled this **yesterday**)
Keep Googling for love!
**Google Love 8/31/16
We Miss You**
Olive,
We haven’t seen you in a while!
We see you haven’t Google searched in ten days.
You still have 75 unread profiles.
Some of your recently matched Google searches include:
* How to unsubscribe from Google Love (17 matches!)
* Delete profile Google Love (22 matches!)
* Duck duck go (36 matches!)
Keep Googling for love!
|
The best part about coffee shops is no matter how little the two people on the date are talking, there's enough background chatter that awkward silences are never truly silent. Clinking of glasses, brief snippets of conversation from other patrons and the occasional heard-over-the-rest bout of laughter punctuate the quiet often enough that it gives the impression one's at a lively party. Suddenly both members of your table are simply listening to the rest of the hustle and bustle, taking a moment out of the conversation to simply hear instead of speak. If ever there's a time to people watch and eavesdrop, it's at a coffee shop. At least that's how Julia saw it as she began to slow her uncomfortable shifting and pulling up of the edge of her v-neck blouse that was too much *v* as opposed to *neck* for her preference. She forced herself to remain positive. Ever the optimist, perhaps this wasn't the train-wreck that all signs said it was.
Louis, on the other hand, was more of a realist. This was a crash and burn scenario of which he now considered himself an aficionado, a veritable expert in the concept of dating failures. It's a shame. He had high hopes this time around in spite of his history.
Resigned to internet dating for the past few years, interspersing video games with swiping this way and that on Tinder, he finally gave Google's new romantic pairing system a shot. The system made sense to him; browsing history is more often than not private (dear God, he hopes it is) so a dating system based on that clears the false veneer of online profiles that may not tell the whole picture, stripping it clean and baring only the honest truth of the person. Knowing that it was all the more confusing how he found himself in front of a person with whom he had such little in common with.
"You're name is Louis, right? Louis van-" she tried to confirm.
"Yes, we've been through this, I am who Google claims me to be. I believe we can rule out an error on my identity." He pursed his lips. "You're not a Stallone fan either, are you?" His eighth question, a desperate attempt to reconcile how Google had found this unlikely pairing a promising match.
She perked up, hands clasped on the table, knuckles showing a faint touch of white. "Yes! I've seen all three *Terminators*!"
Louis slinked further into his chair, perhaps thinking if he slipped below the table he could crawl away without garnering any notice. "Perhaps you ask one."
"Do you like..." Julia paused a moment, tapping the table in a quiet rhythm. That gave her the idea. "Jazz? Do you like jazz?"
"No."
"Oh."
"Sorry."
Both stared past, around, down, anywhere but across the table for a moment as they each thought on why they were here with this other species as far as they were concerned. Whatever it was, it wasn't anything that popped up in casual conversation. Slowly, amidst the shuffling and mingling of the other parties at the coffee shop that undoubtedly were having a much better time, they were coming to the same conclusion. It wasn't something that popped up in normal conversation because what it was was anything but normal. It was something deeper, something more private, of which neither of them were willing to admit to the other especially in a blind-date setting. Finally their eyes met, a wordless conversation that carried more understanding than all the small-talk had until then.
"Internet histories tend to bring up some... private matters, don't they?" Louis said, suddenly finding himself as the one tap tapping a rhythm on the table. He was glad for it. Nervousness was at least interesting.
"Yeah... yeah. Something private. Perhaps something that neither of us would normally bring up," Julia replied, knowing she wasn't adding much to his comment but more to show that she was picking up on his hints.
They talked for a while on the nature of secrets, how it's hard to be yourself in a society with such a social media leaning, how much they share with their friends, family, so on and so forth. It was nothing groundbreaking, but first dates rarely are. You aim for pleasant. This was pleasant. Nevertheless, the nagging question ate at both of them - what was it that brought them here?
"Should we just..."
"Say what it is?" they thought together, taking the plunge, caution to the wind. Both of them smiled as they realized they were both peeling away at the jacket of their coffee cups, a reprieve from deciding what actions they had to do with their hands. The would-be couple, according to whatever algorithm Google thought best at least, decided that on the count of three they would just come out and say it together.
"3", they spoke in tandem. Julia's heart was pounding in her chest.
"2", Louis was upright in his chair, far from the disillusioned slouch a moment ago.
"1", neither breathing, poised on the precipice of leaping off a cliff together.
"I play *World of Warcraft*!" Julia softly screamed, just loud enough for Louis to hear. It was as if a weight was lifted off her chest. All her friends were so sporty, always rock climbing, swimming, whatever. She just wanted to sit on the couch with a laptop and a bag of Doritos. Deep down she knew she shouldn't have seen it as a point of shame, but she still believed there was a stigma around "gaming culture" that she just couldn't get past. It felt so good to share it. Louis thought so too; finally a girl he could relate to, someone that he could be a homebody with who wouldn't judge him for something he deserved no judgement for. Google should receive a collective tip of the hat.
Louis, expecting the same response from his new companion, proudly proclaimed "horse-head mask in bed!" as his browser history had so commonly detailed.
After a brief moment before it sunk in, similar in that to the feeling when one stubs their toe and sits dreading the pain that will shoot through in the next passing moment, Julia covered her mouth with her eyes wide enough to threaten taking leave of their sockets. Louis wore the expression of the man who had put it all on black and saw nothing but red. Neither would discover their common ground was rather bland; they both ran searches for the daily news, which in turn would expose Google's rather poor programming on their latest application.
He pushed himself from the table, back straight with no loss of pride, his chair squeaking across the hardwood loud enough for the room to look his way. Both knew, quiet obviously, it was over.
"I don't think this'll work out," he said in a cool tone, shaking his head. "That game's for casuals."
| 2016-06-21T20:05:45 | 2016-06-21T19:59:34 | 52 | 18 |
[WP] A world of fantastic creatures cross dimensions to invade our Earth; but alas, they battle us with medieval swords, bows and magic. We have guns, grenades and missiles. Lots of them.
|
"Hear me humans! You will fall and we shall call this new world our own!"
Thunder crackled around the mysterious humanoid as he raised his sword to the sky. Fire and ice swirled around his swelled body, the bones of his past conquests hung from his belt dancing in the storm he seemingly summoned at will. Hordes of giant creatures assembled in the fields behind him, entering our world through shimmering gateways erected from the grey mists.
"We've studied your kind for centuries, and now we are here to take earth for our own! Bow before us, for we are kind slavers" a hearty chuckle traveled through the misty morning air, "Choose not to surrender and we will - "
A single gun shot ended the speech, the seven foot tall silhouette feel to its knees and groveled in pain. Several more shots rang out as the group of special forces operatives sent to inspect the disturbance tested the bullet proof properties of the creatures skin.
"They're flesh and blood Commander, light them up."
No sooner had the radio clicked off when dozens of attack helicopters swarmed in over the hillside, raining thousands of bullets per second on the helpless ensemble of mythical men and monsters. The other worldly army fired back with massive bolts of magic and fire, dragons took to the sky while a squadron of F16's lobbed missiles chased by the hum of fifty caliber persuaders.
On the ground thousands of troops descended from the hill tops firing at the invaders mowing them down in masses.
Legend says the battle raged on for 7 days and 7 nights. I heard that it only lasted about 7 hours. All I know, is the pen may be mightier than the sword, but a 5.56 round trumps both.
|
From within his war tent, Commander Wahkam the Unfaltering stood hunched over the map he's scouts had gathered of the surrounding lands, the force they were to attack was small, a few hundred men and a couple dozen odd wagons according to the scouts, no match to the 8th Glorious Expeditionary Legion, clad in the finest armour and the greatest weapons the Ascended Kingdom could produce, the battle should have been a quick slaughter, but he had heard nothing back for far too long and his scout had yet to return, his anger was beginning to give in to fear.
Suddenly from outside, a ruckus, it must be the Legion returning, at last, he thought to himself with a sigh and a grin as he turned to exit the tent, but as he did, he was not greeted by cheers of success or even the groans of a hard earned victory.
He was instead greeted by the sight of his a single war bull, atop which sat a lone Bloodhide wearing what their kind considered to be armour, for what little there was of it, and a grim expression and a disfigured Joot in tattered robes, clinging to whatever he could grab for dear life.
As if hoping again hope, Wahkam asked the obvious.
"Where are the rest of the Legion?"
"Dead" replied the Bloodhide to the gasps of the gathered crowd, "If you want details, ask him" he continued, throwing the Joot from the beast and riding off to the stable.
Wahkam bend down to the poor Joot struggling to its knees, "You know what happened?", it nodded in acknowledgment.
"Good, have him brought to my tent".
----
"So, where were you when this happened" Wahkam demanded.
"In the bushes doing a dump, sire" the lowly creature responded.
"OK, what happened?" Wahkam continued.
"Well, I saw our guys marching towards the savages and their carts, in the glorious formation sire, but they were in a line across the field, two thick-" he held out two slender fingers to amplify the point "with the carts behind them".
"And? then what?" Wahkam beckoned him to continue.
"Well, as our righteous warriors marched closer and the archers took position, I heard it, the scream of Below Lord!"
"The scream...of the Below Lord?" The Commander asked, confusion clear in his face.
"Yes, a scream and then fire and smoke and death consumed everyone at the back, archers, warriors, even me fellow helpers, all gone with the ground they stood on" the lowly Joot said, whipping himself into a slight panic, Wahkam gazed at his guards, a mixture of dread and confusion painted across their face.
"And the others?" he said sternly calming the poor creature down if only slightly
"The savages, they had swords, but not regular swords, these swords killed anyone they pointed them at with a flash and a thunderclap and an arrow of light, their carts had them too, they killed everyone sire, everyone to the last." the Joot concluded, now hysterical.
"So, a couple hundred savages with magical swords and the favour of the Below Lord defeated the entire Glorious Expeditionary Legion" The Commander paused, soaking in the information, "You're a raving coward, take him away" he beckoned the guards.
"WAIT, WAIT, ASK THE RED ONE, ASK THE RED ONE!" it screeched, the guards stopped, though Wahkam hated to admit it, the coward had a point, the scout must have been to the battlefield, surely he could spread some light on the situation, he ordered one of the guards to fetch the Bloodhide scout while the other restraint the helper.
After a few minutes, the guard and the scout returned.
"What is it? I have a hot meal and a cold drink waiting" asked the Bloodhide.
The Commander pointed to the Joot "Where did you find him, what did you see?"
Surprised by the question, the Bloodhide replied "Him? just away from the battlefield as I was returning to warn you-"
"Of what?" the Commander demanded, anger in his voice.
"The warriors, they have magic-"
"Let me guess, swords that shoot light?" the commander said, his face now twisted with rage.
"No, I saw some of the warriors had swords but that's not what I'm talking about, some of them, they had empty eyes, massive snouts and staffs the belched fire onto the dead, well, most of them, I saw a few being loaded onto carts that roared with excitement"
In that moment, the room stood still, an entire legion, dead by untold magic without getting a single kill, it was unheard of, Wahkam when pale before beckoning everyone, even the lowly Joot, out of the tent.
In the silence, Wahkan questioned his title.
----
"So, how did it go?" asked General Rowse.
"Reports say it went well, artillery killed all of the backlines and spooked the rest into a charge towards the 25th Battalion, where they were promptly gunned down in their entirety, no casualties and a number of bodies were collected for examination with the rest being burnt" replied Garretson.
"Good, good, now if you'll excuse me, I've got a war to win."
| 2017-09-14T15:29:29 | 2017-09-14T05:47:31 | 243 | 18 |
[WP] "Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal"
|
“That’s just great, do you have any idea which way to go?!” Satan complained.
Buddha replied in serene monotone “You must simply learn to enjoy the journey.”
“Besides,” said Jesus while he adjusted the rear view mirror locking eyes with Satan over his onyx aviator sunglasses. “I am the way.”
|
"But..but..I'm not a violent person. I.."
"Buddha we talked about this!", Satan screamed. "This isn't about principles. It's about fucking survival! Now man the 50 for fuck sake!"
"Shouldn't we wait for Mohammed?"
"You know exactly why he isn't here right now!"
FSM reloaded his M416. Satan threw the last of the dead soldiers from the technical. Their enemies arrived much earlier than expected. And this time they brought much more manpower than last time.
"Jesus, gogogogogo!!!"
Jesus hit the iron. And not a second too early. A giant horde of minions came from behind and the group barely managed to get away before they reached them. Satan opened fire with his ACE on the horde.
"Buddha, what are you waiting for??????"
"It's not working! I pull the trigger and nothing happens!"
"Did you release the safety catch?"
"The what?"
Satan pulled the switch down. The gun went live immediately and rained lead on their pursuers.
"Roadblock ahead!!!"
The minions near the barricade were installing a machinegun. Without second thought Satan took his RPG and fired the rocket at them, turning them into a smoldering mess of burned meat and metal.
"Good thing I wished for a rocketlauncher for christmas."
FSM was fumbling on his notebook meanwhile.
"We need to find another hideout till we are finished with our preparations. This incident here is going to throw us back for months. And...OH SHIT! TANK! TANK! GET OUT!!!!!!"
A T90 took position in front of them. The group barely managed to jump out before the main gun blew their car away. Satan lifted his rocketlauncher again and fired at the tank.
The rocket exploded and left only some burn marks on the hull.
"Fucking reactive armor man...."
The group sprinted away while the tank fired his machinegun at them. They found cover behind a large boulder.
"All right chaps, check your weapons and ammo. I still got 200 rounds for my M60. FSM?"
"6 mags for my M416."
Satan reloaded the RPG.
"3 mags for my ACE and 2 rockets."
Buddha pulled out a Kolibri.
"What the fuck?????"
"It was the cutest gun I've ever seen. I couldn't just let it go to waste."
They were interrupted by someone clapping behind them.
"Magnificent! This story will be the blockbuster of this season!"
Entertainment was standing in front of them. Behind him a platoon of his minions, armed to the teeth.
"Now, would you kindly drop your weapons? And whatever Buddha is holding in his hand."
The group did as they were told.
"How did you find us?"
"Do you really think hiding in a jungle would save you? Even tough Internet has his main power in the large cities doesn't mean he can't work together with Technology."
Satan rolled his eyes.
"Of course....and let me guess: Outrage recruited millions of his followers which you could send against us as expandable canonfodder?"
"You got it!"
Entertainment was smiling.
"The times of the old gods is over. Even tough you don't want to accept it. People don't worship you anymore, they don't follow your principles because they are boring! Who would seriously pursue virtues when they can have satisfy all of their lowly needs with just a few clicks and numb their conscience with media? So it's not dear Jesus, hail Satan or praise FSM anymore. It's Consum now and follow Entertainment."
Entertainment gave a signal and the minions put them into chains.
"But don't worry. We have a nice and cozy prison cell for you. And don't think anyone would come to save you. Pfff, what kind of sane person asks Odin or Ares for help nowadays?"
| 2017-11-15T14:43:36 | 2017-11-15T14:36:34 | 92 | 14 |
[WP] "Jesus take the wheel, Satan get behind me, Buddha... man the .50 cal"
|
“That’s just great, do you have any idea which way to go?!” Satan complained.
Buddha replied in serene monotone “You must simply learn to enjoy the journey.”
“Besides,” said Jesus while he adjusted the rear view mirror locking eyes with Satan over his onyx aviator sunglasses. “I am the way.”
|
The humvee rocked relentlessly as it tore through the rough terrain, almost throwing God out of the driver's seat. His vice-like grip on the steering wheel was the only thing keeping him in the vehicle. He yanked it back and forth in desperate attempts to avoid the incoming ordinance, eyes twitching to the rear view mirror for guidance. *Goddamnit,* he thought, catching glimpses of the rising dust cloud behind him, *the humans are closing faster than I expected.*
"Jesus Christ," shouted Jesus Christ, "do you see that?"
"It's about time they took us seriously," laughed Satan.
"What is it?" asked God through gritted teeth, swerving to avoid another explosion.
"A gunship, father," said Jesus, his voice sinking, "a very, very large one."
God glanced into the mirror once more. An enormous flying fortress now dominated the sky behind them, gaining fast. Its metallic skin glinted in the dying sun, revealing an arsenal of weapons more fearsome than any he'd seen before. Evasive manoeuvres would be useless against a monster like that. He would have to do something drastic.
"Jesus, take the wheel," he said, turning to face his son.
"Father, no, your powers are nearly—"
He put his hand on Jesus' shoulder to calm him, smiling softly, then looked to the back of the jeep. "Satan, get behind me."
"Heh, you got it boss," he grunted, hauling an assault rifle in both hands.
"Buddha... man the fifty cal."
The bulging man only smiled in response. Then, with calm resolve, he shifted his weight behind the turret, grasped the trigger, and took aim at the encroaching hordes. A moment later, the sound of jolly laughter and blazing gunfire filled the air.
"Please don't do this, father," said Jesus, squeezing past God into the driver's seat, "we won't be able to survive without you."
"I know you are afraid, my son, but technically speaking... well, you *are* me."
Jesus' shoulders sagged. "I could never be as great as you."
"Nonsense. The mistakes I have made are countless, and creating these monsters is only one of them." He gestured out to the approaching armada. "I don't want you to be as great as me. I want you to be *better*."
And with that he leapt into the air, Satan at his side. The ground shrunk below him, revealing the extent of the human army. There were thousands of them, swarming like ants, devouring the land in their vicious pursuit. A pang of guilt struck him as he watched. Everything was his fault. He wasn't omniscient, he couldn't have known that it would end this way, but he should never have given them so much power. They were his greatest mistake... and he would pay for it with his life.
"You sure you wanna do this, boss?" Satan was hovering beside him, brown fur whipping wildly in the wind, rifles slung against his shoulders.
"We've had our turn, old friend." He smiled, familiar energy swelling up inside him. "It's time to pass on the mantle."
Satan grinned in return, madness flashing in his eyes. Then they turned their attention on the writhing mass of damned souls below them.
Deities were not immortal, nor omnipotent. It had taken a long time for the humans to figure that out. Their technology and numbers were overwhelming now, and God wasn't sure if his kin would be able to survive the onslaught. But he did know one thing. He would give his son as much time as possible to gather his forces and fight. The humans would never forget this day.
The day that heaven and hell rained their wrath upon them.
| 2017-11-15T14:43:36 | 2017-11-15T13:57:24 | 92 | 13 |
[WP] You declared to the heavens that you would never fall in love. Aphrodite hereslf took it as a challenge.
|
Considering the fact that she's a goddess and can and will smite me given a reason, I know that the last thing I should do is laugh at Aphrodite.
But the way she's rubbing her temples and groaning at yet another failed attempt makes suppressing my laughter, quite frankly, a herculean task.
"What is your PROBLEM?" She glares at me for a moment before beginning to pace back and forth across the room."I mean, I sent her RIGHT TO YOUR DOOR this time!"
I shrug.
"I don't know her. If it's important, I'll take a look in my mailbox later."
"You KNOW it's important! It's LOVE!" She slams her fist on the table in frustration. Surprisingly, it doesn't explode into splinters this time. She must be restraining herself.
"Subjective." I sigh, flopping back onto the couch and picking up my controller. Booting up my Playstation, I smile as it hums to life and the familiar music of God of War begins to play. I wave the controller in her direction. "Want to take turns, again?"
She glances at the screen, then back at me with a raised eyebrow.
"What? You had fun last time..." I mutter. "You know, when you weren't messing around with my friends list. I'm not even sure HOW you managed to lock ALL my female friends into one chatroom with me! I had to factory reset the thing to set them all free!"
Aphrodite hesitates for a moment before dropping down onto the couch and snatching the controller from my hands.
"How long have we been doing this?" She mutters, flipping her way through the menus. "Hey, where's my save?"
*"Factory reset.* Both our saves are gone." I reply, folding my arms over my chest in an attempt to show my mediocre amounts of frustration. "And I think today marks a month since you declared war on my single status?"
She sighs and starts a new game for herself.
"You never leave your house! You work from home, you don't answer your door, your idea of a good time is to stay inside and play video games all night... You're more than an introvert, you're a shut-in!"
I grin again, putting slightly less effort into hiding it.
"Well, I mean, I guess you could say that you won in one respect..."
This instantly grabs her attention, the game pausing as her head snaps to look at me.
"I HAVE fallen in love..." I turn and met her gaze, giving her a gentle smile.
Her expression drops.
"Well, I mean... I guess we could make it work if we-"
"-with winning."
I'm pretty sure I'm going to get smitten, now. Oh well. It was worth it. I guess in my own way, I managed to slay a god.
|
****TRIGGER WARNING****
Aphrodite skulked along the massive halls of Mt. Olympus towards her husband's great workshop. An eerie stillness settled in; no chatter, no laughing, no joy, just cold marble. Always the same during times like these.
As she rounded a corner she noticed Zeus pacing back and forth in front of her. For a brief moment she thought of running; the scared girl inside of her thinking only of escape. That fleeting moment passed as Zeus turned towards her and approached. Aphrodite steeled herself, she was no child, she was a goddess. Her long, lithe form strode to meet the king of the gods half way.
"Well?" He demanded more than asked. His eyes wide and bloodshot, teeth clenched and grinding, with a slight bit of froth forming at the corners of his mouth.
"It was an easy task," Aphrodite responded confidently. "No mortal man could possibly stand up to the compulsions of the goddess of love and beauty. I found him a suitable wife and made the two of them fall madly in love with each other. They married 3 moons ago and the wife is with child."
"Perfect! And today, what did you do today my dear?" Zeus smiled the smile of a fanatic; no humor or joy, only fervent devotion to a cause.
This was the hard part. The part Aphrodite had practiced and rehearsed for the past 3 moons. She would tell Zeus that she has decided to wait, to let them develop a deeper bond so when she does sever it the man will suffer all the more. Let her bear him children and let him fall in love with those children as well, only then will she take it from him.
It was a good lie. Not only was it believable, but it fed on Zeus's fanaticism. He would believe it and she would have plenty of time to figure something else out. Perhaps Zeus would eventually forget about the challenge, or maybe he would be satisfied and just assume Aphrodite would take care of things anyway. Hell, maybe some natural tragedy will befall the man and she could take credit. What a terrible thought.
"I..." Aphrodite began shakily, the little girl in her creeping back to the forefront. "I didn't do anything. I watched them and they were happy and...I thought maybe it would be nice if they could stay happy."
It was a stupid lie. Zeus would never forget and would be all the angrier when her deception was discovered. Better to face him now than later.
For a moment Zeus simply stared as if not fully comprehending her words. Perhaps, Aphrodite thought, he was considering her words...a far better outcome than she had imagined.
Zeus's hand shot forward and latched around Aphrodite's throat. Instinctively Aphrodite tried to reach up and pry the hand off of her throat but, as electricity coursed throughout her body, she found herself paralyzed. Her long and lithe form softened and shortened, her beauty appearing less as a proud goddess and more innocent and fragile. A defense mechanism designed to disarm her attacker, a change that Zeus entirely ignored. As her heart and diaphragm struggled to draw in and pump oxygen throughout her body, Zeus spoke.
"We conquered this world by challenging the Titans. The only reason we were able to challenge them in the first place was due to a moment of weakness from my mother Rhea." Zeus explained, his calm voice belying the rage underneath. "You know this, Aphrodite. We crush any and all challenges, we will not be thrown off ourselves."
"Father please, they aren't like us, they could never challenge us and hope to succeed. They aren't strong like us," Aphrodite managed to choke out, pleading with her father despite a nearly paralyzed jaw.
A twitch of his lip sent more electricity through Aphrodite's body. Terror swept through her body as she realized no muscle in her body would work, as she realized she was dying. Ignorant or uncaring of her silent unnoticeable terror-stricken state, Zeus spoke again.
"You will go back down there, and you will tear them apart. He will know loss and he will never experience love again, he will die broken and miserable. If you do not, next time I will not let go."
He tossed Aphrodite away, letting her broken body slump to the floor. Spasms wracked her body as deep hacking sobbing coughs over took her. By the time her body had recovered enough to take note of her surroundings, she was once again greeted only by cold marble.
She disguised herself as a cloaked beggar just on the outskirts of the little village where the man and woman lived. She saw as the man and woman laughed and joked, she witnessed them lovingly discuss how their child would have his eyes and her smile, she nodded in agreement as they decided on names...Galen if he's a boy, Ariadne if she's a girl. For many days she watched a love far greater than any she had experienced blossom and grow.
She thought of her husband, how he hid in his workshop unwilling to support her decision leaving her to her fate. She thought of her siblings and friends scurrying off into every dark nook and and crack when Zeus attacked her. How many witnessed what Zeus had done, she wondered. Hiding out of sight, every bit as paralyzed as her.
Most of all, she thought of her father. She thought of his hand around her throat, how powerless she was to stop him. She thought of dying that way, murdered by her father for the crime of allowing two mortals a bit of happiness. She knew in her heart that he would, as well. His success mutated him into a paranoid fanatic; he was a monster.
She watched the man and woman, watched their love grow, and she grew cold. Her form hardened, lips thin and pursed, eyes cold and steely. Her beauty changed again; Not of a proud goddess nor of fragile innocence, hers was a cold, hard beauty. The beauty of a glacier cutting through the cold oceans of the north.
She watched as the woman glanced over towards a young farmhand. A cursory glance and nothing more, but all Aphrodite needed. She waved her hand once and left, to report to Zeus. She did not need nor intend to stick around and watch the outcome.
The woman glanced back at the farmhand as he looked up. Their eyes locked and cheeks flushed as they smiled warmly at each other.
| 2018-03-08T23:32:34 | 2018-03-08T21:05:41 | 144 | 25 |
[WP] Everyone knows about the sword in the stone. Even the strongest of men have failed to remove it. You chuckle as you walk toward the stone with a pickaxe.
|
I chuckle as I approach the Sword in the Stone with a pickaxe. The crowd gossips and gasps as I pass.
A feeble old woman approaches me, tugging at my tunic. "Young Sir! You must not use the pick upon the stone. It is Gods test for us and interfering would be a sin!"
"Then call me a sinner, bitch" I say as I walk by.
A failed knight blocks my path, his shadow dark across my face.
"You really want to take to coward’s way out?", He rumbles.
"Yes." I continue on.
A noble woman stands beside the stone watching my approach. She’s elegant and fair enough to be queen, "Will you really do this?" She asks demurely. "England deserves a noble King."
"M'lady." I wink at her.
Abreast of the stone, I prepare to strike. But not before I call to the gathering crowd, "FOR JEFFERY!". I bring the pickaxe down upon the stone.
"Yeeeaahh. No. I'm not letting you do that." I hear a female voice say. "It's a magic stone now. Immune to all piercing and blunt force damage."
I turn to the voice and it's the woman. Only she looks much more annoyed. And was also turning into a very old man. Dammit Merlin.
"That's not fair!" I yell "That's way too over powered when you never said we couldn't break the stone!"
"I shouldn’t have to say it!" Merlin yelled back. "The instructions were clear, 'Step 1) Pull out sword, Step 2) be King.' I honestly don't know what you’re struggling with here, Jeffery."
"But no one has been able to pull the sword out in years!"
"Have you tried?" Merlin asks, rising an eyebrow.
I never had. I had skipped straight to Plan Pickaxe.
My eyes never leaving the sword, I dropped the pickaxe. I sense the crowd hold its breath ask I clutch the hilt of the fabled Sword. I take a single moment to steady my nerves and then I PULL! And then I PULLL AGAIN! I give one more TUG, but the sword stays rooted.
"What the Hell!" I yell at Merlin showing him my red, blistered palms. "It didn't Move!"
"That's right" Merlin says knowingly. "Because you would be a real shitty king, Jeffery"
|
"The rules of governance are that the person who frees the sword may rule over the Britons," I said.
The lady of the Lake was not pleased, and neither, I assume, were the various knights who had been camping on the shore. Many of them were in undershirts, looking more like robust men than the fearsome suits of metal made them out to be
"You are correct. And that will be your title," said the lady. She moved in to whisper into my ears. "But you will have a much harder time convincing those men over there of your legitimacy. And can you imagine should any one of them run away, your secret wiles will be revealed."
She pulled back, ethereal, her hair floating as if she were still underwater.
"James Smithson, I hereby proclaim you the King of the Britons, entitled to wear the sword Excalibur and lead the people of this green land to their destiny."
There was a flash of light and a simple band of gold descended upon my head. I reached for Excalibur and found it not so heavy that I could not wield it. The lady produced a sheath and soon the sword was buckled around my waist.
With all the pomp and ceremony finished, the Lady descended again into the waters, and I was left, with a coterie of seven knights.
I turned to them.
Their presence physically did not exceed mine. But I knew that they were the better of sword, even if I were the better of cleverness and hard work.
"I, James Smithson, am now the King of the Britons. Kneel unto me, and receive yourself as the knights of my round table!"
the words came to James' mind, though he had no table, nor a keep, nor castle of his own. In fact, all he had, that he knew of, were his smithy, his wife, and a town full of people that mostly respected him.
The idea that he might have the allegiance of knights was knew to him.
That these knights might declare their allegience to their new king must have also taken them aback, for six of the seven continued to stare. One did kneel, if it was only half-hearted, from the glare he gave me.
I looked over them.
One down, six to go.
___
**Sir Putnam of the Golden Lance**
___
The six who hadn't kneeled disbanded to their tents without a word. The last remained in his position.
"Tell me, what is your name and title, sir?" James asked.
"I am Sir Putnam, my lord. I bear the title of the golden Lance, carried by my father and his father before him."
I nodded, allowing my confusion to rest in the back of my mind. It didn't matter what the Golden Lance was, per se, just that the title was a title itself.
I pulled Excalibur from its sheath and then tapped the shoulders of the kneeling knight.
"Arise Sir Putnam of the Golden Lance, as a knight of my table!"
The man did so and looked at me with a passive face.
"Now, why did you, of all these men kneel so readily?" I asked.
" Do you wish for me to rescind my pledge to you?" He asked.
"No, I am your king, and I want to know how you think, so I may better lead you!"
Sir Putnam sighed heavily. Then he turned and started to walk towards the lake.
I followed him, hoping that he was thinking of something to tell me. Then he turned and shook his head.
"You can't say you're the king, then let me come and go, and even follow me when I do."
I looked at him, questioning.
"You said it yourself, a King Leads. He does not follow."
Whatever bravado I had earlier had waned. My giddiness at having freed Excalibur had subsided.I was stuck with a feeling that I knew nothing, and that my cleverness had landed me in much of a worse situation than I might have ever imagined.
"The reason I pledge loyalty to you, though you do not deserve it, is because my family has always pledged loyalty to the King of the Britons. Even during the War of the Pretender."
My confusion must have continued to show, for Putnam sighed again.
"I'm loyal to you because my family has been entirely dedicated to the unification of Britannia. Now that you are the king, I am obligated to pledge loyalty to you."
Explained that way, I started to see things a little clearer. It was not unlike the expectations my father had had of me, to take over the smithy once he had passed.
I brought myself up tall and said, 'That's very good of you, Sir Putnam. I am glad for your support." I pointed over to the tents of the other knights and their multicolored pennants. "Now, how can I go about ensuring the loyalty of the others, so that no-one need know the circumstances of my rise to King?"
"What you are asking, is beyond what I know." Sir Putnam smiled, before resuming his passive face and turning away.
I stared after him, feeling my muscles want to run and chase him. A King Leads. He does not follow.
"Sir Putnam, you stop there!" I shouted. To my surprise, the knight did stop. But he continued to face away.
"Now turn around!" He did.
"You will tell me of a way to make the other six pledge their loyalty to my cause." Then an idea struck me.
" Lest the unification of the Britons never be complete," I said with a smile.
Sir Putnam blanched. He frowned for a few seconds, then said. "Alright. I can help you with one of them--Sir Gallymead. The others I do not know well enough."
I nodded, feeling the power of authority suffuse my bones. "Then, let's be on, to the tent of Sir Gallymead!"
___
/r/chrisbryant
| 2018-04-17T20:27:16 | 2018-04-17T20:01:03 | 131 | 42 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I looked over at my sister- nine years younger than me, and yet somehow the same age all of a sudden. Her head was in her hands, the air of defeat around her almost visible.
Next to her a tall, handsome boy slept peacefully on his back.
I heard her heave a deep sigh, and looked over as she ran her hands over her tight, flat stomach, and smallish, perky breasts in disbelief.
"Julie," she whimpered. Her eyes made contact with mine and I could see the desperation in them before she threw her gaze over to the young man next to her. "What am I supposed to do? How can I handle this? I only gave birth to him two weeks ago."
|
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really!" I told my buddy as I looked at his dark eyes, even darker in the lightless dusty room.
"Well, stop bragging, Shane" he snapped, "things are pretty bloody well screwed at this point as it is. Last thing I need is you rambling about Mrs. Bartley"
But Mrs Bartley was indeed something we all knew about. Hell, she even used to scare us. In every neighbourhood there is an old woman, older than the Pharaohs themselves, and quite frankly you wonder how is she even alive. And more often than not they are very talkative, or at least so my parents said when they were tired of Mrs. Bartley's constant questions. And while she was our talkative older-than-the-world lady, she pretty much scared the living spirit out of us. Through most of our memories we have always been living in constant terror just by the thought of her. Maybe it was her teeth.
But all biting remarks aside something got to me this Halloween evening and a bit before midnight, I decided to leave my buddies, Sam, Dean and Merry, and go to Mrs Bartley's. Not so much for the candy, rather for the bragging rights of leaving a flaming bag of cat's products on her doorstep. But it was not Mrs Bartley who openes the door, and it was not me who knocked on it. I mean it was but when I looked in the mirror a few seconds after I entered the house, it sure felt like it wasn't. Long story short I was pretty impressed how her old parched skin had turned into smooth velvet over seconds and that platinum blonde did suit her as her natural hair colour. She was impressed by other things in my physique. So was I. The first two times for sure. Then it felt natural.
What staggered me most was not the fact that the news guys, and her TV always had the news on, got the situation pretty quickly - everyone had turned back or as in my case forward, to their adolescent years. Some even proposed that we were all 18. Hell, those scinece guys really pack a brain in the 21st century. Others proposed that we were 21, since it was more appropriate for their state - then the arguments began. But they didn't last long. It was not the fact that all the animals were in the peak of their predatorial minds and causing havok, no no no. It was that whatever got us like this - bacteria, virus, retrograde Mars with a full moon, whatever, man, it got to everybody. And I mean every body!!
We saw them around 5 in the morning walking towards town from the general direction of the cemetery. Mrs Bartley's house was close, I don't know if she had a plan to get closer or whatever, but we saw them! Hundreds! All of them my age! Our age! They were walking relentlessly through the street... But the thing is that while Mrs Bartley and I knew exactly whp we were before this thing happened - those guys didn't. All they knew was the hunger and the longing of being burried. And they were pissed.
They broke the front door and sunk their teeth in Mrs Bartley as I was putting on my jeans. Her blood stood out over her blonde hair, her entrails stood out on the tile floor. I almost pissed myself, but I ran. I ran so hard like I never have in my whole life. I even smacked one of the walking undead on the head. I never looked back at him....or maybe it was her... I don't even know.
I found Dave near the school, where we used to smoke, instead of going to class. He told me Sam and Marry were dead. A group of those...things had gotten them while they were making out in front of him.
"I mean, maybe I shouldn't have told them to go to Hell, it was probably the last they heard from me, but it gave me the time to run, Shane, so I did it!" said Dave as we were entering one of the class rooms
"You know what, Dave, I never thought that I would do it, mate, never really" I replied...
Happy Halloween, boys and girls
| 2020-11-02T10:49:46 | 2020-11-02T09:54:34 | 105 | 19 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
I shouldn't, I couldn't, help but laugh at me
At least I would've, if I weren't so angsty
My wrinkled skin, now pale and acne'd
Strange hate for my reflection, hating back at me.
&#x200B;
If I'd took to the window, and forgot the mirror
I'd have seen it was everyone, not just me that was thinner
In waist, wallet and debt, and 9 to 5s
And fatter in dreams of women's behinds.
&#x200B;
And as the world shaped to our volatile brains
Stock markets swung hard with waves of mood change
And change was everywhere, the news displayed-
"THE ESTABLISHMENT - BANNED - BY ORDER OF THE SAME!"
&#x200B;
And all-night parties turned all-year raves
And gap years swelled to gap decades
Till being cool wasn't, and hipsters were lame
Till even the hardcore wanted bedtime again.
&#x200B;
With elastic bodies and fresh-faced agendas
When lost virginities became legal tender
As the fray turned grey, we realised our plight:
"It's no fun being young when there's no one to fight."
|
Dandy Town, unlike its name, is a town far from perfection. In fact this little hamlet or village is a hidden gem I found while on one of my numerous trips to my Step Father’s bakery for breakfast.
I always had a penchant for funny things, but this town was a whole new definition of eccentricity and silliness. Every citizen of this town was a greater example than the other. They welcomed me like one of their own and stuffed me with sushi, which they claimed to be their own local delicacy and called it Honor Roll, something they ate on the occasion of graduation mostly.
There are so many anecdotes and events about this town throughout this book, but I would like to start with one of the most silly and stupid ones that made me fall in love with the cute little people of Dandy Town.
Back in the 2010s when I was in a famous TV series, the town of Dandy had a little series of incidents of its own.
The people of all ages woke up one day. To their surprise they now had bodies of 18 year olds. With their memories intact!!
“I basically lived my prepubescent years twice, once when I was 18 and then when I turned 18 on my 54th birthday!” said Abe McPherson, the current mayor of the Town, happily relinquishing the event in his memories.
“I was kinda like a playboy when I was 18, so when I turned 18 once again, I wasn’t really able to stop my horses,” said Sheriff Willie, who had a special incident in this particular event.
**The Author, referred above as I, has now compiled a few dramatised recollections of the citizen’s here in Dandy Town regarding the event. The names have been changes but the prior permission of the subjects had been taken before**
*******************
I woke up on Sunday morning as the rooster made its usual noise. I burped and got up from the bed. My wife was asleep on the bed, sweating after last night.
We had moved the bed from the outside of the room to inside it finally. We were two 80 year olds who had moved into this house just the week before. It had taken us five days to push the bed in slowly, and on each day it took, we had to sleep outside the bedroom. Only the first day was a problem though when we had to sleep outside the house, where the bed was, since we hadn’t been able to push it in.
We don’t hire people for this work as we are self dependent people.
But the only thing that wasn’t self reliant for me was my ding dong, or my manhood. It had refused to stand up in 35 years except for the one time when it rose up slightly because of the urine infection.
When I woke up that day, my whole body felt like it had a new sort of vigour and energy. And when I saw below, for the first time in 35 years I had a morning standing ovation by my ding dong.
But it gave me a lot of problems, like when I went into the washroom for peeing that morning, My God the speed with which it came out almost blew me away like it was a jet pack. And I made a great big mess.
****************
I woke up and checked myself in the mirror. Oh Holy God! I looked so pretty and beautiful. Just like when I was 18!!
I decided to skip church that day. I was a Sister at the Dandy Town Church for Women. But this new body and energy had given me, a 60 year old retired woman who had given up on life and lived on the hopes of Christ, a big helping hand in confidence.
I roamed about the Town. I smoked hookah with the boys that day. God would have been angry but I knew that he gave me that body for some reason. Why else would he give me such a hot body that was Bikini waxed?
Many guys flirted with me, but this one young man seemed to have caught the attention of my eyes.
“Lookie here. What can I do to be with a girl like you, miss?” Said the boy.
“ You could take me out for dinner,” I flaunted.
“ Well I would, but the police would arrest me for carrying fireworks, ma’am”
I had laughed hard, when suddenly he pulled me close. At that time, I turned around.
Suddenly I felt a slight unzip of my dress at the back. I turned around to see that horny 18 year old using the magnet in his watch trying to be God Knows What!
“Sheer magnetism, baby”
*****************
Yeah I was 14 at the time we all became 18 and had just watched Live and Let Die, so I tried to become Bond. Big deal! I am a
the proud sheriff of this town now and I have forgotten things of the past.
*****************
I have more planned if you’d like!!!
| 2020-11-02T10:58:27 | 2020-11-02T09:45:20 | 36 | 15 |
[WP] You're 34 years old with a wife and two kids when your School of Sorcery application was granted. You sent that application 20 years ago and told them you were no longer interested. They replied that refusal is not an option and that you will be taken in 48 hours.
|
Dear school of sorcery representative
I am 34 years old and perfectly capable of telling what and what I do not refuse.
If your kidnapping services are as swift as your respons to my application 20 years ago, I assume you made a typo and meant to say "you will be taken in 48 years", not hours.
If you however still insist on abducting me, I promise you I will become the best student you have ever had.
I will score top marks,
ace every class,
and master every possible spell.
I will then use this knowledge to turn back time to 5 minutes after posting this letter and horribly murder each and every one Involved in my kidnapping. Even down to the hobgoblin whose spit you used to stick the stamp to the envelope.
Kind regards
|
"There is no such thing as a rejection, sir," the grave voice of the grey-bearded wizard echoed in my mind.
Twenty years ago, I was very interested in sorcery. Responding to a flier from the bum down the street, I applied for the School of Sorcery. My major of choice: Dragon Slaying. That was me then, waiting for a taste of danger, hungering for it.
Now, with a wife and two kids, I couldn't even entertain the thought of doing such a thing as dragon slaying. So, I refused to join the school when my application was, after twenty years, accepted.
"Honey, what's the matter? You look preoccupied," said Sam -- my wife.
"It's the school stuff. The old coot's voice is still ringing in my ears."
"Why're are you so worried?" she raised an eyebrow. "You didn't accept it, did you?"
"No, the voice, it just rings in my head. Maybe it's some sorcery."
"Then you better meet that man again. I don't want to haul you off to some asylum or something."
"I don't think they have asylums anymore, do they? Anyways, what can that guy do? You know he asked me to pack up in forty-eight hours."
"Why?"
"He said some agent will take me when the forty-eight hours are up. I hope he was joking. He did laugh."
"Wait. So your refusal means nothing?"
"Nothing."
"Isn't that illegal?"
"They're sorcerers, aren't they, they can make anything disappear," I said and chuckled.
Sam's face grew tight. "What about the kids?"
"It's not like I'm going. I'm sure he was joking."
"How many hours do you have left?"
"Thirtysomething."
"Oh."
"Hey, come on, I'm sure it was a harmless joke. He laughed while saying that. Believe me. This is so silly."
"Honey, stay home today. No need to go to work."
I sighed. "Okay."
Sam didn't send the kids to school that day. I spent the whole day talking to them, playing with them. Lively kids they are, one four and the other six. But kids that play all day fall asleep quickly, and so was the case with them.
I spent the night talking to Sam, whispering sweet nothings in her ear, playing with her, teasing her, loving her. She was into it. That was until she started crying.
"Is this the last I'll ever see of you?"
"No. Definitely not. Don't worry. I won't go."
The next morning went by in a flash. In the evening, a strange gentleman dressed in a charcoal black suit appeared in the fireplace.
"Good evening Mr. Atkins. Good evening Mrs. Atkins."
"Good evening."
"Sir, are you ready? We'll be leaving in half an hour."
"I'm not going," I said and gave Sam a nod. She nodded back.
"Sir, I believe Mage Rothchild informed you that no such thing was possible. I'd advise you comply."
"What if I don't? I've got a wife and kids, sir. I can't do no dragon slaying."
Sam started sobbing.
"That is not our concern, Mr. Atkins. You filled the form, and you were selected. You have to come. It's our policy. And it was printed on the application form you filled."
"But I was only fourteen!"
"That is not our concern." The sorcerer glanced at his watch. "Twenty minutes remain. Sir, are you coming?"
"No."
"Very well."
Out of his sleeve, a wand appeared. He held it in his right hand, waved it in a semicircular arc, and yelled, "Way of binding: Holy Chains."
Suddenly, my hands, my chest, and my entire being felt stifled and bounded. The sorcerer walked over to me and pointed the wand at Sam. "Don't do anything rash, Mrs. Atkins. I don't want to hurt you."
Then he dragged me to the fireplace and muttered a spell. An iron door appeared out of thin air. He slung me over his shoulder and opened the door. The sound of Sam crying, the kids crying, pierced my ears.
"That is not our concern," the sorcerer said and walked into the blinding light.
| 2021-03-12T11:12:31 | 2021-03-12T09:31:27 | 2,416 | 442 |
[WP] A being at the gates of the afterlife allows every soul that passes through to ask it one question. Used to being asked questions such as "What is the meaning of life?" and "How many people loved me?", it's taken unawares when a soul asks "How was your day?" instead.
|
The being bents its enormous head to the side, curious and puzzled.
**"I am timeless, life itself. I am the Gods you worship, and the eternity you seek. I am the Guardian. I do not experience days, months, years. I am eternal, I have always been and always will be."**
The boy before it, no more than 14, clapped ironically.
"Yeah, I know arsehole. You told me that when I walked in. Come on, don't be shy now. Papa John's here to listen."
The Guardian does not understand. It growls in response.
"You are one stubborn bastard ain't ya?" the boy complains. "Alright then. I'm just gonna sit right here-", he sits on a chair that appeared out of nowhere to serve his demand, "-and wait until you're comfy."
The heavenly creature bents forward, to take a better look at this "John".
**" You are... peculiar,"** it implores after a brief examination. The boy scoffs.
"Acute observation. Now don't change the subject. You will talk about your feelings whether you want to or not."
The being nods approvingly.
**"You seem stubborn. I like that. I was like you once."**
The boy almost falls off from his chair. "Human?" he asks, reluctantly.
**"No, Asker. Young. Foolish. Stubborn. But with the strange wisdom of a youth yet untouched by time."**
The boy, satisfied, gestured for the Guardian to continue.
**"It has been long, since I last spoke this much about myself. You humans care not for the Gatekeeper, only for what awaits inside."**
Its interlocutor makes a disgruntled whimper, getting ready to protest. The Guardian cuts him off.
**"Oh, I don't blame you. Those that arrive here are tortured souls. The least of your concerns should be The Guardian of the Last Gates."**
The boy attempts to protest again, but the Guardian does not let him.
**"I had a family once. Humans who didn't worship or hate me. They... understood me, I believe. They felt my anguish, knew my sorrow. They too, were castaways. They were the wicked of humanity, the ones no-one but I wanted. And, for a time, children used to play in this Garden."**
**"But then they left. In a whim of humanity, they abandoned me. Left me here, to guard the Last Gates alone. Again, I cannot blame them. It's a lonely existence, at the end of this here life."**
The young boy grinned sarcastically. "Yeah, tell me about it," he said under his breath. The Guardian waited for a moment, before asking **"How come you died so young, Asker?"**
He gulped. The being smiled. He answered.
"I... I was half dead for all my life. I was born with a late stage tumour, and for 14 years I was in and out of coma. Eventually, I begged my parents to end my suffering. The last thing I saw was my mother's teared-up eyes, as I fell to sleep again."
The being pushed its feathered head against the boy's back.
**"I understand. Are you at peace now?"**
"I... no, no I'm not."
**"Are you ready to go through the Last Gates?"**
"No, I don't think so."
**"Would you want to stay with me until you are?"**
The boy stays silent for a while.
*"Yes. I think I'd like that."*
––––––––––––
r/TheWriterCunt
|
"It was... well it was, wasn't it?" The booming Voice, the Trumpet that pronounced the judgments of the World and the Living upon the Dead, seemed to stumble a bit.
"Well, how do you mean?" There was a sort of gentle curiosity in the voice, one that had spent a lifetime in conversations just like this--well, maybe not just like this.
"No one has ever asked such a question of us, Ezekial Mallos." The voice still boomed, but now it seemed quite conversational.
In the blinding whiteness between universes, devoid of shape or color or anything but the Question and the Answer, there was hesitation in a place that never been created to stop. A trillion living souls on a billion worlds all died--a rather light day when speaking of the Universe--and now they had nowhere to go. The blinding whiteness resounded with questions, but the Voice was currently mumbling a bit.
"Well, I've got the time if you want to tell me about it?" There was only supposed to be one Question, but this soul had now asked its 3rd, and still, the first had yet to be Answered.
"I mean, a day only exists on your planet. Other species don't even tell time at all, much less based on their home planet's rotation around its axis." The Voice seemed to be stretching, as though easing out of a chair and flexing a bit. Thoughts that had communicated only with each other were now Voiced for the first time since... well since Time began.
"Well, how's your eternity then?" There wasn't any ulterior motive in these Questions, just a friendly conversation with a new person. The speaker had always lived that way, a simple and naturally curious man, but one of good humor and endless laughter, who struck up a conversation with every person around him, meeting new friends every day. A living archive of human stories.
"That's a much more complicated Question." The Voice laughed, and the whiteness seemed to shake. "It's not boring. I know so much about Creation's children. They are so fascinating."
"How so?" It was though the old man was here, the voice seemingly leaning back in a chair and gesturing to continue with a smile.
"All of you, no matter how far-flung and alien you all seem, no matter which galaxy or star or asteroid, all of you ask the same three questions!" The Voice laughed, a trumpeting of endless supernovas filling the emptiness. "Why was I born? Where am I going next? Is there a God?"
"Well, I suppose those are the big three, aren't they?" The voice chuckled and it was easy to imagine a pair of twinkling eyes. "Doesn't matter where you're born or how you look, everyone wants to know if they mattered."
"Of course they mattered." The Voice sighed, suddenly weary. "You all matter. You matter so much more than any of you can know."
"Well, hindsight and all." A gentler smile now, with its own sadness.
"We're all waiting for you, you know." The Voice was suddenly impatient. "And we have been for a long time."
"How do you mean?" Genuine confusion now.
"The Singularity. The Oneness. The Universal Consciousness. The Harmony. It doesn't matter what you call it." The Voice sighed again, wishing for a future that was still far off. "The moment when every living creature finally understands that they are all part of a greater organism and you all awaken."
"Awaken?" A wondrous curiosity, like a child watching a space shuttle, or hearing a new story.
"Awaken." The Voice laughed softly, and a sudden warmth filled the empty whiteness. "The reason you were born. Where you are going next. The moment you see God."
"What is it?" A hunger now, for knowledge. Beyond the curiosity of habit or conversation. An instinctive, inborn, primal desire to know more, to have the answer.
"Well, it's hard to explain in terms that you brain can understand." The Voice all but shrugged, before continuing on like a patient father. "You're like single cell in a vast being, and that being will only live when you all work together to grant it life. When you all stop working against one another and finally understand that you are all living beings in the same universe."
"Well, I imagine that might be a bit." A gentle chuckle, one filled with a bit of weariness. "We're pretty far from there, I suppose."
"You're a ways off," the Voice didn't disagree, before it laughed again. "But, if it makes you feel any better, you're a little closer today than you were yesterday."
"How much closer?" The weariness was there still, filled with doubt.
"Close enough." The Voice reassured him with a gentle tone, the warmth filling the space. "And now, you get to see what's next."
"Oh, but... if we're not there yet... ..." The voice was suddenly fearful, facing eternity instead of a friendly question. In the end, fear came for almost all of them in the last moments before the end.
"What happens to you?" The Voice finished the question that the man had trailed off from speaking. "Now you get to keep getting closer, to keep trying."
"Reincarnation, eh?" A wry chuckle. "My grandsons love telling me about their animes. I get a power now, right? Or a Wish?"
"Something like that." The Voice laughed, rumbling throughout the whiteness. "Don't worry, it's not a punishment."
"You promise?" Like a child, asking for a second check of the closet or beneath the bed. The desperate need for reassurance.
"With all of my being." The warmth filled every fibre of the man's soul and he could suddenly see a pinprick of darkness in the vast white, slowly growing larger. The Voice continued softly, "it's a gift, Zeke."
"So, you talked to her, too?" A smile, a sad one now, filled with memories. "Sam..."
"I did, and don't worry, she's there too." The Voice boomed and the dark spot grew larger and larger still. "And thanks to you, Zeke, my day was quite excellent." As the empty white was suddenly filled with color, the Voice boomed in his head one last time, before blackness overcame everything.
"Thank you."
***
"Do you, Zekian Crovalnus, take this one, Callient Sammakian, to be your Oath?"
"I do."
"And do you Callient Sammakian take this one, Zekian Crovalnus, to be your Oath?"
"I do."
"Then in the name of the Sun King and the High Queens Above, I bless this union. Let all the gods and spirits bear witness to their Oath and Hallow It!"
"I love you, Zeke." Her voice was soft and gentle, quaking a bit, with tears of happiness running down her face. His was barely a whisper, and her face swam in his vision, muddled by his own joyous tears.
"I love you too, Sam."
| 2021-03-28T20:36:51 | 2021-03-28T19:47:25 | 2,246 | 159 |
[WP] Lost at sea for months, you spot land at last. You quickly realize you must have discovered some of the last uncharted land in the world. You also quickly realize why it is uncharted.
|
I dragged myself off the raft. Two months of cramped difficult sea travel would put kinks in your legs you might never get out. Though I shouldn't complain. I had been lucky after all. My food and water had survived the shipwreck, along with my cartography instruments. No companionship, but you can't have everything. Pulling my raft onto the beach, I squinted at the tiny bit of the land I could see. Running the latitude and longitude of my location through my head, I grinned. This island was going to be my contribution. It was uncharted and in this time of sea travel that was a rarity. But, I needed to be sure.
Carefully, compass in hand, and stretching my legs as I went, I walked up into the interior. It was time to map this place out.
— — — — —
It's been three days. I've nearly got the entire island down on paper, but something odd is happening. I swear, I'm not crazy. But the land keeps changing. The volcano is first on the east of the island, and then shifts to the west. I don't know where the beach I originally arrived on is anymore, but I know it isn't in the north. Of course, that is where it was on my map before it shifted overnight. This island is incredible. The perfect cartographer's nightmare. Nothing stays where it's supposed to be, nothing is certain. But... I like it. There's always something new, there's always something different. And I've got a lot of paper, and ink.
So, on I go, mapping the infinite variations of the island.
— — — — —
**"Is he,** ***enjoying*** **himself? He's not supposed to enjoy this." The demon scratched his head, staring up at the screen. "Is he?" The Boss, the big guy himself had dreamed up this punishment and it was supposed to drive the human round the bend. But the human was humming and humming happily. Looking at the monitor, and then at the paperwork, it would involve to report this, the demon shrugged.**
**"Ah, well. What can you do? Maybe tomorrow, I'll make there be two volcanoes. That ought to shake things up." Turning back to the controllers, he started manipulating the island once again. After all, he had a punishment to mete out.**
|
The water moved beneath him, pushing him in directions he rarely wanted to go. His Sisters had sent him to this island, a tiny island on a tiny planet. They wanted to find them and even though they didn’t want to admit it, they were losing.
Even with the constant motion of the waves, the air above was breezeless, stale. There was no life and no other seafarers that Mug could see. His body was falling apart, literally falling apart. It had been months at sea and the hunger gnawed at him ceaselessly. He felt the creaking in his joints any time he moved so he did nothing. He sat in his seat, unwilling to even write down the notes that he knew his Sisters required him to.
This sea is alive, Mug thought.
The reports came in from his Sisters slowly and they came straight from the top. It took no effort to receive them, but he couldn’t risk the energy to reply until he had news or coordinates or anything for his Sisters.
“Brother Mug,” the report started. “We didn’t send you to that planet to dawdle. If you have found nothing then come home. Do not waste your time, which is our time, and Mother and Father’s time, on this putrid idea.”
But this was Castle’s idea, Mug thought. He pushed forward, sitting idly in his seat. More reports came, from various Sisters, but mostly from Sister Ocean. Castle had warned Mug of the reports, but he said that as Brothers, they must know the right times to show pride, defiance.
“Our Sisters are powerful, gifted with exceptional talents and foresight. As Brothers, we are only right a fraction of our lives. Unlike the ones that started this war, we need to support our Sisters and they must support us.” Castle said to Mug. It was before Mug had left for this planet, before Mug had decided to stay here.
More reports came, they all said the same thing. Brother Castle hadn’t sent another, he was busy with his own war efforts. Mug’s progression came from his ability to create bodies, in that way he was very unlike Castle. As one of the lowest ranked Siblings, Mug found a niche in rapidly prototyping new bodies. Bodies that could be inhibited for long term travel, he created the link between the body and mind. His parents had been proud, his Sisters had acknowledged him.
He heard something clink on the ground, one of his fingers had fallen off. Mug looked at that finger as another report came weeks later.
“You have seven years to come home,” the report said. “Sister Prairie has volunteered to retrieve you if you fail to report back.”
The ship he was in was small, not meant to take so much water. Mug hadn’t lost his mind, he kept himself busy thinking of new bodies to create once he was back, once he had news. He lived in his memories of family and the memories he’d created in a time of peace. He slowed his body’s breathing, leaving barely anything functioning but his eyes as the waters below him pushed him, moved him to see the sights (or the lack of) around him. He tried to understand the sea beneath, thinking about it, almost wanting to talk to it. He thought it might have been amusing if the sea could talk back to him, then he wondered whether or not he had lost his mind, which was never a good thought to have.
Two years and several more body parts passed until he saw land. Mug thought about manually taking the ship there, using the last of his energy and the ship’s fuel. He asked the sea, his voice crusted and low.
“Will you take me there?” he asked.
There was no reply of course, but the waves pushed him there slowly over the course of a month. The waves seemed almost hesitant to Mug. He noticed that something was wrong almost within a day of seeing the island. The island looked crafted and the waters were thick with a sludge-like material that circled the ship. It only slowed the ship, there was no sign of harm. Once he got closer, the island started to pull them in at a pace that felt impossibly fast compared to the seafaring journey he’d gone to get here.
He started to record what he saw, knowing that he couldn’t afford to do so for more than a few minutes. There were pillars everywhere, first blurry, but the details came quickly. The body’s eyes had trouble rendering at times and it was a critically low power. The recording would be more clear, but for now, Mug saw pillars. The pillars were crafted from rock, steel, gold, bone, and anything the island could spare.
The pillars were massive, the size of some of the ships that the Sisters traveled in. Mug wondered how it was possible that he couldn’t see these pillars from afar. Camouflage? Some kind of force field technology? He got his answer when he saw a ship emerge from one of the pillars. To be more accurate, it was one of the pillars that flew towards him, breaking off from the island.
“Brother Mug,” the voice said. It was coming from the pillar. “I would rather not kill another Brother, will you stand down?”
Mug said nothing, he wanted to put his efforts into keeping the recording, working to send it simultaneously to his Sisters back home.
“This is for our father, your Brother, a Brother.” the voice said. “Rest easy, Brother Mug.”
Mug looked at the pillar that was coming straight for him, hoping he got enough information. He knew he could rebuild himself, but still, he felt fear. He mustered up his voice again, well worn and rarely used. It cracked in the moment, but he faced the pillar.
“You are not one of us.” Mug said as the pillar crashed into his ship.
---
Trying something I've seen here before, going to attempt to write in a wider world/universe that I'd previously built out for a story that I've shelved. The story is called *Castle's Rain*.
If you liked this, feel free to check out r/DeneilYeong where I'll hopefully be posting more in the future!
| 2022-07-09T10:44:00 | 2022-07-09T08:46:00 | 35 | 11 |
[WP] Lost at sea for months, you spot land at last. You quickly realize you must have discovered some of the last uncharted land in the world. You also quickly realize why it is uncharted.
|
I’ve lost feeling in my legs two sunrises ago. I’ve lost it in my head for far longer.
The makeshift boat, a long piece of wood that splintered relatively nicely off the ship, eroded with the best efforts of god’s acts. Little by little, sliver by sliver, the wood shaved itself down to a size where my arms could barely hold on. My head was above water, and there was but one thought.
“Don’t let go.”
I wasn’t certain if my legs were moving, stuck paddling in the same positio—the frantic, posthumous wiggling of a dead cockroach. It was so, so tempting to close my eyes. To shut everything down. To let nature take its course, and to stop resisting, and to simply consign myself to the unknown depths of the ocean.
But that one thought rang loud and true. And so bone-white fingers gripped on, eyes desperately blinking sleeplessness—to little avail.
Over the horizon, the sun broke through once more, yawning and casual. It was just another day for it, a dot on eternity. This was another day before the end of my life. Yet, with the sunshine, a littler glimmer of hope shone on the horizon. A landmass peeked out within the flaring light.
Suddenly, there wasn’t just one thought any more.
“Go.”
I swam, a target materializing out of thin air. Through burning muscles and gritted teeth, I poured every bit of energy into fulfilling one mission. The promise of land, a place where I could finally *stop* moving, was enticing enough to move like hell. Pain filled my lungs, and spread to every cell, a cancer that refused to let go.
I touched land, and relief, instead of saltwater, escaped my lungs.
There was nothing. Not a single sound, but the gentle lapping of waves onto sand, instead of harshly onto water. Peace, at last.
I flopped down on the beach, and laughed. Despite a throat so parched and sore that every little chuckle hurt it like cutting into a thousand sores, I couldn’t help it! Salvation came at a strange time and place, but finally, I could just lie down here.
My legs found enough strength to crawl into shade. There was one sign that greeted my eyes.
“This place is not a place of honor... no highly esteemed deed is commemorated here... nothing valued is here.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
The water moved beneath him, pushing him in directions he rarely wanted to go. His Sisters had sent him to this island, a tiny island on a tiny planet. They wanted to find them and even though they didn’t want to admit it, they were losing.
Even with the constant motion of the waves, the air above was breezeless, stale. There was no life and no other seafarers that Mug could see. His body was falling apart, literally falling apart. It had been months at sea and the hunger gnawed at him ceaselessly. He felt the creaking in his joints any time he moved so he did nothing. He sat in his seat, unwilling to even write down the notes that he knew his Sisters required him to.
This sea is alive, Mug thought.
The reports came in from his Sisters slowly and they came straight from the top. It took no effort to receive them, but he couldn’t risk the energy to reply until he had news or coordinates or anything for his Sisters.
“Brother Mug,” the report started. “We didn’t send you to that planet to dawdle. If you have found nothing then come home. Do not waste your time, which is our time, and Mother and Father’s time, on this putrid idea.”
But this was Castle’s idea, Mug thought. He pushed forward, sitting idly in his seat. More reports came, from various Sisters, but mostly from Sister Ocean. Castle had warned Mug of the reports, but he said that as Brothers, they must know the right times to show pride, defiance.
“Our Sisters are powerful, gifted with exceptional talents and foresight. As Brothers, we are only right a fraction of our lives. Unlike the ones that started this war, we need to support our Sisters and they must support us.” Castle said to Mug. It was before Mug had left for this planet, before Mug had decided to stay here.
More reports came, they all said the same thing. Brother Castle hadn’t sent another, he was busy with his own war efforts. Mug’s progression came from his ability to create bodies, in that way he was very unlike Castle. As one of the lowest ranked Siblings, Mug found a niche in rapidly prototyping new bodies. Bodies that could be inhibited for long term travel, he created the link between the body and mind. His parents had been proud, his Sisters had acknowledged him.
He heard something clink on the ground, one of his fingers had fallen off. Mug looked at that finger as another report came weeks later.
“You have seven years to come home,” the report said. “Sister Prairie has volunteered to retrieve you if you fail to report back.”
The ship he was in was small, not meant to take so much water. Mug hadn’t lost his mind, he kept himself busy thinking of new bodies to create once he was back, once he had news. He lived in his memories of family and the memories he’d created in a time of peace. He slowed his body’s breathing, leaving barely anything functioning but his eyes as the waters below him pushed him, moved him to see the sights (or the lack of) around him. He tried to understand the sea beneath, thinking about it, almost wanting to talk to it. He thought it might have been amusing if the sea could talk back to him, then he wondered whether or not he had lost his mind, which was never a good thought to have.
Two years and several more body parts passed until he saw land. Mug thought about manually taking the ship there, using the last of his energy and the ship’s fuel. He asked the sea, his voice crusted and low.
“Will you take me there?” he asked.
There was no reply of course, but the waves pushed him there slowly over the course of a month. The waves seemed almost hesitant to Mug. He noticed that something was wrong almost within a day of seeing the island. The island looked crafted and the waters were thick with a sludge-like material that circled the ship. It only slowed the ship, there was no sign of harm. Once he got closer, the island started to pull them in at a pace that felt impossibly fast compared to the seafaring journey he’d gone to get here.
He started to record what he saw, knowing that he couldn’t afford to do so for more than a few minutes. There were pillars everywhere, first blurry, but the details came quickly. The body’s eyes had trouble rendering at times and it was a critically low power. The recording would be more clear, but for now, Mug saw pillars. The pillars were crafted from rock, steel, gold, bone, and anything the island could spare.
The pillars were massive, the size of some of the ships that the Sisters traveled in. Mug wondered how it was possible that he couldn’t see these pillars from afar. Camouflage? Some kind of force field technology? He got his answer when he saw a ship emerge from one of the pillars. To be more accurate, it was one of the pillars that flew towards him, breaking off from the island.
“Brother Mug,” the voice said. It was coming from the pillar. “I would rather not kill another Brother, will you stand down?”
Mug said nothing, he wanted to put his efforts into keeping the recording, working to send it simultaneously to his Sisters back home.
“This is for our father, your Brother, a Brother.” the voice said. “Rest easy, Brother Mug.”
Mug looked at the pillar that was coming straight for him, hoping he got enough information. He knew he could rebuild himself, but still, he felt fear. He mustered up his voice again, well worn and rarely used. It cracked in the moment, but he faced the pillar.
“You are not one of us.” Mug said as the pillar crashed into his ship.
---
Trying something I've seen here before, going to attempt to write in a wider world/universe that I'd previously built out for a story that I've shelved. The story is called *Castle's Rain*.
If you liked this, feel free to check out r/DeneilYeong where I'll hopefully be posting more in the future!
| 2022-07-09T10:26:43 | 2022-07-09T08:46:00 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Your quest was to find a demon willing to accept your deal, none of them said yes. "Primordial demons don't make deals, if you go too deep, just turn back" but you went deeper and deeper, meeting the ancient ones that knew no words.
|
“I’m in no position to make a deal like that,” said the first demon that I encountered. “No matter how much I desire your soul.” Five forked tongues emerged like eels from the five mouths above its chin as the demon looked me over.
We were in a dim, damp cavern. A vast rock plinth sat in center of this cave — and on it, something blacker than the darkness. Something that looked organic, like a rotten heart, only it wasn’t beating.
”Then I’ll remain dead,” I said. I didn’t say it sadly nor with anger, just as a statement of fact.
“Deeper,” said one of its mouths, as the tongues in the others retracted.
”You must travel deeper for such a request to be met,” said the next mouth.
“I do not have the power to grant such deals.“
”But others do.“
”If you can reach them,” said the fifth.
The demon pointed to a descending tunnel where shadows rustled like leaves, shadows that morphed on the rock walls into snakes that snapped their black teeth as I walked past. They didn’t scare me, however — how could any danger scare the already dead?
&#x200B;
The second demon‘s face was familar. An ex-girlfriend, my first love. But then her face warped into a teardrop of skin and fell from the demon’s head. Now the face of my father was uncovered and being worn by the creature. For a while I stared as forgetten memories stirred up in my mind as if by a breeze, memories of a man who had died when I was only six. Of being thrown into the air… caught. Peals of laughter.
My father’s face drooped, fell, splashed on top of the previous face.
And now it wore a teacher’s face — an old English teacher from a class I failed. I’d forgotten all about that.
I took a long breath. What can scare the dead? Perhaps this face-wearing demon was the answer.
”I have come to make a deal,” I said. “For my eternal soul, or whatever else I can offer you.”
“And in return?”
”My life.”
The demon’s eyes widened as it shook its head. “I do not have that power, although I have more power than the upper demons.”
”Are there any that do have such power?”
”Perhaps.”
It pointed down. Its face dripped a final time and I saw my son’s gentle features revealed.
Quickly, my stomach roiling, I walked on.
&#x200B;
The third and final demon moved as I did. As if there was a dark mirror between us. Its actions repeated my own.
”I was told you could give me my life back,” I said.
The demon mimicked my movements but it said nothing. I watched it smile sadly. It’s — my — face pale and pallid from the months alone in my home.
After my son’s death, my wife and I weren’t able to look at each other. It wasn’t that we blamed each other but that we blamed ourselves. That we couldn’t stand the other to look at us because we could feel the crushing weight of our own culpability — whether deserved or not — in the other’s eyes.
And it wasn’t either of our faults. Not truly. It was our genes that had caused the problem. But how could one blame themselves for their genes?
Yet we did.
I still do.
After my wife left, I found anyone looking at me dredged up the same feelings of guilt and shame. So I stopped letting people see me.
”The other demons,” I said. “They told me you could give me my life back. That I could live again if I made a deal with you.”
The demon was crying now. I felt my own cheeks but there were no tears on them. The demon wasn’t mirroring me, instead it was crying for me.
”Please,” I begged.
I thought of the first demon and the black heart it was protecting. I thought of the second and the faces that dripped down from it.
Then I looked at third, the demon weeping for me, the only one of them who could help me.
“Please,” I said again.
It pointed at its tear-stained cheeks. It sniffed and cried and shook. And there was something so sad and pathetic about the sight that I began to cry too. I was crying for this wretched demon. The first tears I’d cried since my wife had left me.
Tears not just for my son, or my wife, but also for me.
I sat for a long time with the demon as we watched each other cry.
Perhaps I had given it what it had needed, I thought, and in return it was giving something to me.
Eventually, I got to my feet and began the long walk back to the surface.
|
The sight in front of me was indescribable, illogical, impossible. Yet there it was.
"I have already seen it all. I witnessed the flagship *Tulhe* fall out of warp on fire, the tendrils of the Abantwe monster crushing it from within. I saw the stars of Orion imploded, and cried as the explosion consumed all the planets in its system. I have dug and filled more mass graves than a million armies ever could, until there was simply no-one left to help me. Some of those bodies are still where they fell: rotting, defiled, offended.
"Such is war for the losing side.
"So now I stand before you, having already been failed by your lessers with their pitiful rejections, to ask you a question. Give me the strength to reclaim my homeworld. I have nothing to offer you in return, which may seem like nothing to some, but to me it is all I have left.
"Please, I beg of you, give me your power, to avenge Humanity."
The things before me said nothing, they did not even move. Maybe they were statues and my mind had played tricks on me to make be believe that they had the power I had been seeking for years. A tear fell down my cheek, this was my last hope, if hope was even a word I understood anymore. As the wetness trickled through my dishevelled beard and made its way toward the dusty floor, I fell with it. My knees hit the tiled stones and my body simply gave up. I sprawled out; exhausted, defeated, pathetic. I was the last of Humanity, the only survivor: *the Endling*.
The only tear that I had left was on the floor in front of my face, it had hit the floor but remained intact. A singular glob of my sorrow and pain, there on the floor, refusing to mix with the dust. Then it rose. It began to lift itself from the floor and twist and contort. A large and sudden sound of creaking came from behind my head, where the statues of the Old Gods had been. A waft of energy, not a burst for I was far too gone for such things, gave me the strength to turn over and look as my tear began to float toward the same direction of the noise.
.
**"W̸̩̘̩̻̼̦͒͐͌̔E̶̡̛̺̖̟̪̮̟̝̝̍̍̈́̌̕͝ ̵̡̦̘̩̘͉͆̉͐̏̇͜͝ͅÁ̷̼̠̫͇̟̺̟̣͆̐C̵̨͇͈͉̥̗̑͋̑̕͜C̷̛̙̰̱̯̱͇͍̯̈́̔̔̊͛̎̿̇Ę̶̛̝̼̜̤̙̖͇͆̒̽͌͑͛͜͝͠P̷̡̦͖̠͇̱̼̘͕̙͑̀̈̂̕Ţ̸̛̗͙̖̽͆̄̊̓̿͊͒̿ ̵̧̘͔̱̟̮͕̖͓͚̆̇Y̴̰̏͆̅͋Ơ̸̠͕̹̳̫̺̖̝̅͐͋̄̈̈́͆͂͝Ũ̴̡̡̗̻͙̰̱͍̓͌̎̂͘ͅR̸̨̬̻̣͓͓͈̣̞̦̔ ̶̤́͐̒̄̐̊̄͌̚̚Ǒ̷̞̘͉̗͎̽̂͜͠F̸̘̺͉̙̘̲̜̱̒̽͋̚͝F̴̢̧̟̠̑͆́̏̓́́Ę̵̯̩͙͇̲͓̾̓Ȓ̶̜͖̬̬."**
.
The waft of energy became a wave, then a tide, then a tsunami.
.
**"S̷̤̻̐̽̿́̄͗̕͝Ē̷̱̘̙̹͙̘̬͎̔̃́̏́̄̃Ǹ̸̨̩̦D̷͖̔̒̓̋͌̃̀̈́̓͘ ̶̨͍̲̞̹̘̣̈́̄̑̓̓̕͘Ũ̸̼̲͕͖̯̲̮͖̖͎̋̓̇̀̾͘Ş̴̛͕̺͎̮͔̟̼͒̈͆͆͋̑͝͠ ̷̠͔̣̥̹̰̈̿͊̿̕͝T̷̻̦͎̦͔̙̎̑̂̓̇́̍́̚͝Ḣ̵̨̨̬̮͔̤̗͗̏͗̿Ę̶̢̡̞̖̰̲̬̈́̾͂̓̊͆ͅI̶̢͔̱̹͇̜̠͙̎̈́̿̄̊̕͠͝͝R̴̩̘͊̒̽͛̑̉̿ ̴̹̫͉͖̂̔͝D̷̨͍̗͓̙̗̣͊E̴̛̝̫̿̋̀̓͂̀͑̔̒A̶̧̛͇̓̈́̽̿D̷͙̬͚͙͒̈́̇͆͗̈́͝."**
.
At last, I had it. Me, the Endling of Humanity, had the power to flood the battlefields of graves with life, and the army that would rise up would worship me as we reclaimed what was ours. As I connected with the eldritch, I began to hear it. The wails of the dead. The rage of my entire species was within me, and mine to control.
Humanity would be avenged.
* * * * *
[So I made a follow-up of this piece on another Prompt](https://reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/yl8uzx/wp_as_the_last_note_of_the_last_song_echoed/iuxki8s/) and I will post them in order as I write more, as even I'm curious where this character goes.
* * * * *
I have my own subreddit! [/r/ocallkai](https://old.reddit.com/r/ocallkai/)
| 2022-11-03T08:15:03 | 2022-11-03T08:02:14 | 1,150 | 237 |
[WP] It's your birthday. You have never been excited for it but this year is different. You are turning 32. This was the date your father said you could open the box he left you in his will. The probate lawyer that was in charge of your fathers will is dropping off the box today.
|
I stood on the doorstep, watching the lawyer walk up from his immaculately polished Mercedes-Benz. The guy always had a knack for showing off.
"Good morning, and Happy Birthday." he stated plainly. If he wasn't making his hourly charge for something, he was terse. Efficient and shrewd, just like his ex-golfing buddy, my late father. He handed me the box, shrugged, and returned to his vehicle.
I stood there for a silent moment, alone with the box. My wife, expecting our first in two months, napping in the bedroom. Oddly, she showed no interest in the box when I had explained it to her just the night before. I thought she would be intrigued, but instead came off as unusually passive.
I took a deep breath. This was it. Almost seven years of waiting since the day I found out that this was left to me. I popped the latch, and lifted the lid.
What the hell was this?!? A single, solitary piece of paper, folded. I set the box down, and removed the paper. Eager to see what was written.
Two lines, one at the top of the page, one at the bottom. The top line seemed ominous and threatening. "You'd better enjoy the next half minute..."
Confused, I read the bottom line. "For it's your thirty second birthday."
That motherf*cker....
|
My 32nd birthday was due to fall on a Thursday. I've never chosen to treat birthdays as different to any other days before now, but this was special. I booked a day off work and gave the coworkers noncommital answers when they asked me if I had any plans. I put on make up I don't usually wear, put on a new outfit I'd bought especially for the occasion and waited. I'd been told last week that nobody would come to see me until the afternoon but I was dressed and ready for the day before nine with nothing in particular to do. I watched cartoons.
The knock on the door, once it finally arrived, was loud and precise. The woman who'd come to visit me wore a perfectly tailored suit and looked unerringly professional.
"Are you from Carter and Braddock?" I asked.
"Yes, my name is Ms Hughes." she confirmed, "May I come in?"
I invited her inside and offered her a drink.
"No thank you. Now I'm afraid that for security reasons I'll need to see the pieces of photo identification that you brought to the office last month."
I smiled at her.
"Of course. They're already on the desk."
She double checked the ID against her own records.
"Excellent, the item is in my car if you'd like to wait here."
"No," I said, "I'm actually heading out if it's all the same to you."
There was a momentary look of confusion on Ms Hughes' face before she quickly hid the expression away.
"Whatever suits you better." she said as I followed her out of the door and then added, "Do you have any questions before I leave?"
I locked the house behind me and spun the keyring in my hand absentmindedly.
"No, not really."
When Ms Hughes retrieved the box from her car I realised that I did have one question after all, though.
"I'm going to take this to a restaurant. Would you like to come with me?"
I expected her to say that it wouldn't be appropriate and I'm sure she considered that but in the end her curiousity won out.
"I would."
&#x200B;
\-----
&#x200B;
The smell of baking pizza wafted to my nose as soon as we entered and one of the waiters greeted me warmly.
"Erica! Where do you want to sit?"
I pointed to the back corner of the room.
"Could we take that table?"
Ms Hughes looked faintly bemused as we sat down.
"I thought perhaps you wanted to go to a restaurant because you were going somewhere fancy to celebrate."
I grinned.
"So, there's something to celebrate?"
Her face betrayed no expression.
"We have no more of an idea what's in that box than you do. Less, perhaps. I just meant that as it's the last gift from a very wealthy individual then you might have known that it was something you were going to treasure."
I shrugged.
"Fair enough. I wanted to come here because I know the main chef." I said.
Garlic bread came and went and the box lay untouched on the table. Conversation mostly stuck to small talk and I couldn't help but notice that Ms Hughes was more interested in the box than I was. Her facial expressions gave nothing away but her eyes kept darting towards it.
"Would you like to look at their pizza oven?" I asked her suddenly.
"Uh..." she began and this time she was quite unable to pretend she wasn't confused, "Sure?"
"It's a wood fired oven, huge thing." I said and gestured to the door near us.
She went in ahead of me but I was soon enough behind her that nobody had complained about her being there before realising that it was fine and she was with me. There was nothing in the pizza oven and the warmth from the fire was incredible.
"This is why I wanted this restaurant." I said.
In one swift, sudden motion I threw the box that Ms Hughes hadn't even noticed I'd brought in into the flames. I smiled for a moment and then turned away.
"Though I think I want pasta, not pizza. What main did you want?"
Ms Hughes looked at me with a mixture of amazement and horror.
"Why?" she asked.
"Because my father was a miserable bastard who never accepted me. That box would have been some final insult or a gift that came with so many strings that it's an obligation. Whatever was in there can't have been worth it. And now even if at some point in the future my resolve weakens, I'll never have to know."
"Because you'll never be able to know." she said quietly, but in agreement rather than argument.
"Exactly," I said as I led her out of the kitchen, "Now, I'm going to stick around and order a main. If you don't want to stay then I understand bu-"
"I'll stay." Ms Hughes said quickly and looked at the specials, "Their risotto looks to die for."
| 2022-12-12T14:14:37 | 2022-12-12T14:03:44 | 76 | 31 |
[WP] A shapeshifter befriends a lonely human multiple times throughout his or her life, but the human thinks it's a different person every time. One day the human realizes that all of his/her friends are really the same person.
|
"All of them?"
"... Yes"
"Jan, Christie, Jason, Tim, Mia?"
"I'm sorry."
"But.. how? Why?"
"I wish I knew."
"All of them? This whole time?"
"It's a lot to grasp, I know."
"Why?"
"You were lonely... and I guess I was too."
"I need to sit down."
"I'd understand if you never want to speak to me again."
*silence*
"I'm not mad."
"..."
"Three best friends in my life. All of them you."
"Yeah..."
"That's dedication."
"It was fun while it lasted."
"Who says it has to be over?"
"It's just the way it has to work now."
"Obviously if you've befriended me on so many occasions,
we must like each other right?"
"You don't befriend someone several times over without liking them."
"Do you love me?"
*pause* "Yes, I love you. I love you so much it's like a sickness. Which makes what I'm about to do painful for both of us."
"I don't understand?"
"The reason I've told you these things today... You have to understand, there are limits, conditions to what shapeshifters can transform into."
"Like, rules?"
"Something like that. The people you've seen me as, the people I morph into, those people will never be able to see me again."
"Why?"
"I'm sorry Nikki, but I just love your shape too much. It will be over quickly."
|
Martha sat on the porch in her rocking chair. She felt the warm breeze, the way only spring could feel when hopes and anticipations blossom in every heart. Her newspaper was still rolled up, it was too much of a hassle to get up and get the glasses, and even more of a hassle to read about today's nonsense.
She had left some left-over stew on the patio, for Buck, the stray dog who would sometimes visit her. She listened to the bird song and scanned the garden looking for the little curious blue-jay who would sometimes visit and perform it's acrobatics.
The day seemed very still, calming and comforting somehow.
She looked for the road and saw a man standing there. That was enough reasons to get up and get the glasses. The man was approaching the old fence when she got out. "Nice evening, ma'am" he said. "Nice indeed" Martha answered, "How can I help you?". The man, about middle age, dressed in light colours and with a smile so big he further lit up the evening, proceeded to tell her how his car had broken down and he needed directions to the closest gas station. Martha smiled and explained that it would be quite the walk but he could make it before sunset and the gas station was always open. The man kept smiling and said "Along my way I found some ripen plums" he held out his hat, that he had previously hold to his chest and showed her the deliciousness he had carefully plucked in to his hat, "I don't know if I could carry them all the way and it would be a shame to spoil such fine plums, perhaps you could help me and take them for me, ma'am". Martha smiled, "oh, Victoria plums, but isn't it too early for plums this time of year?". "Perhaps" the man answered, "and I am no expert in fruits whatsoever, however I do know that I found an early-bloomer and thought I would pick the plums before the got spoiled". The meeting was familiar. They were both smiling, and the silence in between the courtesies spoke more than their words. Martha looked at the red-yellow little treats and said. "You know, I have loved Victoria plums since a boy came by and gave them to me when I was a little girl". It was true. Martha had lived in her house her whole life. She felt so secure there, almost protected by the nature, so she was not at all anxious about walking in the woods, talking to strangers or sleeping without locking her door. She had lived her entire life completely free and at the same time secure and in harmony with the little world around her.
She continued: "There are not many folks around here, but every so often people lose their way up here and they always seem to have found delicious Victoria plums. Lord know I have searched for that tree around here, but I have yet to find the source to my sweet favourites. Honestly, I don't know where you pluck them". The man's smile softened, and his eyes appeared to be longing for something. "I don't know where *you all* find them, that is" Martha quickly said. The man's smile brightened up again but his eyes appeared almost tortured now, "Martha" he whispered, barely audible. The woods became all quiet, all calm, not even the tree's branches moved in the breeze.
Martha shed a tear. "I don't know what to call you", she said. "The only name you gave me was Buck" the man said. He was a classic man, with a great posture and great manners, like every visitor had been, like even the animals had been.
Martha remembered that day when she was about five years old. The boy had stood by the fence and offered her beautiful Victoria plums. "I should have understood earlier" she said. "I'm happy you didn't, then I wouldn't be able to see you again" the man answered. "But now I know" she said, "when will I be able to see you again?" "The man smiled again, tears were pouring down his eyes and he sounded relived when he said "soon".
Martha turned around to see if the sun was about to set, when she looked back the man was gone, but in her hands she held the hat with the beautiful ripen Victoria plums. She walked back to the porch, she was livid, full of memories, full of hope, full of anticipation. She sat back in her rocking chair and remembered. She took a plum, polished it with her apron and thought about all the handsome people she had met, all the beautiful animals, even the deer that would come. She understood how she could have lived alone in the woods her entire life, without ever feeling alone. She longed for "soon", she couldn't wait for "soon" when she again would meet her friend of a lifetime. A true friend, of a true lifetime.
She took of her glasses, inhaled the tranquillity of the forest and fell asleep. That night, her heart beat for the last time in life, but for the first time for "soon".
| 2014-08-15T10:44:35 | 2014-08-15T09:28:27 | 131 | 80 |
[WP] Zombies. On a spaceship.
You can go for serious or funny, or whatever mood you want. I'm planning on writing a short story with this concept, as a sort of homage to Alien.
|
"Zombies, seriously?"
"Yeah, that's what came over the system before the screaming started."
"The doors between here and the mess hall aren't sealing properly, can someone get engineering on the line?"
"How the hell did they even get on this ship?"
Pushing past the squabbling officers, Captain Kowalski exited the bridge. At a brisk pace he dodged past squads of panicked crew members moving down to the middle of the ship where the zombie outbreak was reported, finally stopping at a door covered in orange danger markers and reinforced metal struts. The captain punched in his authorization code and marched into the room.
"Why the hell is there a zombie outbreak among my crew?" the captain barked.
The white robed figure slowly turned from the row of large identical metal cylinders he was examining. "Alas, captain, it seems that the improbability drive's effects are modified by the intricacies of the warp. Probably unavoidable, I'm afraid."
"Turn it off then!" said the captain "My crew isn't trained to fight, we're a science vessel. We're definitely not trained to fight a zombie outbreak."
"Unfortunately, turning off the drive would compromise the integrity of my other experiments -" The figure then raised a hand to stave off another outburst "However, some of these experiments can help with our little zombie problem." The figure gestured to the first of the cylinders attached to the wall "The culture hero program, for example."
The captain's eyes moved to the cylinder. It appeared to hold a man in stasis.
It held a young man, banded with muscle. One hand clutched an archaic weapon with two long metal barrels, a shotgun. The other hand was missing at the wrist, replaced instead with a clamp holding an old world tool that the captain recognised as an oversized chainsaw. Written across the bottom of the stasis pod was a single word - "Ash".
The captain grinned savagely. He recognised the man from his childhood. He pressed the big red release button.
|
(some NSFW swearing)
It all started when Jenkins ate that space Cucumber. We had docked on a previously-unsearched planet, far off near Cygnus-X. We were the only ship within a terraclick, and we had to be very careful.
The flora and fauna on ShitHole (as we enlisted men were calling it) were similar to those found back home. Lots of green plants, grey animals, brown animal poop. But one plant that stood out was the Cucumber Tree.
They obviously weren't really Cucumbers, but they looked exactly like 'em. So Jenkins, the foolhardy man that he was, plucks a nice Space Cucumber from the tree, and asks for bets to see if he will eat it. He waited until someone bet 1000 credits that he wouldn't, and took a huge bite. "kinda bland, if you ask me. A lot like a real Cucumber" he said.
And that was all he could say. He promptly collapsed to the ground, writhing in agony. Cudletz and me carried him back to medbay. Jenkins died there about 4 hours later.
We chalked it up to good ol' human stupidity, and continued scouting the planet. Me, Cudletz, Gutierrez, and a couple of fresh recruits kept searching for any minerals, medicine, etc. that could prove useful. We collected about a dozen different samples, killed some game, and Gutierrez got completely soaked by this weird puss that shot out of a tree. We laughed, and headed back to the ship.
We couldn't have been gone for more than half a day, 15 hours at most. But we came back to find the ship completely deserted. "Maybe they went looking for us?" Cudlitz suggested. "nah" I replied "they could of checked our vitals from the ship, and seen we're fine. Guns out boys, we're not alone."
We stuck together, tight phalanx formation. The farther into the ship we got, the worse the carnage appeared. It was as if the entire crew had been half-eaten by... something. "These bites look... human" one of the boys said "what the fuck kinda shit is this?" "quiet" I said "the only advantage we have against these things is our silence, we can sneak up on 'em if we stay quiet!"
"WHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEFUCKWHATTHEACTUALFUCK" "Cudlitz, what is it?" "That fucker is getting back up!" And lo and behold, that fucker was getting back up. He worked in the medbay, I recognize what was left of him. His right arm was missing, as was half his stomach. I could see his heart through a hole in his chest, and it wasn't beating.
"open fire!" I said, trying to hide my fear. The bullets were hitting their mark, but it wasn't even fazed. Then, by chance, I hit it in the head, and he went down. "Whatever the fuck that guy is, he doesn't seem to like getting his brain scrambled. Aim for the head, boys!"
We ran into more of the crew, and each had similar wounds to the first. They were put down in the same way. Finally, we reach medbay. The blood coated everything. It was like a bomb had gone off, and at the center of it was... Jenkins. He was torn to bits, limbs shot off, little more than a head and neck. And that fucking head was TRYING TO BITE. I put ol' Jenkins out of his misery, and turned to the men.
"Well boys, welcome to Hell. I hope you guys have seen those old Romero movies, 'cause we in for some Living Dead type of shit tonight."
We were lucky to have come back from scouting, and not just patrol duty. We were in full Battle Dress, these suits could stop a missile, so these biters had no chance of getting at us. So we took our time, and we killed the rest of our former crew. It was tough, some of the men had family on board. One of the men, Ikemefuna I think his name was, he just couldn't handle it. We were in the Living Quarters, and we ran into his wife. He put her down, and turned to us:
"That was my wife, that was my Eshe. I told her I didn't want her to come with me, that it was too dangerous. She insisted that we needed to be together, that I needed to see it. I was reluctant, but she convinced me. For years we tried, then we finally succeeded, and I needed to see the fruits of all those struggles. I am sorry, John, Richard, Manny, Parth, Lee, but I have to do this." He turned to me and said "sir, permission to take my life." "Granted." We all gave him a hug, and we went into his room. The shot was the last we ever heard from Ikemefuna.
I later found out that his wife was pregnant. She was do about a month after, well, after Jenkins ate the space Cucumber. After my tour was over, I retired. I went back home, and never spoke of what I saw on ShitHole. But I did get the last word in a way: me and my men were allowed to formally name the planet. Becuase we couldn't go with ShitHole, we chose Ikemefuna.At least his name could live on if his bloodline didn't.
| 2014-11-19T10:45:03 | 2014-11-19T10:04:47 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] One day, at the library, you find a book written by an author with the same name as you. As you start to read it, you come to realize it's an exact telling of your life. As you continue to read, you reach the story of finding this very book, though you're not even close to half way through it.
This is my first prompt, so I hope someone out there enjoys it. :)
|
".... As I was reading the book, I started to realize it was about me." It said. 'Holy shit' I thought, I've reached the 'now'. "I've reached the now" I read on the page just after I thought it. "And then I read this sentence." 'Well, that's weird and paradoxical' I thought. "And then this sentence." "And then this one." "And this one." "And this one."....
|
**When he reached this line, a whole world of possibilities opened up to him.**
I was holding the book tightly in my left hand, biting my right nails consistently.
"Hey kid, we're closing up tonight. You want to check that out?" The librarian looked happy. "That's a good one."
"You've read it?" I asked, nervous of any response she would give. I then looked back to the pages.
**The librarian confirmed, and spoiled the ending...**
She started answering. "Yeah. I love how it ends with him-"
"I don't want to know!" I interrupted her, putting my right hand between our faces. My left hand got shaky, feeling an additional weight added to it. I looked back at the book. It was much larger now.
**The librarian confirmed, ~~and spoiled the ending...~~ but did not have the chance to spoil the ending. Ryan's heart skipped a beat.**
"Yeah, I shouldn't spoil it for you. Mr. Satch only wrote that one book. A little conceited, naming the character after himself. He lived in this town, you know? Moved out when he was eleven or so for special attention reasons. I shouldn't gossip, it was never confirmed."
I put the book down and reached into my pocket. "I'd like to have this book." I pulled out my wallet. "How much?" I took all of the cash I had into my hand and tried to give it to her.
"We don't really sell our books. Libraries let people che-"
"I know what libraries do. I just need it, and I want to pay for it in cash." I was trying to rush through this process.
"What's your name?" She asked, looking concerned.
*Oh, damn... what do I say?*
"Uhh... Mike... Michael S...Sta... Stanley? Michael Stanley." I tried to smile convincingly. She seemed to know better.
"Alright. I know that's not true. You can either check the book out with a library card, or you can put it away and come back tomorrow." She seemed to stand more confidently than before, and she looked very confident before. I looked back to the book.
**He decided to give the librarian his name, get a library card, and take the book.**
"Fine, I'd like a library card. My name is Ryan Satch." She just laughed.
"You have ID, right 'Ryan?' I'll need it." She turned and walked back to the check-out desk. I followed in tow and took out my license. When I handed it to her, her smile dropped. "Please don't."
"Don't what? I just want to check it out."
She trembled her way through her words. "Fine, you can have it, just please don't hurt me or my family." She started shaking more intensely.
"What are you talking about? Do I hurt you in this?" I started flipping through the latter half of the book. There were a load of strikethroughs. Must be what made it bigger. "I can't find it."
"Page 1453. 'He took their lives with the speed ink strikes through text.' It's a beautiful metaphor, but I guess it's not hypothetical." She seemed like she was trying to win me over.
*What do I become? That can't be who I was without this book.* I flipped to the line, accounting for the extra text. I turned the book to her.
**~~He took their lives with the speed ink strikes through text.~~ He finally felt safe around someone. Someone who knew his secret, but trusted him as much as he trusted her.**
She started to tear up. "Thank you. You can just take it. Please, though, there are plenty of other people in there that you need to save. Your life gets quite exciting. Goodnight." She packed her things, turned the sign to 'closed,' and disappeared through the doors.
*Plenty of people? Does this make me a superhero? I'll deal with this tomorrow, I guess. Good thing it's Friday night.*
| 2017-09-23T13:37:18 | 2017-09-23T12:35:14 | 64 | 23 |
[WP] You are an inspector of the Federal Bureau of Dungeon Safety And Adventurer Fairness. This one is a serious violation to the codes.
Feel free to drop the Adventurer Fairness if you don't like it.
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"Why do I have to shut it down?" The woman's normally seductive face was twisted in furious scowl as she paced around the tiny office like a caged tiger. She whirled on the small halfling woman sitting behind the large, paper covered desk with a tiny gold plaque with one word on it: "Inspector, FBDSAF."
"It's too hard, Madam." The seated halfling was barely tall enough to look over the desk, even with the stack of papers she was sitting on. She wasn't even looking at the angry woman crowding into her office, simply shuffling papers
"Is it the Jorogumo?" Madam demanded
"Nope."
"The Succubus and Incubus brother and sister duo?"
"Nope"
"The group of Amazons?"
"No, in fact, they're probably a little low level for your permit level."
"Then what is it!? This is an outrage! I got permission from the Bureau to do an X-rated dungeon. You can't keep me shut down for too long, I'll go bankrupt!"
The inspector finally looked up from her filing. "Hon, it's because most of the adventurers are men-"
"Yes, that's the point of having a brothel themed dungeon!"
The inspector didn't look particularly perturbed by the beautiful woman's fury. "It's your final treasure. The Cleansing Light Imbued Tonic. You can't honestly expect them to find the C.L.I.T."
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So here I am, inspecting the dungeon of some mad scientist. Normal Friday, nothing special. See, my job is to keep balance in this world. We all know that this is a fantasy world, but the players don't realize that it's real. What they see as numbers, we see as everyday life. The boss trains his minions, crafting their stats to his liking. The builder designs a lair, and the owner makes the traps. We set the trap type, the DC to save, the damage, it's all very serious business. I'm an inspector, my job is to keep it fair. No Tarrasque in a dungeon meant for non mythic heroes. The number of beasts contributes to a total pool of threat rating, and the harder you make the dungeon the harder we make your CR. We all know the rules. So on today's list, we're dealing with a scientist who focuses on biology, life magic, and necromancy.
"So, tell me about the encounters on the first floor, mister..."
"Please, call me thirteen. You see, you get in to my lab by going through a magical portal, one that can only be opened by me or my monsters. So you have to fight whatever beast comes out of the portal, then you can enter. Once inside, you'll find a series of Gremlins that can use detonate, effectively killing themself instantly, but doing moderate damage to the players."
"Understandable. Now their health, if it's low enough to die instantly from the half detonation, they should be easy enough to kill?"
"Of course sir. They only have 25 health between low rolls and a negative constitution. However, as level 10 they do 10d8."
"So right there we already have a decent challenge rating. An ambush of them can drop half the health on a tenth level barbarian without much issue. Now, when we move to the end of this floor?"
"Well, that's when you battle to open up a new portal for the second floor. I designed a half construct, a bionic monster so to speak. He has 200 health, untyped DR/15, and can do a 4d10 slam attack."
"Sounds like a boss fight right from the start. I'm assuming this dungeon is intended for levels 15 and up?"
"No, I figured a couple of level 12 players could go through, maybe with a higher ranked guide as a backup."
"We'll get to the problems with everything you just said later, tell me about the second floor."
"Well, there's a trap on a door that shoots out a jet of fire in a 10 foot width, moving forward about 50 feet, so if you're in the connected hall its almost a guaranteed hit."
"And what type of disarm check are we using? Perception to find the trap is important too."
"Oh, yes, the disarm check is only a 26, a good rogue could easily take care of it. The perception is a little higher though."
Well, we all know what a little higher means with this type. It's clear he's making a dungeon meant to wipe out parties just for the sake of it. Let's hear what he has to say.
"So, your check to find the trap is a 40, and the column does 50d6 damage, half with reflex."
"Okay, gonna stop you right there. Even a rogue specialized to deal with traps has to basically critical to even see that trap, and that damage could kill a level 20 with a high enough roll and failed save."
"But with the save the top damage you could take is 150, which wouldn't kill a specced level 12 fighter. And with a rogue reflex would negate completely."
"Regardless, either the check needs lowered to find the trap, or the damage needs dropped. You've already thrown an initial undetermined fight, a series of detonations, and a boss at them. They're likely to already be low on health and magic. But just because I have to finish my job, tell me the rest of the floor."
"Oh, the rest of it is simple. There's a room with 6 hell hounds, all level 10, a room full of dire bats, about 20 level 6, and a loot chest. The last room has 6 of those Gremlins with invisibility, and 4 of that construct I made earlier."
"Okay, that's a CR 20 for small group, with a party I could be generous and give it 18. Watch your codes, and limit yourself next time. If you weren't already dealing with mythic level heroes in your other dungeons I'd shit you down."
So there you have it. Another wack job who thinks a literal monster army is a normal dungeon for low levels. I wish I could be done with him, but it's every month with this kid, and the players love him. Good loot, interesting beasts, and they keep getting stronger for fighting through him. His next instance is supposed to be a forest full of natural monsters he coded and grew from scratch. Well, I guess I'll see how that goes next time.
| 2018-11-26T17:07:11 | 2018-11-26T11:39:13 | 20 | 13 |
[WP] A broke adventure has to buy cheap terrible items with weird curses on them. Little do they know that those cursed items happen to synergize so well together that they quickly become overpowered.
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The thing about equipment is that you never quite know where it's been, and rarely do bright eyed adventurers have the scrib to commission new armor, so they make do. Pav was one such bright eyed adventurer, ever since he was knee high to a scarble nork, he would dance and duck around his family's small cottage with his decrepit wooden sword, battling fiendish scarecrows and imaginary ghouls.
Pav had but one piece of equipment, given to him by his mother, who it was passed down to from a long lineage, strangely named the Disco Bandolier. It was largely unremarkable in design, a standard leather construction with small steel details. Pav always felt a weight lifted when he bore it across his chest, not from any magic mind you, from the days his mother would encourage his frolicking battles as a child. Apart from this, he had all of a hundred scrib to his name, not much for an adventurer these days, that would scarcely fetch you a new sword, but travelling merchants had all the best deals, and so Pavs quest for cheap tat began.
Brandishing his Bandolier, Pav travelled many lands seeking new and affordable gear to serve his further adventures. He was spending quite frugally until he arrived at a merchant by the name of Dargpob, who had many shambolic wares for sale, but one that peaked Pavs interest.
"And this?" Pav motioned his hand to a pair of boots that quite looked similar to his Bandolier. "What ruin of lifelong pain will this inflict for minor comfort?"
"Ahhh yes, a strange one, these are named the Disco Doots" replied Dargpob "their curse is to make the weight of your legs be felt at your back". Pav heard nothing past the name, he hid his interest well for fear of the shady merchant padding the price. "Did you say... doots? Don't you mean boots?" He casually replied. "Nononono I said doots. Listen it's weird whatever, want em or not? 15 scrib" Dargpob looked almost embarrassed at even having the strange boots. Pav made a point to look disinterested, "eh fine I'll take em" he eventually muttered, quite casually.
Pav waited until he was well out of sight and sat on a sturdy rock. He flung his boots off into the woods behind and slowly slipped into the new doots... I mean boots. He felt the weight almost instantly, it was quite harsh but bearable for the sturdy build of the boots. As he got up, sparks started to form and whisk off the boots and the bandolier, swirling together and up around him. Suddenly both items were glowing and rapidly changing colors, and Pav himself felt suddenly light as a feather. Making sure nobody was watching, he danced and swirled around the open fields, barely touching the ground just to propell himself up again, he did this for quite some time, with a look of pure joy plastered on his face from ear to ear.
After a while, he found his old boots and put the Disco Doots in his bag, the effect stopped when he removed them, and he rushed back to the merchant. "Those doots you sold me, were they part of a set?" Pav quieried. "Why yes I do believe so, but they were distributed quite sporadically to many merchants at the auction I attended. Why do you ask?" Replied the merchant, curious as to why someone would want more cursed tat.
"No reason, just thought maybe I could flip these to a collector haha" he shrugged and walked off, determined to collect the rest.
**...Part 2 below**
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"I'll give you this for-- all you have," the shopkeeper grinned. "I'm being generous, trust me."
Gram sighed, and tossed the satchel on the counter. Ten shekels seemed far too much for a cheaply made trinket, but if the Oracle had willed it who was he to argue against it? Besides, Gram knew that those shekels were different. Special, was the words the Oracle had used.
It had been two weeks since he had lost every ounce of currency of what little he had possessed after a few of Syon's rogues came for him. He had woken up in a medical barrack with no possessions except an empty satchel, a sigil that represented his home village, and a nasty head wound. It didn't deter him one bit-- he was back on the road within a day, making his way to the mad highwayman's city with the intent to take back the weapons Syon had stolen from his own village. He had a dagger and a satchel that he occasional filled with loose change, but little else but his wit. Yet Gram knew that Syon, with the acquisition of more and more power, would be impossible to fight.
"Fine," replied Gram, his eyebrows narrowed slightly. "I'll take the bone, but will you do me the courtesy of wrapping it up first?"
"Of course," laughed the shopkeeper. "I'm a good shopkeeper, I treat my customers just right. Just right."
Gram prepared to leave the decrepit tent, but the shopkeeper reached out his hand, leaning over close. Gram could smell faint licks of moonshine on his breath.
"Hey," he whispered. "I can tell that you're a member of the Resistance movement. Let me just tell you that Syon-- he's stronger than any man. You'd be best not coming across him. Once a highwayman, always a highwayman."
"Thanks," winced Gram. "But I think my adviser knows what she's doing."
She called herself the Oracle, and Gram had encountered her in the basement of one of the sole hotels in the city of La Grande not run by the highwaymen. While walking through through the fields, a group of men had noticed the bandages on his legs, and most importantly the sigil around his neck.
"Man from Tyrande," began one of the men, walking in level with Gram. "Eh, you want to be taken up on a proposition?"
"Yes, I'm from Tyrande," said Gram, slightly suspicious. "What proposition would you be interested in? You are aware that my village was razed, and our holy weapons destroyed, no?"
One of the men threw Gram a coin, which he gladly took, and examined. Yet he noticed that the faint lines of the shekel were tinted with a strange green, lines that seemed to run like veins through the bronzed metal. He flipped it over, and watched as gentle, cold flames doused acid green reached into his palm and licked at his fingers.
"What-- what the hell is this," asked Gram. "Some kind of joke? What's the coin for?"
"Ah, it accepted you," exclaimed the man that had walked at Gram's side. "First comes choice, then comes intention, followed by the great mantra."
"One man's trash is another's treasure," chanted the men in unison.
Gram had been intrigued, and allowed himself to be led to the city of La Grande, where the foe who stole his village's weapons lay protected in a nest of iron. *Lent's Chance*, was the name of the small hotel in which they settled in, for a so called "proposition". The outsides were falling apart, and the insides were covered with blankets of thick dust, the lights flickering as if to remind every soul of a time long past. Down an old hatch, lifted by the corners and wailing as the hinges moved, was a basement lit dimly by rows of assorted candles.
On an altar was a pale young woman nursing a mist-suffused orb in one hand, and a hastily constructed gauntlet in the other.
"You are the one from Tyrande, no," the woman had asked. "I am the Oracle, and I've seen you from afar through prognostication of a wicked kind. It seems to be that you qualify all of the requirements of an individual that could be our Vessel."
"And what is this Vessel," Gram asked in turn. "Something to do with your devilish leader? Though your men tell me your kin resists his presence rather than exalts it."
"See, I think my men have explained to you the three conditions for a Vessel," the Oracle had explained. "Syon's curse dictates that only an outsider can rid this city of his presence. But we have a secret weapon, so to speak."
The Oracle had waved her hand, two men rushing to a back room and returning with a discolored wooden treasure chest, dropping it at Gram's feet.
"Go on," whispered the Oracle. "Open it."
The opening of the lid revealed hundreds upon hundreds of shekels, piled on one another like massive pillars. Yet each shekel was tinted in the same green hue that Gram had seen earlier. Hues of green that wrapped around each coin like a vine, radiating energy that seemed weightless and flightless. Each inscription was perfectly inlaid with tangles.
"More shekels, yet," began Gram, picking one up from the very top and waiting for any objection to his action. "They seem different. Hued in green, bathed in this acid energy that I can't describe. Similar to the power of the Holy Weapons stolen from my village."
"These shekels are special, powerful," promised the Oracle. "Each one can be inlaid with three specifications. One is choice, which is finished. You can see the energy, and thus it has chosen you. Second is intention, which you must possess. Syon destroyed your village and left you destitute. You have this intention, no? Third is the great mantra, *one man's trash is another man's treasure*. The plan is simple. Buy useless items that you yourself would consider cheap and worthless with these shekels, and once enough items are possessed you may combine them to create a catastrophic weapon of prognostication to aim at Syon."
Gram, intrigued, had agreed to see at least some of the plan through, spending the next two weeks buying useless items with the cursed shekels. Ribbons, trinkets, charms, even food that he would never eat, weapons he would never use. But now, as he exited the tent, he recognized that he wouldn't need to recollect the cursed shekels. Perhaps that would be enough. He had been chosen by the mysterious energy of prognostication that wove its way through the shekels. He had the intention of getting back the Holy Weapons Syon had stolen. He had enough trash, all of it woven by those strange green cords that could become the treasure the great mantra promised.
*Perhaps it is time to aim the weapon of prognostication*, Gram thought, as he pocketed the empty satchel.
————————————————————————
r/bluelizardK
| 2019-12-02T16:24:38 | 2019-12-02T15:34:46 | 87 | 33 |
[WP] You die with your cell phone in your hands, and the afterlife customs agents miss it when letting you in. You find that it still works, and you can connect to the internet and contact people in the living world.
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"Daddy?" Isabella's voice was clear as a bell. My eyes stung with tears with my inability to speak back to her.
"Daddy? When are you coming home?" She asked. "I guess it is a bad call. It has the five bars and says 4. Daddy is your phone broken Daddy?"
I sobbed silently to myself listening to my sweet little girl try to reach out to me. I would forever hear her voice reaching out to me. We were both in the same car. She had just gotten a hand-me-down cellphone with Facetime. I could see her. Hear her. See her smiling. Feel her oblivious happiness coursing through the signal. The sun was shining upon her happy little cherubic face.
The phone chimed again as I screamed into the muzzle.
The Demon held it back in front of me again.
"Daaaaaadddddy? Why won't you answor Daddy?"
The Demon leaned in close. Brimstone on his breath. "Was the Whisky worth it?"
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/l1emri/wp_the_demon_successfully_possessed_you_however/)
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Posted by u/Apocryphon_from_Bynd \[Claims to post from beyond\] - 7 hours ago
**Recently deceased, can still access Internet, what to do with this ability?**
This may require you to suspend your disbelief for a bit, but please hear me out before you disregard my post outright.
On the 19th of January, I, Arthur McKinsey, passed away of a heart attack at the tender age of 36. Born and raised in NYC, my life was what one would consider ordinary, average, not exceptional in any significant way. Leaving behind a family with two children and my partner, I have to say that my untimely death has a certain tragedy to it, though interestingly, I am far more favorably disposed to the state I find myself in, then one might expect.
What you need to understand is that, for one reason or another, upon passing away one just accepts their fate. The mind, soul or whatever remains of a person past their demise seemingly adapts quickly to this place, where time and space are but a casual suggestion. I will meet my family soon, after all on a cosmic scale, a century is no different to a second.
Regardless, what might be more interesting to you is the how and why of this post.
Ever found yourself at a small airport five minutes before your plane takes off? I mean the rural kind where one can be happy if the plane has more than two isles, you know, the type of airport that, were it not for local subsidies and governmental infrastructure initiatives, likely wouldn't exist in a profit driven world?
Well, if you have, you might have witnessed that the TSA isn't always as unpleasant and "in-depth" in their pat downs as they are at Newark (incidentally, from what I've seen, no punishment up here comes even close to that Kafkaesque nightmare).
If you really need to get on the plane quickly, are dressed in the right manner (being a business traveler helps) and have a bit of luck, they'll just let you through with no invasive search.
Believe it or not, the afterlife operates on similar principles. They check for contraband prior to letting you in, and apparently I can count myself lucky, seeing as they seemingly overlooked my smartphone. Perhaps this is actually a test to find out what someone like me might decide to do if they gain the power to contact people from beyond the grave, who knows?
What I am certain of is my uncertainty of what I should do with this ability? I have already ruled out using this to verify the existence of an afterlife on a larger scale, which hopefully is enough to justify the lack of tangible proof attached to this post. On one hand, I really don't want to be responsible for any sort of conflict that might arise from humanity gaining this information. On the other, having worked as an assistant on studying particle physics, I really don't want to cause my colleagues to suffer beyond the mountains of math they deal with on a daily basis.
Rather, what I'd like to ask of you is advice on one specific question: Should I contact my family? While I will see them soon, relatively speaking, and have no problem waiting, I know that their current grief is eating at them. I simply don't know whether using this tool to inform them of my current whereabouts wouldn't tear these wounds open even further. If I couldn't verify my identity to them, they'd just consider this a tasteless, awful, horrific prank. If I could, what would the consequences be? They might not be able to move on, perhaps obsessing over this channel of communication. Perhaps they'd consider themselves to be mentally unwell, not without reason. Still, I don't know whether I can and should let them suffer for the next decades.
I understand how outrageous this sounds and don't want or need you to believe me. Doubt this as much as you want, but please, just entertain the thought that it might be true. If it helps, just think of this as the plot line of a series and ask yourself, how a character should act if they were in such a situation.
Thank you from beyond.
Edit: No, I won't answer how the afterlife is, nor who or what is responsible up here. Also, I've got no issue with people calling this a troll or bs, but please, for the love of everything up here, stop calling me Death-Senpai, like honestly.
Edit 2: Thanks for the gold kind stranger.
Edit 3: Thanks for your input, decided against contacting them. Also, handed my phone to the proper authorities.
***
Thanks for reading. I hope you enjoyed it and would love to hear on what I could improve in the future. If you liked what you read, check out more of my work at r/PlsCritiqueMyWriting.
| 2021-01-20T14:13:32 | 2021-01-20T11:51:49 | 347 | 216 |
[WP] “Now be careful, that line of rock salt is the only thing keeping them out,” the man said, welcoming me into his refuge group. “Sea salt,” I clarified, “sea salt keeps us out.”
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“What are you-” The man cut himself off as he was hit with the full meaning of my wording and his face went slack. Taking two slow steps back as I crossed the line of rock salt, his eyes went wide with terror. “You’re one of them?” he choked out.
“You’ve made a lovely home here,” I said, looking around the small encampment. “Especially considering you can’t have been here for long. I would’ve found you by now.”
“Please…” The man’s voice trailed off, his eyes begging me to leave, knowing he was helpless here. They’d tried to fight me off with their weapons, but it was far too late before they realized their steel and lead were useless. “We have children here, babies, we just-”
“Are my children less valuable?” I asked, cocking an eyebrow. He swallowed hard. I slid my gaze around to the other refugees, some preoccupied with their children, some reading, some sitting in silence outside their tents. Then I looked back to the man. “What is your name?”
He stared at me for a moment longer. “Aurelio Lorenzo,” he said.
“I am not here to kill you and your children,” I said softly. “The war is won. It’s obvious. You huddle in place, praying to gods that either do not exist or do not care. Some of you still fight back with sea salt, but you cannot stop us any more than the shore can stop a hurricane. So, if you please. May we sit somewhere to talk?”
Aurelio’s gaze was weighty with suspicion and fear but, likely not seeing any other options, he slowly nodded. “Follow me.”
He led me to a nearby empty tent, one meant for small gatherings rather than residence, I guessed, from the presence of chairs and tables rather than cots. Several chairs lined the wall and I took a seat in one of them, letting my pale skin go back to its natural green color, prompting the man’s eyes to widen. But I motioned for him to take the other seat and he did so, however hesitantly. “What do you want?” he asked.
“Peace,” I told him. “And balance. I want my planet back in order.”
“*Your*…planet?” he asked.
“You think humankind has been fighting off an invasion, but you’re wrong. It is I who has been fighting off an invasion,” I said, leaning back and crossing my ankles. “And you consider me to be *them*, as you said. But it is just me. A hive mind, if that makes sense of it to you, but we are truly just one. It is only me. So, I do truly speak for every warrior that has struck down your species.
“As things were, your kind wreaked havoc on this planet and expected no repercussions. Or if some anticipate them, those in power rendered that fact moot. You’ve done so for centuries and you reached a tipping point. I decided to tolerate it no longer. I’ve reclaimed my planet for the species that live in it in balance and stability. Do you think, if given another chance, your species would succeed where those who now lay dead failed?”
Aurelio’s fists were clenched anxiously in his lap. “You’re saying…you’re Mother Nature. That’s what all this is.”
“If you like,” I said with a tilt of my head. “Mother Nature. Gaia. I’m the spirit of this world’s life made flesh.”
The fight went out of the man’s stance and he leaned forward on his knees. “We were billions. Now we are millions, if we’re lucky. Probably less.” He turned to me. “And you want to…what? Call a truce?”
“No. I’m calling for your surrender,” I answered. “I know you cannot speak for your entire species. As we sit here, I also speak with thousands of other representatives around the planet. Some continue to fight me. Some admit their defeat and ask how to put a halt to their slaughter. But it all will end the same way for each and every one of you. You will live in balance with the rest of this planet, as every other species does, as I am fully confident you are able. Or you will build yourself up to the destructive monsters you once were, and I will strike you down again.”
When Aurelio looked to me again, I saw something different in his eyes. I saw hope. “You’re saying…the war can be over. Our children can be safe. We can be safe. We can…rebuild. As long as we don’t make the same mistakes.”
I nodded. “We will see where your species is in a few hundred years. I will be watching. But it is not difficult to live in harmony with this world. You evolved from it, evolved with it, you consume it, and it consumes you. You only need to remember that. That will leave the world at your feet and the potential for your future will be infinite.
“For those in this camp, it all starts with the first step. Speak with your fellow leaders and decide. Whether you replace the rock salt with sea salt or brush it away into the soil, that will be your answer. But if you continue this war…you will lose.” Pushing myself to my feet, I smiled. “The world is at peace now. There is an undeniable restoration of balance. And I look forward to seeing what the future brings for your kind and the rest of my children.”
&#x200B;
/r/storiesbykaren
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"At night we all look the same, like food."-Nzinga Adeyomi
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Fun fact, salt is associated with purity. Salt was and is still a substance that humans used to help food stay... Edible. How ironic. Some humans even think that it will purify *us*. I don't ever want to be "pure" like a human. Not again.
There are other so-called "pure substances", like silver, which the humans use to feel strong and give them a false sense of security. They use these substances to keep us out and identify us. They think it works.
I think we need to test that theory.
The humans have an encampment. Smaller than a town but bigger than one of their little huts. Many of them together, as they move around it looks like a giant ants moving and fulfilling their purpose in the colony. This is truly a feast that will truly give my kind more time.
But if I'm being *really honest* it will give my Alani more time. That's all I care about, if it wasn't for strength in numbers and my wife's condition we would have left long ago. Plus there's not enough food to sustain our peoples growth. There's too many of us and too few humans.
We're dying. My wife needs blood, well a specific rare type of blood. She had a... Condition as a human which manifested itself differently when she turned. Now she can only get nourishment from a rare blood type. Type O-negative. O-type blood tastes more sweet and less metallic than other types if you can believe it. Maybe that's why it's rarer, who knows.
I've tracked this rare blood-type to this encampment. The locals call it the "Okan kekere" or little heart. They fancy this settlement the start of the body that is their civilization, I just see it as pumping blood for my beloved.
The encampment is overlooked by a hill that would make the hills of the òrìṣà as envious as they are green. That's where I'm currently located, scouting out the encampment. I want no surprises.
"one....Two....three.... Fuck four?" I say softly outloud. Four fucking Adajo. I expected two at most. Each cursed magistrate pulses with magic and guards the north, south, east, and west sections of the town. They are surrounded by salt. It's not the smell that gives it away, or the color. It's the pure aura that gives it away. If the security is this good they have something valuable here. More valuable than I imagined. "It's a damn suicide mission!", I think to myself.
"Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. Fuuuuuuck!!!" I can't help it. This was my best shot at getting the blood I needed. I can't go back empty handed.
"Think. Think. Think goddammit think!"
It's like a mental fog that was cast over my brain disappeared . And I heard it. The galloping of a horse and carriage.
I get up and dash across the hill and I see it maybe 15 miles away from the encampment maybe 30 from me.
I calculate the distance and my fastest I can safely go. I'm cutting it close.
I yell "Fuck!" as I take off. The world feels like a blur. It blends together in shades of blacks and blues and silver shining light coming from the full moon above.
The experience is almost worth the hunger.
Flying is a surreal experience. I can't fly truly. It's more like gliding with lots of style. The old ones can truly fly though. I would pray to Oyá to one day grow that old if she still listened, but my kinds prayers long ago fell on deaf ears.
I'm closing in on the horse. I drop into the road, the lights, while shoddy and far and few between, light enough for people coming and going.
From the darkness step into the light. The horse and carriage gallop towards me until the man jerks and reigns in the horse carrying him.
I notice the carriage looks bigger up close. I see the man wearing fancier clothes than I'd expect. A feeling pulls at the back of my psyche. I push it down.
"Focus!", I say mentally chastising myself. The man to his credit has one hand behind him, he's ready for a fight. I can see but also smell the sweat dripping down his dark brown skin. His bald head has a glint in it from the dull lights above. And finally he speaks to me after looking me over.
"Woman, where did you come from? I almost ran over you!" he says in a gruff but weary voice. I think to myself he must have had a long journey.
I dust myself off and say with a polite smile, "Firstly, my name is Ariké, not woman." I start walking closer, taking innocent light steps that barely leave a footprint. "Secondly, it doesn't matter friend, I just need your help."
I blink and suddenly I have a metallic weapon pointed at me. The humans call them guns. I call them an inconvenience at best.
"I can't help you! I do not know you or trust you. Please move or I will do it for you!" The sweat starts dripping off of his dark brown face. Sunken eyes bug out in a show of desperation. He points the inconvenience right at my head right below my locs.
I take another step.
"This has bullets of silver! Don't move!"
Another step.
Silence.
***Boom!***
"Fuck! This wasn't supposed to happen." the man says in a panicked voice he hops off the carriage and drops the gun.
He runs over to the body and drops down, as if to help the woman he shot in the head.
"it wasn't supposed to happen like this. I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm so-"
My eyes open and I grab the man by his throat with my hand. I uses my strength and rip the man's throat out. That man's fear stained face is frozen in time, never to change again. I don't notice as I drain the man of his blood.
10 minutes later after I drained the poor soul of his blood and has commanded the horse to stay still with my powers. The horse listens without question.
Ariké is a monster. She's one of the, Muyan ẹjẹ, or blood suckers as the people call them. But she isn't so much a monster that she would not give this man a proper burial. In life ritual was important to Ariké; it is in death too. This man deserves a burial. "even if he used silver on me".
Time is of the essence and I don't have time for the full ritual. I take two silver bullets out of the inconvenience the man dropped and places them over the man's closed eyes.
"Ki o pada wa ni alafia. Jẹ ki oyá dari ọ si ile."
"Oya won't hear me but I pray for your safe passage home."
I get up slowly. While silver doesn't affect my kind as much as the humans think it does, that plus a bullet in the head turns an inconvenience into a problem.
"Ugh" I say as I touch my head.
I have a major headache, my vision is blurry and the silver is slowing down my healing enough so that I feel the pain as I once did when I was human. It's strangely refreshing.
I stumble over to the carriage and check out the cargo the man was carrying and I see fancy fabrics and dresses. I find delivery orders to a textile shop and a name, "Nzinga Adeyomi". The name draws no recollection. After memorizing the name, I contemplate a plan to sneak into the encampment and transport out the type-o person while in my weakened state. An idea popped into her head. I doubt it will work as I intended but what other choice do I have?
I quickly change out of my blood soaked clothes. Even if I am a "blood sucker" I detest the metallic aura blood leaves. I find clothes that fit me well enough and a hat that covers my face. Most humans can't tell my kind from them in the dark. The usual tells like our teeth can be retracted. Or just hidden if necessary. Hopefully the humans carelessness let's me blend in.
Slowly, feeling the effects of my weakened state I walk over to the scared horse and pet her and whisper promises of one day getting released and running free with only the wind behind them. I don't even know if I'm talking to the horse or myself at this point. I'm so tired. It doesn't matter who I'm talking to. The horse calms and I feel a little better. Alani always says take the small victories. She'll be so proud of me.
The horse neighs as I hop on the riders seat in the carriage and took off toward the northern border of the encampment.
| 2021-03-02T08:28:43 | 2021-03-02T07:04:40 | 197 | 70 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be
|
When my uncle died I skipped the funeral, citing work reasons and the fact that I was out of the country. It was curious as to how that wretched man died the *day after* I had flown off for work. But it was all the better, morbidly enough.
I despised him, though I could not recall why. It had something to do with growing up around him, though try as I might I could not recall what exactly he did.
In fact, most of my memories of him were fuzzy. I apologized halfheartedly on the phone to my mother about not being able to make it, and promptly forgot about the funeral as I focused on my job.
When I found the cat waiting outside my apartment when I returned from this work trip, I had to do a double take. The cat was a spitting image of the one I had to put down months ago. My cat. Ginger with white feet and a striped tail. The very same.
Naturally I took it in. But the cat... it fell into the habits of Moose, my original ginger cat. Like Moose it lounged on the windowsill in the evening. Like Moose it licked at my face when I lied on the bed. And like Moose it liked the the same wet food, and squirmed at the same dry vitamin pellets. It's personality was shockingly similar.
But this cat was not Moose. Again, Moose was dead and buried months ago because of his bone cancer complications. This cat, though basically a twin, simply, physically could not be Moose.
But I named him Moose all the same. I loved him like I loved Moose. His presence in the empty apartment gave me the same joy and peace Moose did.
And like any cat, Moose one day decided to knock his owner's things off of tall surfaces.
I sighed as I picked the oil lamp off of the floor and placed it back on the mantle, wondering how I even came into the possession of it. Probably something the old owner of the apartment left behind that I used as a decorative piece. I vaguely remembered taking it out of the box of miscellaneous things, giving it a dusting, and putting it on the mantle.
*You want your abuser to die. You want to forget what he did. And you want your companion back.*
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Part ?: Clara v.s. Her Deepest Desires)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**There was only one way to save my daughter, and it just might destroy the world.** But in all my years as a hero and a villain, as a mayor and an outlaw, I thought that I'd seen a bit of good and evil in my time. And twist or stretch it as much as you'd like, there was one thing that the most truly, irredeemable monsters had in common.
They had given up caring about *anybody*.
So long as I cared about my daughter, even if I doomed the city I'd once sworn to protect, I couldn't be a total monster.
And that was enough for me to try one final, desperate gambit.
The Feds hadn't been able to destroy the lamp, so they'd sealed it in concrete and dropped it to the bottom of the ocean. But there were *things* at the bottom of the ocean, things that I knew would take advantage of it even if the Feds didn't listen to me, and so I'd reached out to [an old thoughtfriend](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) and had him haul it back to shore years ago, where—to my knowledge—it had sat in an abandoned warehouse until now. An artifact capable of breaking reality and reshaping it to the user's desires, lounging in downtown Sacrament until someone smart enough to open it and stupid enough to try wandered in.
I wandered into the warehouse.
It was a rather shabby place for the end of the world to begin. The only light filtered in through an old crack in the ceiling, playing along the boring grey edge of the concrete cube; the smell of mildew and old fish filled the dockside air. Rotten wood sagged beneath my feet as I walked towards the innocuous concrete block.
I set down the toolbox I'd brought with me and took out a freshly-bought hammer and nails. Janice had been watching YouTube all day and was excitedly sharing the highlights with me—I'd set down my paperwork and sat beside her as she showed me singing cats and great salt flats and DIYs and sexy guys, not really understanding any of it but laughing along regardless. She'd shown me a video of a man breaking stone with nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows.
I wondered what she'd think if she knew that that video was the difference between her life and death.
With nothing more than a few nails and some well-placed hammer blows, the concrete case around the lamp split precisely in two. I levered the halves apart until the gleaming golden metal became visible.
I swallowed, hesitating. In the wrong hands, this power could devastate the lives of millions, cause misery untold. In the wrong hands, this would be the antithesis of everything I had worked my life for.
Too late to turn back now.
I took the lamp into my hands.
Immediately, a presence *surged* into existence, a mind infinitely greater than my own pressing upon my consciousness. Billowing mist belched forth from the lamp's exposed aperture, forming into a seething, hissing cloud. I *screamed* as it dug into me, a well-placed hammer blow splitting my soul in half as easily as I'd shattered the cage around the bottle—
"I SEE," the genie boomed. It felt red, somehow, the red of lifeblood on an altar. "I SEE, I SEE, I SEE. DESIRES GRANTED, AND WISHES THREE."
"Just... one... wish..." I grated out. "Nothing... else... matters..."
"THE LEAST OF YOUR THREE GREAT DESIRES: NONE ELSE SHALL HOLD THIS LAMP. FROM NOW UNTIL THE END OF TIME, I'LL HIDE BEYOND ALL MORTAL GRASP."
The lamp flickered in my hands, fritzing, and then abruptly disappeared. I exhaled. Well. At least the damn thing would never cause another apocalypse again.
"THE SECOND OF THE THINGS YOU WANT: YOUR DAUGHTER, SAFE AND SOUND. I KNIT HER FLESH AND MEND HER SOUL. TO LIFE HER FATE IS BOUND."
I knelt. "Thank you," I whispered. "That was all I came here for. Really. There's no need to—"
"STILL THERE YET LIES ONE MORE WISH, ONE DEEPER THAN THE REST. THE FINAL OF YOUR DARKEST HOPES SHALL PUT YOUR HEART TO TEST."
I flinched. "What? No! That was all I wanted, that was my deepest desire, really! There's nothing that I want more than to never have to see my daughter *bleeding* like that again, or Tupperman standing helplessly as she dies—please, I don't know what—"
"THOUGH YOU MAY CLAIM TO BE A SHIELD FROM RED-TOOTHED CLAW AND STRIFE, EACH WOUND YOUR FRIENDS AND FAMILY TAKE HACKS AT YOU LIKE A KNIFE. THE FINAL OF YOUR GREATEST DREAMS: THAT THIS PAIN COULD END. THOSE YOU LOVE, YOU'LL NEVER HAVE TO SEE IN PAIN AGAIN."
"Wh—" Hope bloomed in my chest. Was that really it? Could I truly escape this nightmare with everything I wanted and more? "You... you mean it? My friends will never be in pain again?"
The clouds shifted, contracting in on themselves, and for a moment, I saw a terribly old, terribly human face within.
"THAT IS NOT WHAT I SAID."
And then the genie disappeared.
A.N.
Part 2 is below.
| 2021-08-06T08:43:44 | 2021-08-06T07:40:16 | 2,812 | 53 |
[WP] Genies are real, and they do grant wishes. But these wishes do not have to be said out loud. They just grant you your three deepest desires, however fucked up they may be
|
The genie dissipated almost as quickly as it had appeared, leaving him only with a hazy, lingering smile.
However, he knew that something had fundamentally changed - that two wishes had been granted, and one wasted.
He flew upwards, reaching towards the heavens with effortless agility. Spiraling through the sky, he approached a rocky hill, moving towards it with determination - and crashed through it, feeling the inhuman strength of his body as he did so.
The glee soon mixed with sorrow, as his thoughts drifted to her, and his wasted wish. The desire that could never be granted.
He simply wanted her love, and the strength with which to protect her - but she was dead and gone, his powers granted too late to save her.
He flew for hours, grief propelling him forward. The powers felt useless without her - but he would put them to good use, creating a world where her fate could befall no other.
*****
Finally, he arrived at home, floating into bed in a daze. He felt simultaneously exhausted and exhilarated, and yet despite everything, his thoughts still drifted to her - as they always did.
He attempted to sleep, but his mind harried him all the while.
A scratching on the window.
No longer fearing what could be on the other side, he peered through the darkness.
The window cracked, then shattered; a figure shambling through the broken glass toward him.
He suddenly knew his deepest desire.
For her to love him.
*Forever.*
|
[Part 1 of 2]
“Ok, there’s got to be something in the contract about this. I’m grateful and all, but this isn’t what I wanted. Why the hell would I want a spaceship made from chocolate? Would a sane person wish for that?”
“No, I don’t believe a sane person would wish for that, but I’m not here to give you a psychological assessment Ben, I’m just here to grant your deepest desires.” The genie didn’t hide his smug grin, arms crossed over his chest, admiring all the wishes he granted. Taking a strange amount of pride in his devious work. “As for your comment about a contract. I’m a magical floating genie. Do you really think I have a legal department hiding away in this lamp?”
I knew he was being sarcastic, but that didn’t stop me from crouching by the lamp’s side, peering into the golden lamp, only to spot an empty void of darkness inside. When I stood up, he merely stretched his arms out, giving me an expression that silently said. ‘Well?’ Expecting me to continue my frustrated rambling, which I did.
“But it’s a chocolate spaceship. It’s just going to melt. Are you saying my deepest desires are idiotic things like this? What about money or wine? Maybe even my own theme music whenever I enter a building, something that isn’t this.” I pointed to the spaceship, watching its brown, sugary coating drop onto my carpeted floor, leaving a disgusting stain. “And on the carpet too!”
“Sorry, those were your desires. I gave you the three things you desired. Nothing more and nothing less. That spaceship is functional. Be quick though, it’s going to fall apart soon.” The genie said, floating to the side, allowing the sunlight he was blocking from the window to hit the ship, only furthering its destruction.
I was quick to close the blinds, trying to keep the stupid wish from melting. “Ok, whatever. I can accept that maybe one of my childhood desires was a spaceship made from chocolate, but that doesn’t explain this” I pointed to my clothing, dressed in a light blue shirt with a matching set of pants. I could see a small badge hanging off the shirt’s right pocket, appearing to be some form of identification, but the company name seemed foreign to me.
“Oh, you wanted to be a hero, right? Well, what’s more heroic than saving lives Dr. Ben. You are now employed at St Joseph’s hospital. It’s a state away but I’m sure you can take your spaceship there.” His grin only grew wider when he said that. It was clear he wanted to laugh but was trying to keep some level of professionalism.
“Not that sort of hero! I wanted to be a superhero. You know, fight crime and fly, the cool stuff.” I remarked, only for him to raise an eyebrow.
“Are doctors not cool to you? Sorry, do you find the action of saving actual lives boring?”
“No, I mean… No. That’s not what I meant. Doctors are amazing people, but that’s the thing. I’m not an amazing, selfless person. All I want to do is fly around and fight giant monsters, not something practical. I mean, you gave me a chocolate spaceship. What part of that makes you think I want an actual job?”
“I’m not sure. Your desires didn’t specify a preference and so I chose something for you. Enjoy your first shift, its tomorrow morning.” He let a chuckle escape the side of his lips, expelling a brief huff of air before composing himself once more.
“But I know nothing about medicine. How am I supposed to be a doctor?” I argued, only being a doctor in the strangest sense of the word. Having no actual qualifications, only a uniform and form of identification.
“Ah, you will figure it out. I’m starting to think you aren’t grateful for all these gifts. Why are you even complaining, all you had to do was rub a lamp for all of this? It’s not like you had to run a marathon or something strenuous. Want to complain about the last desire too?”
His purple finger pointed towards my kitchen bench, revealing a sparkling new toaster. It was brilliant, having ten slots and settings that would perfectly toast the bread to your exact specifications.
“I actually like that one. I’ve never been able to find a toaster that toasts the bread just right. Out of all the crappy wishes you have given me, that’s my favorite.” I had nothing bad to say about the toaster. The only slight complaint I could think of was that the golden lining along the top made it took a little tacky, but considering the other two wishes, I was happy to endure that. “Are you going to leave now? I have a mess to clean up.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/oz7ydx/wp_genies_are_real_and_they_do_grant_wishes_but/h7yai97/)
| 2021-08-06T09:16:47 | 2021-08-06T09:15:31 | 531 | 99 |
[WP] You have passive mind-reading. You hear the thoughts of those closest to you. Rather than use it to your advantage You instead use it to give precision compliments to brighten people's day.
|
I was almost 16 when the powers kicked in. Nothing special. Not flying in the air, not becoming invisible and not telekinesis. But I did start hearing murmurs. Little whispers when I was around people.
I was frightened initially to be honest. I thought it was schizophrenia. But slowly I realized that I was simply hearing the thoughts and internal monologues of people.
And yeah a lot of it is embarrassing
Like suddenly I knew that the most popular girl in class had a weird itch in some undisclosable location. Or that the guy sitting next to me in class had a major crush on his best friend's mom. Or that my English teacher had a slightly unhealthy obsession with Mariah Carey songs
I wanted cool powers. Not this lame shit
A few months later I accompanied my grandma on a trip to the local store. A lady stood there distributing free samples of some home made sauce. I immediately recognized her as one of my neighbours - Ms Jones.
She waved us over excitedly and handed us a free sample.
It tasted......er...well..... it had a distinct taste.
"OH please let them like it. Please. I really love making this sauce" thought ms jones
I could hear a little murmur of "oh lord it's disgusting!" Coming from my grandma's brain.
When I looked up though, my grandma was smiling widely and gave an encouraging nod to Ms Jones before saying "this is delicious dear. So glad to be able to have a taste"
Ms Jones thoughts were basically music after this little interaction.
This put things in perspective for me
I actually had an awesome super power
The power to make someone's day better
If a girl comes in unsure of the new outfit she's wearing you bet I'm gonna ask her where she got it from. If a dude is conscious about the new haircut I'm telling him it looks great. If a kid is worried that his friends will laugh at his new socks I'm gonna tell him how cool they are.
We all have days. We all need to get through them
And like my grandma always said "kindness doesn't cost anything"
|
“Did you do something with your hair, Mike? It looks amazing today, has that real lush look you see on commercials. Change your shampoo or something?” Compliments are the cheapest present you can give to a person. They cost nothing but a bit of effort on behalf of the person giving it and can make all the difference. I watched as Mike’s beaten down appearance developed a smile. He looked at me while his fingers roamed through his thinning hairline, touching strands of hair.
“You think so? I’ve tried to be more fragile with my hair. I read that people scrub too hard when shampooing and it can damage the molecules. So, I’ve been taking it a little easier. I’m glad it’s paying off.” His smile could light up a room, looking like he wanted to scoop me up in a hug.
I had no clue if anything Mike said had any scientific backing; I didn’t even know hair molecules were a thing, but it didn’t matter. All that mattered was Mike had that little extra confidence today. He would walk with his head high today, knowing that his biggest insecurity wasn’t noticeable. “Maybe I might have to try it out then. It would be nice to get my hair looking a little nicer.”
My words forced a few compliments out of Mike, which wasn’t unusual. Most people feel obligated to return a compliment when they receive one, something that I feel discredits the whole process. A compliment only has weight when it appears genuine, anything else is just lip service. I guess I can’t complain about that too much. My compliments only work because I can hear their innermost thoughts. Perhaps I was just as disingenuous about my compliments as them.
Mike and I shared a few bits of small talk before he continued on his way. Even if it was disingenuous, did it matter? I made him happy. That’s more important, right? I pondered that as I went to get my morning paper, deciding that it didn’t matter. I was getting nothing in return for my actions. Sure, I could use this power to manipulate people, but I only wanted to improve their lives, which makes it a good act.
“Morning.” I said, giving a small wave to the cashier. Her thoughts buzzing with words, making it hard to decipher her thoughts. Whenever a person was flustered, their mind responded by filling their heads with random words and memories, making it a headache inducing experience to navigate. I persisted, waiting until I landed on the troubling thought.
‘I’m horrible at this job. I can’t even handle being a cashier. What will I do when I get my diploma?’ The frantic thoughts were followed by her racing back and forth until she stopped noticing me. “I’m so sorry, we just got a late truckload of stock, and I haven’t had time to unpack it.” She looked exhausted, finally catching a breath as she waited for my response.
“Really? You just got a truckload of stock, and the shop looks this tidy? You must be doing an incredible job. I come in some days and there're papers all over the place. I nearly tripped one time and yet you have it all under control. Maybe they should make you a manager.” I gave her a laugh as I fished through my pocket for my change. She didn’t smile at first, instead a wave of relief washed over her face as if I had dropped a heavy weight from her back. After she processed the words a little more, she gave me a smile.
“It’s still a little messy, but at least no one’s tripping over.” She returned the laugh and suddenly her mind decluttered. Those racing thoughts now a peaceful melody. “What can I get you today, sir?”
“Just the Tuesday paper.” I placed the change down, and she handed over the paper, only to pause, staring at my face.
“Sir, are you ok? You have blood coming from your ear.” She pointed to my ear and indeed, when I placed my finger against my earlobe, I could feel the warm blood staining my finger. She quickly went to get a tissue, leaving me to wait by the counter. When she returned, I thanked her and placed it against my ear.
“It happens sometimes when I’m under a lot of stress. It’s ok, it’s not dangerous or anything, I hope.” I tried to make a joke out of it, but she didn’t find it funny.
“Maybe get it looked at, it doesn’t seem like a normal thing.” I appreciated her concern, especially given it was genuine. I nodded, giving her a silent promise that I would get it looked at before wishing her a good day, heading outside.
It happens sometimes, a downside to my ability. I must have overworked my brain trying to read her thoughts. It was worth it, though. A bit of discomfort was a small price to pay for the priceless experience of making someone’s day. I just wish I could feel that same happiness. That’s the problem with an ability like mine. Compliments were given but rarely received. Sure, people would say something nice back out of obligation, but no one ever bothered to learn about my problems enough to give me a kind word or two. Would I even believe them if they said it?
I dragged my feet along the concrete path, a newspaper tucked under one arm and my other hand pressed to my ear, heading back home. Maybe tomorrow would be a better day? I thought, maintaining some level of optimism as I headed back.
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(If you enjoyed this feel free to check out my subreddit /r/Sadnesslaughs where I'll be posting more of my writing.)
| 2021-11-18T09:02:36 | 2021-11-18T06:37:44 | 344 | 178 |
[WP] You hear a rumour that there's a princess around, always surrounded by cute animals every time she sings. In this post-apocalyptic Disney wasteland, you could use a neverending source of meat...
|
You could hear her wails from a mile away. That’s when you know when to run. Or she’ll find you. Or they’ll find you.
It all happened so fast. She started changing. Her voice, once smooth and sweet as honey, grew scratchy and guttural. There was something in her voice that changed everything. Her screams would gather forest folk around her, and they would mutate into grotesque eldritch forms.
We called them the Wretched. Every living thing that the Wretched touches gets corrupted, there was no cure, no time, no hope. The only way to end the corruption was to kill them, then they would revert back to their original forms. Dead, original forms.
Husks. Everything was a broken memory of their former selfs, even the people. I lost Dopey last week, the corruption finally got him and I had to… I had to end his life. It really did feel like it was almost yesterday that all of us were living happily ever after.
First, we lost Bashful. Oh bless his soul. He loved her so much, but he didn’t know she wasn’t the same. He died in her arms, spine snapped in half. There was so much screaming. I remember so much screaming.
Grumpy left the family, he thought by being alone he could survive better. He thought wrong though, we found his body washed up by a river. Only recognisable thing was the red outfit he used to wear. Couldn’t really tell if it was bloodstained. I never liked Grumpy but it still broke my heart.
Sneezy was next. Corruption. It spread from a bite on his arm from one of the Wretched. We didn’t have a clue what the corruption was at the time. He killed Doc. Then we killed Sneezy.
Sleepy couldn’t handle it. His depression worsened tremendously when we lost Snow to the corruption, and every time someone else died he would lose a part of himself. I felt that way too but I had to keep it together, I had to stay positive for them, for everyone’s sake. Sleepy overdosed and we found him lying peacefully in bed. I miss him every day but I think he was the luckiest one out of all of us.
In spite of it all, she sustains me. I hunt her eldritch minions for nourishment. After all, they just revert back into whatever they were before. I like to think that I’m doing them a favor, mercy killing and all, makes it easier when they don’t look like themselves before they die.
My name is Happy. I’m the last of my kind and I hope this message finds you well. By now I may have either died or you can find me headed south, I’m looking for someone there called the Huntsman. I have to figure out a way to save her, or kill her by my own hands if I have to.
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 4, Interlude 5: Hat Tricks)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.
**In another life, she had been a performer.** But that was before the Middle Communes had collapsed, taking every job more complicated than "find food and don't die" with it. The woman who called herself Hat Tricks had slogged through two years of solid hell ever since. The last few stores of food were getting increasingly dangerous to salvage; supermarkets were flooded with blank-faced dummies that insisted that THE STORE WAS CLOSED and the scarecrows in farms had a tendency to move when nobody was looking.
So when a source of fresh meat landed in her lap, Hat Tricks seized the chance.
There was certainly nothing left worth singing about in this hellish wasteland—making too much noise would just attract Nurses, more often than not. Or worse, hungry survivors. So Hat Tricks felt no remorse about sneaking up on the singing woman, still dressed in a freshly-washed set of clothes despite the grime in the ruined building around her. If Hat Tricks didn't take advantage of her, someone—or something—else would.
Or so she thought. Before Hat Tricks even got within ten meters of the girl, she abruptly paused in her singing and said, "I know you're there."
Hat Tricks swore and stumbled backwards in shock, falling on her back. She scrambled to her feet—there were *things* out here that didn't like it, or liked it too much, when you fell prone. "How did you—"
"Ack!" The woman spun around, eyes wide. "I didn't actually expect that to—I've just been saying that every ten minutes or so. Ohmigosh are you okay?" She surged forwards, lifting Hat Tricks up from her feet.
Out of sheer shock, Hat Tricks let the woman pull her up before jerking back. "You—are you seriously saying that you've been standing here, singing, in the open, for ten minutes straight?"
"About an hour," she said, unfazed.
"You *idiotic—*" Hat Tricks scowled. "What if one of the *things* out there hears you? Or a survivor?"
The woman smiled. "I hope they do. It's no fun singing without an audience."
Hat Tricks stared at her. Well, the woman was clearly lucky, if she'd survived this long being as big of an idiot as she was. Hat Tricks would be doing her a favor by carting her back to base. Hat Tricks scowled and swung a fist at the woman's head, planning to knock her unconscious—
Her punch was caught in a grip like steel. Hat Tricks' heart sped up—someone she hadn't seen had snuck up on her from behind.
"Dammit, Elise, I told you she'd try to hurt you. Stand back a little further next time, okay? There's only so much I could do to protect you if she had a gun." Hat Tricks craned her head—a tall, lanky man was holding her arm from behind. To her surprise, instead of finishing her off while she was off-guard, the man simply let her go.
"What—are you daft? The woman—" Hat Tricks spluttered.
"Her name's Elise," the lanky man said.
"Her name's not going to be relevant when one of the monsters out there comes to eat her alive! If you were *really* trying to protect her, you'd let me take her back to my base. It's underground, safe, and secure."
The lanky man laughed. "Seriously, girl? You're still trying to snatch Elise? Trust me, I'd keep her out of danger if I could, but she's stubborn. She wants to be heard."
"Why? You'll just attract monsters."
"Because they used to be human," Elise simply said.
Hat Tricks stared at her. "What?"
"The Nurses, the scarecrows, the shadowlings—they're all people, or what's left of them. And sometimes, if I sing to them, they remember who they used to be."
"You'll just get yourself killed. There's no way the risk is worth it."
"It was worth it to me." The lanky man scratched his neck, a bit of straw coming loose, and Hat Tricks flinched in realization. She took a step back, then two, then hesitated.
"You're not... you're not going to stop me from running?"
Elise smiled sadly. "I'd love for you to stay."
"Why?"
"Because you're a person, too." She tilted her head. "Maybe you'll remember who you used to be, too."
And before Hat Tricks could object, she began to sing.
"*Once there was a fallen child/*
*Abandoned in the wild/*
*Within the redwood trees/*
*She found her family.*"
The tune was familiar. The lyrics were not. And yet, the part of Hat Tricks that had once stood on stage and sang swelled up, remembering a life long gone.
"*Then one day... came a call/*
*The girl saw cities fall/*
*Into darkness she descends/*
*How could she make amends?*"
Hat Tricks clenched her fists. It was stupid. It was needlessly risky. It was a waste of resources.
It was what Elise would do.
Almost involuntarily, old instincts activated, and Hat Tricks began to sing.
"*Then one day, you came near/*
*And saved her from her fear/*
*Reconciled with her past/*
*Put her to rest at last.*"
Elise's eyes lit up. Despite neither of them knowing what came next, the last verse came in perfect harmony.
"*Go to sleep now, fallen child/*
*And let your dreams run wild/*
*Peacefully, the redwood trees/*
*Will bring you back to me.*"
Elise spread out her arms, and Hat Tricks silently fell into her embrace.
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-01-28T03:56:36 | 2022-01-28T03:21:44 | 76 | 44 |
[WP] You are legally allowed to commit murder once, but you must fill out the proper paperwork and your proposed victim will be notified of your intentions
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It's a small act of defiance. I don't think it will change the law. But maybe, I can save a few lives. Maybe I can scare a few people out of line. My hand shakes as I write.
_____
**Form 10-95**
**Sanctioned Murder Registration**
Murderer: */u/thefonztm*
Victim: *The next registrant*
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I released a deep sigh as I lifted the still smoking barrel of my handgun to my lips, giving it a brief kiss. It was, by far, the most sound investment I'd ever made. After placing it on the table and stepping over the would-be assassin's body I approached the closet nearest my door to don my jacket: the black leather, I had decided two days ago when I received the notice that yet another would be coming to make an attempt on my life. At least with this one I'd had an idea as to when he'd be coming, and the timing couldn't be any more perfect. However, I had to keep my priorities in mind. I pulled my cell from my pocket and dialed Julie, my girlfriend. She had been on edge since I received the notice and she always hated it when I forced her to stay away from me until it was dealt with. I approached the desk and began to scan over the other document I'd received two days prior as the rings began to come across the line. I couldn't even begin to guess how many times I'd read it already, but one more time couldn't hurt.
*The selected individual will be notified once approval has been received. If you opt in, you may be notified via SMS when they have been informed.*
Two rings, and then her voice came over the phone as she answered. I could hear the relief in her voice as I continued scanning. "Is it done? Is it over? Are you alright?"
*Once you receive notice that the individual has been notified you are free to proceed with any methodology you see fit.*
"I'm fine, not even a scratch this time. I told you these morons don't stand a chance. Came crashing through the door, caught him with the hollow points as soon as he stepped around the corner."
"You were worried about this one. I could tell."
*However, you maintain liability for any damage caused to privately owned property.*
"That's why I rushed him. Didn't want him to have time to plan. Seems to have worked. How's my son doing?"
*The individual indicated may defend him or herself using any means legally available.*
"He's scared, but I'm sure he'll be much better once I give him the news."
*You may not kill others who attempt to defend the individual you have selected. They retain their rights to defend the individual and will not face sentencing for attempting to stop you if they are present at the time of the attempt.*
"Good." I put down the document, turning my attention to my computer monitor. A few clicks and I reached a map. Perhaps I was mistaken, but I could almost see the little red dot pacing back and forth within the apartment less than 15 minutes away. Checking my watch, I saw that it was now six o'clock PM. Her voice came over the phone again, "You have to do this. This is three times. As soon as she gets another boyfriend she's going to try and convince him, too." I released a deep sigh before responding, "I know. I can see her at home now." Standing up, I approached the corpse on my living room floor and removed his phone from his pocket. I glanced over his messages, paying careful attention to his format and spelling. I had to do this just right. I could hear the remorse in Julie's voice as she spoke. "I'm sorry you have to do this." Again stepping over the corpse I headed back to the bedroom to grab my rifle, texting from the dead man's phone along the way.
*its done showing police permit now ur son wasnt here*
I removed the rifle from the closet and pulled the bolt, chambering a round. I hadn't answered her, she knew I was dreading this. "Just remember, you're doing the right thing for your son."
*o thank god ur alright. we can pick him up from his bitch tomorrow. dinner to celebrate?*
"I know. I'll call you when it's done."
*good idea meet outside in 30*
| 2014-03-17T10:18:55 | 2014-03-17T06:28:23 | 37 | 17 |
[WP] Describe a well known story from the perspective of the antagonist. Try to conceal the actual story till the last line.
Fairy tales, legends, tv shows, book, etc.
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All I ever wanted in this world was her. I could have had my powers over magic stripped away, but if I could have had her to love me as much as I loved her, I would have been the happiest person alive. My beloved chose my twin brother over me. My brother, who goes out into the forest for days on end to listen to the whispers of spirits. She would wait for him to come back, and when he would return, she would embrace him. I have been waiting for years, and where is my embrace?
When our world threatened to end, I was one who helped to save it. But when I preserved one of the artifacts that granted my people our prowess over magic, I was shamed and damned. They locked me in a prison for ten thousand years before I was finally able to get out.
I owe no allegiances now, not to my beloved, certainly not to my brother; I am not loyal to anyone but myself. I have claimed a new world as my own, and I have subjects who worship me and do my every bidding. I am leagues and even worlds away from my brother and my once-beloved, yet still I am damned by them. If they send their troops to kill me, I know they will not be ready. When the time comes that you are tasked with my demise, I know you will not be up to the task. You are not strong enough to face me.
You are not prepared.
|
Life was odd amongst women when I was growing up. But then I suppose being raised by women does offer some unique perspectives. The women all held me in high opinion from as early as I can remember. They kept on telling me that I would one day become their ruler.
I had kept on being told this, time and time again to the point where I came to believe that I should indeed be ruler by right. But living in one place was never enough for me. The promise of ruling sparked my imagination and often interfered with spells I was trying to cast as I was learning the trade of sorcery. Fire would turn green, water would freeze instead of heat and a simple word to heal a cut accidentally tore it into a much larger and more alarming cut.
My distractions with my thoughts had lead me to wonder of the outside world. From the desert we lived in, we had a clear line of sight to nearby towns, fortresses and the like. But on the horizon was a mountain range. Near to that, you could usually make out a hazy tree line that told of a forest. A forest! Having spent so much time training in the art of sorcery, I developed a dark skin and had only a few palm trees whose meager shadows offered little solace from the blistering heat. What was a forest like? Was it cooler in the mountain range or hotter because you would be closer to the sun?
Days at a time, my mind wandered more and more to the mysteries of the world until one day, I snuck out of my fortress to go and explore, escaping the women who had been kind to me, but seemed to resent the notion of the rest of the world, calling the people there "Rich and arrogant fools".
I would judge for myself. Besides, I could better myself at sorcery no more
Sometime after travelling, using my sorcery to defend myself and earn some food along the way, I arrived in a great field of grass. The air was much cooler here. I could get used to life like this. I wandered the field for a time until I saw a building in the distance. Curious, I walked to it and found it was a ranch. The owner seemed to spend all of his time sleeping whilst all of his farmhands worked to feed and clean the horses, care for chickens and milk the cows. I felt disgusted with the man. Barely lifting a finger to earn his keep, yet his servants poured sweat into the stables and land?
The more I thought about it, the more it enraged me. This one man must face some kind of justice. In the desert, life was strict, particularly with water. If anyone was caught stealing from the pitiful well, they were flayed. I shall bring the same fate on this man.
I asked the farmhands where their king resided as I wanted an audience to protest this pitiful mans job.
I got some directions towards a castle and its town.
Some time later, I arrived at a large drawbridge. Good. At least the king was wise enough to prepare defenses for any future hostilities.
I walked through the bustling town, towards the large silhouette on the hills in the distance. I wondered how the king could rule his slaves from so far away but saved my thoughts for a meeting with the king. His guards were useless. The barely paid attention, walked in patterns that even a child could evade to infiltrate the castle. If this were my domain, I'd create a drawbridge over a pit of lava. Heat was a very effective deterrent.
Soon, I found myself waiting in a lavishly decorated room. Gold lined the walls, some kind of soft fabric coated the floors and the castles structure seemed to be made of marble. The sheer exceptionalism of the building disgusted me. All of these features were mere decorations to sooth the eyes of all of the noblemen and women seeking to bother the so called King with completely banal issues such as inheritance or rules regarding small plots of land. A man is only worth what he makes in society and land is taken if it is needed. How these people had managed to function was a mystery. But I had seen enough. Resources should be spent on armies and defense. Any competent ruler would be ready to defend his lands, slaves and resources if they had any hope of surviving the bitterness or jealousies of lesser peoples.
I met with the king and found that he was nearly as lazy as that wretched farmer who ran the ranch back in the fields. Sitting in his chair, fat from oversaturated foods and no battles fought in years, was a man who smiled at all. As if entertained by his lessers. It was difficult to keep my temper. There was a picture of a young girl in his locket that he held fondly. The girl had something peculiar in her hands...surely it wasn't what I thought it was... It was a rumored relic, fantasized about during dull nights in the desert...
Surely this wasn't the Ocarina of Time she held?
Then...I entertained some new...ambitious thoughts....
Edit: Formatting and spelling errors
| 2014-06-20T08:19:23 | 2014-06-20T06:49:22 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] A cult worships you, thinking you're an extremely powerful alien god in human form. They're right, but they're annoying you on your vacation.
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**J**ack jumped forward, reaching for the throat of a person in front of him, but missed as his intended victim fell on the ground and started chanting.
"Shut up! Shut up! Shut up!" cried Jack in a vain attempt to stop the person from trying to kiss the sand on which Jack stood a moment ago.
It was a bad vacation. The weather wasn't quite right, the rum tasted like piss, and the maniacs wouldn't stop chanting. In the beginning, Jack hoped that the storms would stop, but it seemed like the tropical retreat was nowhere close to lifting his spirits.
"Oh son of the great Morrígan, oh you, who comes from across the night sky from beyond the stars, show mercy on thy humble servant, and do not turn into a crow to lead a battle but allow us to stay in peace and prosperi...". Jack never learned the end of the sentence because his right foot had made a motion resembling that of a football player and came into contact with the guy's chest.
"I said, shut your mouth! I'm not a... a... whatever you just called me there! Just go away, I'll give you money!"
He wasn't sure if the prostrated figure heard him, lying there in front of him and looking at its own chest with awe and fascination of a lottery winner.
"The great one touched me! Oh, I am blessed, blessed on this day..."
Jack turned around and walked away. The person followed. Jack walked faster. The person started running.
"Oh the great god of ravens! Oh merciful leader! Oh..."
Jack tried to forget how one called a group of crows, but the thought came back as he tried to pick up the pace to leave his unwanted worshipper behind. He had no idea how the guy knew who he was as he spread his wings and threw himself upwards into the sky. This was intended to be a vacation.
It was time to get back to work.
|
Dave hadn’t gone skiing in well over two millennia, thanks to the incredible rarity of suitable snow on any planet other than Earth. Yes, it was quite abundant on the human world, but it also came equipped with the unfortunate addition of humanity. It wasn’t that there was anything particularly wrong with them, aside from their incredibly inquisitive and violent nature, but they were absolutely irritating. If they weren’t following him around like some sort of savior—rather than a simple immortal, intergalactic being—than they were doing their best to find him.
He decided to give Earth another shot after an incredibly unrelaxing vacation on Saturn. It was the first time he’d visited the planet and expected it to be significantly more solid than it turned out to be. Yet after falling through it surface several times, he deemed it an utter failure and took the short trip to Earth, landing in the land they called “Colorado” and picking up a set of skis. It had been quite a while since he’d been to Earth and imagined most of whom had worshipped his last arrival would no longer be living. The humans tended to have very short lifespans. As such, he decided to re-use his earlier disguise of a long, brown haired, white man, which he’d actually been quite fond of. He was generally bald and enjoyed the opportunity to reimagine himself with hair. Yet as soon as he set foot outside of the ski lodge, he noticed the crowds beginning to grow.
Dave sighed heavily, staring out at the horizon from atop the mountain he had intended to ski. He’d been followed to the top, passing by several pictures that bore an eerie resemblance to his long haired disguise, and had been forced to ride a “ski lift” up. A human man had been seated beside him, an unending barrage of words spewing from his lips and almost directly into Dave’s ear. He did his best to ignore him, instead admiring the beauty of the land the humans called home. It seemed almost unfair for such a naïve, ignorant, and boisterous people to own such a gorgeous planet, but he figured there should be at least one benefit for being amongst them. They didn’t exactly seem to appreciate what they had, though, with even the man beside him instead focusing on asking anything from “why the sky is blue” to “why his return took so long.”
As soon as Dave slid off the ski lift, he realized the error of his way. A gaggle of humans, which he was pretty confident was the right term their species, were waiting for him on the mountain’s peak. Several carried large, white signs that read things like, “Welcome Home, God,” and “Jesus, Take The Wheel.” It was the same organization, the same “cult,” that had been there last time. And it certainly hadn’t ended well last time.
For whatever reason, Dave’s last visit to Earth had taken a serious turn for the worse at the end of his stay. He began by skiing in a nearly untouched mountain range, not a single human in sight, and had a simply wonderful time. By the end, however, he had ventured off to a slightly more temperate climate in order to warm up prior to leaving. One thing led to another and he got a bit too drunk, pulling off a few “miracles” and converting water to wine as a gag. By the end of his stay, the humans had attempted to kill him via crucifixion, which he drew the line at. He left and vowed never to return.
“Can I have immortality?” said one of the humans, poking Dave on the shoulder as soon as he slid to a stop. He had pale, white skin and brown hair, with features that looked almost exactly like every other human.
“No,” Dave sighed, stabbing his ski pole into the snow and taking off his gloves. He didn’t exactly need to wear any of the warm clothing the humans wore, but did so to blend in. Apparently that wasn’t necessary any longer. He tossed the glove into the snow and began pulling at the other.
“Why not?” said the same human, his voice whiny and high-pitched.
“Can you guys just leave me alone?” Dave said, tossing the other glove in the snow. He began unzipping his jacket. He had so desperately been looking forward to a nice skiing trip, to feeling the frigid wind whip through his artificial hair. He had a rising suspicion that it might not be as enjoyable as he’d imagined it to be.
“Have you come back save all the believers?” said another human. It, too, had pale, white skin and dark hair, but Dave was unsure of its gender. It sounded female, but the thick winter clothing did little to provide any context clues.
“What?” Dave said. “Of course not. I’m just here to ski.” He slipped his jacket off and dropped it into the snow, then turned toward the crowd behind him. They seemed to be growing in numbers, more and more humans arriving on the ski lift and coming to a stop beside him. “How did you humans even find me?”
“Jesus tends to stand out,” one of the humans said. “We wanted to be with you for the rapture.”
“Dammit,” Dave whispered, grabbing his ski poles. They seemed to have somehow remembered him from his last visit, even remembering the false name he’d gone by. He shoved himself forward and began gliding down the hill, the humans suddenly shrieking as he left them behind. He desperately hoped that this trip wouldn’t end in another attempted crucifixion.
| 2015-04-02T11:42:00 | 2015-04-02T11:33:19 | 178 | 84 |
[Wp] you are a lonely old man who feeds raccoons every night because you are lonely. One night, just Before Sunset, a stranger invades your house, ties you up, and threatens to kill you. Suddenly, out of the corner of your eye, you see a pair of winkley yellow eyes at the window.
Edit: And now my highest rated post is about.....raccoons.
|
The racoons used to fight Old Joe's dog, Marty, for his dinner on the porch every night. Tired of breaking up the melee at sundown every night he'd simply started putting out enough food for the racoons as well. A tense peace broke out among the animals in Old Joe's back yard and Joe got to know the racoons over the years. Bert and Ralph were their names, Bert the cheeky one and Ralph more sedate.
2 years after he started feeding the racoons Marty had died. Old Joe kept feeding the racoons, glad of the company. Ralph Racoon had seemingly noticed Marty had gone and went off in search of him only to come up empty handed. Bert, the bottomless pit had happily ate completely oblivious. Old Joe decided Ralph was his favourite that day and slipped him a bit of extra food when he could afford it. Although the wily Bert always seemed to con Ralph out of it by making him drop it or sneaking up behind him. Their antics were the only thing that made old Joe laugh these days as he cursed "That sum'bitch" Bert as he left a befuddled Ralph wondering how he'd lost his food again. Old Joe lived on a long stretch of country road with only a few houses around so the raccoons were the ones who heard all his stories from then on.
A year after Marty had died Old Joe just hadn't got around to replacing him. He had enough entertainment from the racoons and feeding those 2 mouths was expensive enough for an old man on a pension. He missed the company sometimes as the racoons never came into the house but it was enough.
That night, 1 year after Marty had died, Old Joe had sat down in front of the tv for his dinner. He sat watching an old video on his VHS of his wife holding the energetic little puppy, Marty. Both were gone now, just Old Joe on his own. And the racoons he guessed. Quiet Ralph and the cheeky sum'bitch Bert. Old Joe laughed as he watched the video, Marty had tripped up his wife and she lay laughing on the grass. Old Joe was never one to dwell on misery, he used occasions like this to celebrate what he had enjoyed in his life. He looked at his steak dinner and picked up his glass of cold beer.
"Here's to you Marty, the best pal a guy ever had".
Old Joe's head exploded with pain and his vision went dark. He woke up what seemed like minutes later. Old Joe tried to move his arms to get off the floor but found his wrists were tied. His legs too. Panic set in as he tried to struggle free.
"Don't bother old man, there's only 2 ways this is going to end. A quick and painless death....or a long painful one."
"What do you want with me?" Old Joe asked
"I've seen you round here, no family, cashing your social security cheque every week. Feeding those damn raccoons so they never leave. You're leaching off society and bringing vermin around. It's not fair. But now I'm going to do to you what I should have done to those raccoons the first day I saw them. Exterminate you."
The man laughed. Joe managed to turn his head and look at him and he saw that it was his drunken neighbour from down the street. He'd always been trouble and the police were often seen pulling him in for questioning though they never seemed to keep him away for long.
The drunk leaned in close to Old Joe. Joe gagged as he the stench of stale beer hit him.
"But first Joey, first you're going to sign a will naming me your only heir. I get the house, the car and whatever else you have. You've no family, no one to ask questions. No one will even miss you. Not even the damn raccoons. Maybe I'll make myself a hat out of them when you're gone."
Joe looked him in the eye and knew he was in trouble. The drunk turned behind him and Joe saw him grab his beer from the table. His steak still steaming on the plate. The neighbour drained the glass and burped.
"You better have more in the fridge"
As the neighbour turned to leave Old Joe realised he needed help to escape and that help wasn't coming. He was too old to overpower anyone and he couldn't even attempt it until he escaped...but he could call for help if he could get to the phone. He just needed to untie himself somehow.
Just then he noticed a pair of yellow eyes at the window. It was Bert, cheeky, mischeivous, brave and wonderful Bert! Joe saw his chance, if he could get the raccoon to chew through the rope he might have a chance.
"Hey Bert, c'mere boy, c'mere. I need your help old pal."
Bert stepped cautiously into the house. He'd never been in before but today he seemed motivated and Joe was grateful. Bert's nose sniffed around and his eyes darted as he scanned for danger.
"Thats it Bert, come on, who's a brave boy!"
Bert jumped from the window to the table and flattened himself as he looked around again, wary of any danger in this new environment.
"Come on boy, nearly there. I take back everything I ever said about you. You're a good boy."
Bert crawled to the edge of the table and looked at Bert with his head tilted. For a moment Joe felt like the raccoon could understand him as Bert surveyed the situation.
"Thats it, come on, quickly now, not much time."
Bert seemed satisfied and squeaked at Old Joe before turning his back on him and grabbing his warm steak in his teeth. Joe's jaw dropped open as Bert turned tail and ran for the window clutching the steak.
"YOU SONOFABITCH BERT, YOU GODDAMN SONOFABITCH. ILL GET YOU FOR THIS!!"
As the neighbour walked back in all Old Joe could hear was the happy raccoon squeaking and eating a delicious steak in his back yard.
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Jonas was thinking about the raccoons when he heard the tinkle of glass, but then again he'd been thinking about the raccoons for most of the day now. It was funny, the things you got to doing once you got old, once most of your friends had gone off and died or disappeared into retirement homes or fretted themselves into monastic existences of no salt no sugar no stress no fun. It was the best part of his day now, and, if he let himself admit it, the only part of the day he was looking forward to. Settling down on his back porch after dark as the stars were just starting to come out, and watching the raccoons come.
There were four of them, the big ones, and over the last few nights he'd seen a couple of kits tagging along, although he wasn't sure how many of them there were yet. He'd sit out back and watch them, his trash cans left uncovered, the raccoons hunched over on the edge with their yellow halogen eyes glancing back at him, balanced on their inquisitive paws, and then a tuft of fur and the tip of their tail disappearing inside. He'd started leaving a basin of water out there at nights, and he'd get to see them, their front paws cupped together, dipping some bread or part of an apple core or a scrap of meat into the water, and then bringing it up to their mouths to eat. He'd started feeding them himself, recently, tossing out pieces of cracker or whatnot out on the porch, and watching them scurry up unafraid to nab it. He'd cooed to them - nonsense words, he wasn't quite far gone enough to start having conversations yet - and they'd listened with a polite bafflement and gone right on eating. Jonas hadn't named them yet, wasn't always quite sure which one was which, aside from 'the big 'un,' and perhaps he never would. It wasn't that he was looking for friends, really. He'd have gotten a cat for that. It was just getting old and being far past his prime, and rotting out here all by himself in the middle of nowhere, in the town he'd been born, and knowing that the raccoons came by every night to feast. Big healthy fat ones, with their thick fur coats and their bushy striped tails, finding something they needed.
And they'd been peaceful, mostly, but sure they'd knocked over a garbage can from time to time. And so the raccoons were on his mind when he heard the glass break, and as he rose from his recliner and wandered to the back to investigate, and saw his back door hanging open to the dusky air and the shattered glass on the floor, and that's when the stranger attacked.
It was a blur out of the corner of Jonas' vision, fingers raking into his shoulder and throwing him to the floor. His arms came up, scratching against nylon, and the back of a hand hit him in the face. He was flipped on his belly, a knee pressing into the small of his back, and he grunted and cried out. The weight momentarily lifted, a table was knocked over, and then both of Jonas' arms were wrenched behind his back. Something wound around his wrists - phone cord, he saw, with his blurred vision, the handset of his phone being tugged across the floor. Jonas' ribs hurt from where he had landed on them, and he could taste blood, though he wasn't sure where he was bleeding from. His right shoulder burned. "Please-" he got out. "I don't have much money. You can take it. You can take everything."
"Hrrr hrrr hrrr," said the stranger from above him, maybe breathing or maybe growling or maybe something rattling loose. Ratty sneakers stepped into Jonas' field of vision, the cuffs of jeans. Hands grabbed his ankles and he kicked out weakly, and he was jerked across the floor, his hip dragging against the ground. In stops and starts, stops and starts, as Jonas flopped on the floor, tried to tilt his head up to see. His vision kept going black, and the blood kept backing up into his throat, but he saw the stranger, stumpy and fat and short-legged, waddling across the floor and dragging him along, into his kitchen. The stranger let go and broke off, leaning heavily on the countertop, breathing or growling or laughing or coming loose. "Hrrr hrrr hrrr hrrr." A head of ratty grey hair shook. "I'm going to fucking kill you," the stranger said, with the sound of teeth too big for his mouth. Jonas couldn't see his face. "You hear that, old man? You're fucking dead."
And as Jonas' head lolled back, he saw, out of the corner of his eye, two yellow eyes staring in from his kitchen window, two points of light in the gathering dusk. And then two more. And then two more. Fireflies pressed still, embedded in the darkness. Everyone coming out to watch.
"What's going on?" he managed. He gagged and tilted his head to the side and let a dark clot of blood slip out of his mouth. He tested his bonds behind him. The phone cord was already coming loose; this stranger had no idea how to tie a knot. But his right shoulder was burning so bad he wasn't sure if being untied would do him much good. "Who are you? Who are you? Why are you doing this?"
"Hhrroor," said the stranger, and twisted at the knobs on his sink, and the sound of running water filled the kitchen. Jonas saw a smile, and he wondered why he'd ever thought the stranger's teeth were big. They were tiny, rows and rows of little needles. "I am the Lorax," it chittered, "I speak for the 'coons," and then broke out into a wild trilling laugh.
There were the eyes everywhere now, in every window, filling every space of darkness. Jonas closed his eyes and could see the yellow lights there, staring at him, waiting. He writhed on the floor, trying to breathe, and there were the ragged sneakers again, coming for him. A hand came into view and grabbed him, and Jonas could see it was like a human hand burned black, all shriveled down to the bone. And as it grabbed awkwardly at his shirt, Jonas could see it was deformed somehow, unable to get a proper grip. The fingers clenched shut with rage, all of them, five fingers and no thumb.
"Why," moaned Jonas, as he was hauled to his feet, up to the sink, all the yellow eyes burning into him like a million suns. He could see his face reflected in the window, the blood running down his nose and mouth and chin, and the stranger behind him all haloed in black. His legs were jelly beneath him. "What are you? What are you?"
It let him collapse against the sink, his head hanging by the faucet with the water still running and the sink plugged and droplets splashing against his face. "I'm so sorry," the stranger - the Lorax? - said, a trembling feral moan, and Jonas could see it raking its burnt fingers across its face. "They loved you. They loved you." His head was plunged into the water, and for a moment he was floating, blood drifting up in ribbons in front of him, the water clouded with bubbles. And then he was back up, soaking, gasping for breath as the water dribbled off him. "I'm so sorry!" the stranger shrieked. "They made me come here. They made me. They didn't want to keep seeing you suffer."
Jonas felt a warm spot spreading across his jeans, the cold water still trickling down his face, and he was lowered to a sitting position on the floor. "Don't do this," he begged, trembling. There were things moving beneath the stranger's jacket. Something feral and alive. All the burning bright stars. His face was hot. He was going to be incinerated. "Don't do this! Don't do this!"
"Jonas," came the stranger's voice, as if from far away, and a hand rested on his shoulder. "I'm sorry. I'm so sorry. Just look at me, Jonas. Just look at me. Just look at my face and you'll understand. You'll be all right."
And Jonas pried open eyes that he hadn't realized he had been closing, and the stranger's face swam into view in front of him, and a slow giggle rose in Jonas' throat. "Oh god," he said, relaxing, slumping back, tilting his head back against the sink. "Oh god. Hahahahaha! You - hahaha!" It was all going to be all right, he realized, letting the sudden burst of humor carry him away. He had been threatened, and he had been hurt, but there was no one here who wanted to harm him. All he needed to do now was to lie still, and eventually the stranger would leave, taking what he had come for. Jonas might be poorer for it, sure, but those were material possessions that could be replaced. Jonas grinned in relief, and the stranger smiled back as Jonas nodded his head and let unconsciousness take him. All would be well. All would be well. For there, unmistakable across the stranger's face, there had been the telltale mask of the Burglar.
| 2016-10-30T21:45:11 | 2016-10-30T21:03:04 | 61 | 14 |
[WP] Despite being peaceful, humans are universally feared through out the galaxy as harbingers of death. They are hosts to the most dangerous diseases and bacteria ever discovered. Average number of fatalities from a single human exposure is ~8,000 with some exceptions. Avoid at all costs.
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Fire.
Humans always dealt with plague by burning the bodies, and houses.
Why should we think other intelligent species would be any different? It has been protocol on newly discovered planets to nuke settlements at the first sight of diseases we could not treat.
Humanity's first contact with an intelligent species went uneventful. Trade of knowledge, culture, weaponry, and an introduction to the Confederation. Our second contact did not go so well. It turns out, the Toblerians had a physiology different enough to make them immune to human diseases. They were the exception.
The first Human delegates to the Confederation were expelled out an airlock, but it was too late. The leaders of the Confederation were killed, factions took that as an opportunity to rebel, and it took nearly 100 years for the Confederation to even return to 75% of its pre-Human power. They have decided that now it was time to deal with the Human problem.
The Confederation subjected the outer Human colonies to the initial bombardment. Their nuclear weapons made standard human weaponry look like a firecracker. One bomb and a whole hemisphere is wiped out.
They offered to let humans return to the Sol System. We refused. The war went our way for a while, having Toblerians on our side, as well as a few more who were immune and saw the opportunity to destroy the Confederation once and for all. Biological attacks involved dropping humans onto key worlds. But the technological difference was too much. The Toblerians no longer exist.
The Confederation was able to expand and consolidate power during the war because of the omnipresent threat of Humanity. Soon, there was nothing left but Earth.
The moon was purged, mars a radioactive wasteland, and not a single satellite left in orbit.
Fire of the Gods.
It was always said that fire sparked humanity, ironic that it will now be the destruction of all of human civilization.
Just three bombs, and the fires will purge humans from the universe.
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“Captain's log 2449. Approximately two hours ago Communications Officer Ventron discovered a series of deep space com signal coming from a previously unexplored part of the galaxy. Upon further inspection of the signals Ventron was able to confirm our suspicions that they are from an undiscovered alien race. I’ve set Ventron to the task of deciphering the language with the help of our on board linguistics specialist, we are currently on course for that region of space and are due to arrive in approximately six standard days. I will send this and all further reports concerning this matter directly to the Department of Inter-species Relations. Captain Griktol out.”
“High Councilmen Dranlon’s official log number three hundred and six. I am scheduled to meet with the Terran representative in eight hours, this will be the third the Terrans have met with an Association representative. We will be me- Xilma this is ridiculous, I know why I’m meeting with the Terrans and so does whoever is listening to this asinine recording because I bloody stated it in the last sixteen logs. Algoth you know it’s regulation, being the High Councilmen of the Association comes with a lot of repetitive tasks you knew that when you accepted the position. Eugh fine whatever, My goal i- did you just roll your eyes at me? You may be the High Councilmen, but I have been Aide to the High Councilmen since long before you were brought into this galaxy. Ahhh, you’re right, as usual, I’m sorry Xilma. Can I continue now? I would hope you could. As I was saying. We will be meeting on Captain Griktol’s ship as they are already familiar with it, well that and the fact they also requested it. My goal is to negotiate a transfer of information as a sign of friendship. Hopefully in the long term this will lead to trade agreements and potentially even a military defense agreement. I will be bringing a Quie with me to act as translator. I will update this log after the meeting takes place.
Log amendment one. I believe that went relatively well. We agreed to a transfer of cultural information, and I will be meeting with Ambassador Diya again in one week's time. Anything else Xilma, I’ve got a headache and would like to go lay down for a bit. Yes, what was your first impressions of the Terrans? Ugh, um. Considering we already have a few other species similar to the Terrans in the Association they weren’t too foreign, though I will admit the constant sniffing was slightly annoying. Now if you don’t mind I’m going to go to sleep!”
“Head Coroner Jivadi’s log thirty six ninety three. The first look at the cadaver shows severe bleeding from all orifices, hundreds of cysts cover the body. I’m now making my first incision at the base of the neck where the glands seem heavily inflamed. It looks like there are numerous cysts on the inside of the body aswell, god the pain the High Councilmen must of been in is unimaginable. I’m going to cut open one of the inner cysts n- oh well that’s interesting. They contain a green gel like substance that is melting my medical tools, I’m going to go send some of these cysts away to be analysed, along with samples of the blood and saliva. I’ll continue the autopsy shortly.”
“Hello, I’m Trix Delvonian head of the Tourism Bureau and I need your help! A new species called Terrans has recently been discovered and we need people who can help organise and facilitate safe, exciting, and interesting tours of Association planets. We also have some exciting opportunities coming up that involve traveling to Terran worlds, experiencing their culture and documenting your experience there! If you’re interested in either of these exciting new possibilities please contact the Tourism Bureau today!”
Director Alogran: “Alright I’m sure you’ve all heard the rumours going around about this new plague, unfortunately I’m here to confirm them.”
General Dranop: How has it taken this long for a meeting to happen, from what I’ve been hearing this is verging on a class Zeta outbreak.”
High Councilwoman Salidra: “ Don’t be ridiculous, there hasn’t been a class Zeta disease in over fifty thousand years”
Director Alogran: “No, not ridiculous. It’s class Zeta. Though we can’t pinpoint where it originated from.”
Chief Biologist Zona: “ The biggest problem is that we don’t know which species are susceptible to it. Not everyone that encounters it seems to be infected.”
High Councilwoman Salidra: “When was the first documented case?”
Director Alogran: “As far as we can tell it was High Councilmen Dranlon.”
General Dranop: “Have we spoken to the Terrans about this? Could it be a biological attack?”
High Councilwoman Salidra: “No not yet, that’s highly unlikely General Dranop. The Terrans have been nothing but helpful, they’ve shown absolutely no signs of animosity.”
Chief Biologist Zona: “I agree with the High Councilwoman, I also don’t think they’re advanced enough technologically to create such a damaging bioweapon.”
General Dranop: “Do we have a plan then? What’s our next step, how do we quarantine something we can’t detect?”
Director Alogran: “The purpose of this meet was just to confirm the rumors, I have set up several task forces dedicated to finding a solution. I suggest you all do the same, in the meantime all we can do is wait.”
- N/L
Edit: Spelling. Also I've not tried writing in this style before so feedback would be appreciated :)
| 2017-01-07T06:45:22 | 2017-01-07T06:26:14 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] In Hell, your worst mistakes and cringiest moments are relived over and over. Your life, however, was a series of never ending awesomeness. Satan is getting fed up with you.
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Dear God,
You know I normally don't write to you if it wasn't of extreme importance. You see, normally my attendance consists of pretty shitty people who have both done and experienced shitty things. Because of this, my typical treatment usually works wonders.
For example, Hitler has been stuck in Art School for quite awhile, and since then, he's abolished his hateful ways and can paint one hell (no pun intended) of a flowerpot now. It's a good start, but until he can paint a Jewish Mona Lisa with a german flag in the background, I'm holding off on giving his soul another chance.
That's normally the process for the occupants of my little plane, and really you and the mortals should give me more credit. I mean, for fuck's sake, my discipline is what helps souls recycle back into the living, but what do a whole bunch of your followers do? Oh yeah, bitch about gay people, of all things, or some other shit, and they're always confused when they gotta relive the day they drove through a pride parade for all eternity.
But I digress.
I actually need your help. You see, there's this little shit that's been a thorn in my demonic backside that I can't break with my discipline process. I don't know if you had anything to do with this, but this asshole's life consisted of absolutely nothing unfortunate, at least nothing worth torturing him for. The closest thing I could find is when he dropped his icecream when he was five, but when he looked on the ground, the fucker found twenty bucks! Currently, he's reliving the time when his girlfriend blew him under a desk while he played video games. The only downside there is he always loses! It's the closest thing to a reliving punishment. At least he'll start to feel pretty sore eventually.
But anyways, I really need you to either explain why he's here, take him back, or find someone else to run Hell, because frankly, I'm sick of this shit.
With Love,
Satan <3
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I walked around Hell, the place is actually pretty normal. It is like Earth except instead of a nice blue sky and cool air, the sky is red and the air burns. However you are pretty okay with it since you are dead. I keep seeing people fuck up though. It is pretty embarrassing to see people do stuff like shit their pants in public and lose their job (yes we have jobs in Hell, what the Heaven are we supposed to do?). I don't understand why people here keep fucking up, nothing bad ever happens to me here. I go to work and go back to my barracks. I haven't even tripped and fell here, yet all these people, especially girls in skirts, trip on nothing and fall. Sheesh, why is everyone in hell a clumsy mess? Am I placed wrong? Are all the people like me in Heaven? Oh well, I can't change it now.
Today I was just walking to my barracks as usual, and suddenly I was greeted by a sudden flame in front of me.
"Hello Satan. It's great you're here, I have had a question for you." I say as Satan steps out of his flames and dusts the ash off of him.
"Hold on Joe, I have some questions for you first." Satan says, he looks oddly frustrated. He snaps his fingers and we are both engulfed in flames and brought back to what I assume is Satan's house. It is nice and cool in here and the floors are a nice marble.
"Woah, you have A/C in here?"
"Of course I do, I'm Satan, but even I have working standards."
"If those are your standards, then why do we not get A/C?"
"Dude, you are in hell because you suck as a person, if you want fun you should have been a saint." He sighs. He brings me over to an area where I can sit and talk with him face to face.
"So what is it you want to ask me about?" I ask Satan, laying back in my chair and looking him in the eyes.
"Oh right," he says, obviously a bit flustered by my conversation, he doesn't seem to talk to mortals much,
"Did you ever have an embarrassing moment in your life?" He asks, sternly. I think back trying to think of something, anything.
"Uhh I think I puked on my mom's shoulder once at 2 months old?" I say, being able to recall stuff I had forgotten when I was alive.
"No no no, you couldn't help that, you were only two months old, I mean like anything that you were ashamed of for a year or more."
"I don't think there is anything..." I say,
"Yep nothing, zip, zero" I confirm after running through my memory again.
"That's impossible..." Satan says, dumbfounded.
"Do you even know why you are in hell?" Satan asks me.
"No, that is what I was going to ask you, why am I here?" I ask.
"Uhhhh," Satan stammers,
"I have to check." He says. He snaps away and back with a large scroll.
"Uhhh, Joe Normal the first, Joe Normal the second, oh here you are Joe Normal the fifth! You are here because you were sent by God himself?" He asks and looks up at me. I shrug, not even remembering my time in heaven.
"Can you ask God?" I ask, wondering what God is like, and why a nice guy like home would send me here, where I don't belong.
Satan sighs and snaps a phone to his hand.
"Hey God?... No I am not going to call you Dad for the hundredth time. Uhh yeah I need you to come here for a second, we have an issue. Okay. Okay. See you in a bit. Bye. I don't love you stop saying that! Urgh!" Then he slams the phone down.
"He will be here in a bit." Satan sighs, I didn't know Satan was so emotional. A few seconds later God poofs in from a cloud.
"Hello my son, and Joe." He says.
"God, why is Joe here?" Satan asks, clearly irritated. God motions for Satan to go walk with him, I follow along, since I am dead to know.
"Okay Satan, listen, Joe has never made a mistake in his life, he was a famous bank robber who always got what he wanted. He was brought to heaven, because he made no mistakes, but he couldn't stay. I got so much shit from the angels for having a bank robber in heaven that eventually I had to send him down. However he obviously is too perfect for here too." I hear. I do recall being a bank robber, but I never thought of myself as so awesome as God said. That is when I decide to pipe in after eavesdropping.
"Maybe I could have my own little place?" I ask
"Absolutely not!" Satan and God say in unison. Jeeze okay then. I see Satan whispering something to God, then him whispering back.
"Okay Joe, we have decided. You are going to be a grim reaper! If you still feel misplaced then report back to us in a month." I am happy with my answer so I leave to pack up and move places.
God then turns to Satan.
"What if being a Grim Reaper doesn't work?"
"Then we send him to purgatory, we don't have time to deal with people like Joe."
"Agreed." God says.
Edit: 2 letters
| 2017-07-23T11:10:05 | 2017-07-23T10:21:47 | 24 | 10 |
[WP]: Everyone got a tiny, mundane blessing when they were born. Usually they are so small that people don't even notice them - always hitting the green light in traffic, etc. Yours would be virtually useless, but you figured out a creative loophole that allowed you to rise to the top of the world.
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On principle alone, my monochromatic office isn't white. I like color. Much to the chagrin of the analysts, I had it painted lilac. I have to be in it for hours (when I'm lucky), so I won that small debate. Otherwise it's simple. Eight paces over lavender tile, and a featureless pocketed door. One small screen with my question. No furniture. No distractions features. Don't usually sit down when I work. Makes them harder to spot.
Today it's a name I don't know. I don't get involved in the case details, of course. No field work for me. Not part of the brute squad either. Honestly, I don't even know what the agency wants with some of these names that pop up.
"Where is Greg Shubert?"
I have a system by now, lists memorized, but the touchscreen would give me access to all the agency's services if I needed. I won't for this, maybe a map, but I've long since memorized the geographics, demographics. If it weren't for my little gift, a computer might've been better suited to this work. It's not exciting.
"North America." I turn. There, down at my feet, easy money. I scoop down and pick the penny up. Repeat the question. "The United States." It always happens within a few seconds, so when I don't immediately spot another little copper disc, I say, "Mexico." There. I grab it. List States for a couple minutes--there are thirty-one of those so it can take a maximum of eight minutes before I hit it.
From there, I continue to break it down, picking up a penny each time I'm right. Sector, city, street, address--that part I need the computer for, but really, it's been a piece of cake, under an hour.
With the address finalized, I input the information into the form and send it off to the suits who get me names. "They're going to kill Greg," I say, and look for the penny to clarify what I suspect. "Greg deserves to die," I say, and pick up the universe's two cents on the matter.
For now I'm content to help and watch, learning whose lives to gossip at myself, in my office of truth.
I find a penny every time I'm right. It's not a lot of money. Power is knowing what questions to ask.
--
Thanks to the story above me that inspired this power! I thought it was a cool idea and wanted to roll with the additional layer of prompt.
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“Am I gonna like your answer Johnnie? Am I?” I’m pushed right up into his face, threatening. Even with all the muscle around me, my aggression is an act. These boys all know me as the professor of truth, but the snitch don’t know that. He’s sweating bullets.
I walk behind the snitch and wait for his reply. I open myself, and I listen for the whisper of truth as he begins to answer through his tears.
Usually I try show a little more sophistication than this. A little more patience. But as I’ve aged, I’ve grown lazy with my secret little super power. Simply put, I’ve become comfortable using my gift to cleave truth from lies.
It all started so innocently, at the only time in life that has true innocence. I remember growing up in Jersey. “Mommy, can I have a cookie?” Right away, as soon as I asked the question, I knew there would be no cookie. Not until I finished my homework. Mom ran a tight ship.
Or another memory: “Daddy can you come push me on the swing?” Looking back at that day, with the understanding of an adult, I see he was deep in serious conversation, and this should have been an automatic “no”. But not that day! As soon as the question left my lips I knew. Dad pushed me higher and higher. He always faced towards me, and pushed the bottoms of my outstretched feet. That way we could see each other’s laughing eyes.
In my teen years and early adulthood, as I searched for a way to profit from my gift, its limitations slowly became obvious to me. Over time I began to see the Three Golden Rules of my strange little gift as follows:
Rule #1 The question must have, at its heart, a Yes/No answer. Up/Down, Left/Right, Go/Stay, anything like that would work. If I could phrase the question that way, it might work. But most times that meant I had to work too hard. To ask the right question, the right way, I had to know what I was talking about.
Rule #2 I could never get an answer without asking the question directly, to a real live person. I could not magically extract an answer from a computer. I couldn’t devine the answer from the wind or the stars. There was no hiding from teenage rejection, and no bullshit magical shortcut to the mysteries of the universe. Those things remained unknowable to me. No, to receive an answer, the question must be asked.
Rule #3: The person had to know the answer. Seems obvious, right?
You’ll never know how many times I tried asking “Will I win if I buy this ticket?” “Oh ya kid, that’s a winner for sure!” Same answer every time. Never happened.
The third rule could get really slippery. Some people think they know the answer, but they’re wrong. More than once I ended up zigging when I should have been zagging. So much for my useless little gift. Hindsight was still 20:20, and I would have been better guessing.
Most of my childhood friends were mafia. It was just a known fact. But not me, no sir, no way, no how. Mom ran a tight ship like I said, and she wasn’t having any of that.
So I went to college, I got a business degree. And along the way, I started to think my special little gift wasn’t so special after all.
I can ask a question, and who cares if I know the answer a split second before I get an answer? Asking for facts was pointless most of the time. The internet made that certain. The best I could do was win the occasional free beer. Pathetic.
Rule #1 made this gift a lot of work. I had to do my homework to really know how to ask a question.
Rule #2 limited my scope. I could use my gift only if I could talk to the right person.
And Rule #3 meant I had to get the timing just right and watch out for those capable of fooling themselves.
Even worse, as I grew to adulthood. I had to listen like a child for that sweet little whisper of an answer. It was a wordless answer, devoid of language, devoid even of imagery. It wasn’t even really a feeling. Nothing so simple anymore as the childlike version of my gift which always seemed to yield a laugh or a tear. Still with time and practice I learned how to sense the answer.
For a time, I almost forgot about my little gift. I graduated. I moved on. I got a job. One night, in a tragic accident, Mom and Dad both died. Too young, and with almost nothing to show for their lives of hard work.
And then, the next year, times got real tough. The company I worked for went bankrupt. Another victim of the internet economy, they said. I had a mortgage, car payments, a wife, a family. But no job for Mr Business Degree from Jersey.
I was getting desperate, but then one day it hit me. I was going about this all wrong! Why was I working so hard?
You all know that mafia movie... the bad guys are grilling some snitch. And he’s trying real hard to do the right thing. He really doesn’t want to rat on his buddies. But the bad guys, they just keep asking questions, and they’re cutting off fingers. One. By. One. Why? Because snitch isn’t giving the right answer!
Snitch is doing all the hard work. He’s the one sweating it out. At some point, he crumbles and they get the answer they want. They just don’t know if it’s true.
But I do.
So I went where my unique little talent can be used effortlessly. I don’t need to study anything. I don’t need to worry about liars and fools. Boss brings me a “subject”, and I just keep asking questions. The only trick, you see, is to start with the answer I want.
| 2018-06-30T18:58:55 | 2018-06-30T18:20:28 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] Your last heroic act, you save the other astronauts by manually sealing the airlock from the outside. As you watch them leave, alone, you remove your helmet to die, only to find you can breathe in space.
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My fellow astronauts start drifting away back home, Earth, safety, family.
As I look into their eyes for One last time, I Close mine as I take my helmet off. I wait for death, relatively quick and merciful.
"OI CUNTS I CAN BREATHE IN SPACE. "
But alas, they cant hear me.
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I pushed off of the bulkhead as it vibrated with the others incessant pounding. *Needs must my friends.* It's strange, you can hear the impacts.. Except, you aren't really hearing it so much as feeling the vibrating metals surrounding you. "You'll die, damnit!" a voice said on the radio. It took me a moment to remember who it belonged to, Natasha.
"I know." *I know.* I pressed my arms against the outer airlock, arresting my momentum. I felt their wild hammering through the lock. A tear escaped my eye. I felt it pull together yet be drawn by the base physics of tension, creating a shimmering lens across one eye. I crab-crawled my way across the door to the manual release.
"Don't do this. We can find another way.." a voice cut in, low and melodic, over the high keening hiss of the evacuating air within the airlock. *There is no other way. I have no regrets, I do this of my own volition.* I shook my head and keyed in the airlock override.
&#x200B;
"Please..-" a high pitched keening began, only to be cut short by Natasha.
"Go, my love. Save us." Natasha said and the static cut out.
I looked behind me as the airlock slowly started to cycle open. I looked at her, I smiled. I doubt she saw it, helmet and all, but she knew it for she smiled as well. I looked down and saw it. The reason I was about to step into the void. That it was designed was doubtless, that it was grown was question sprouting.
It had simply appeared one night. I was in the galley when it arrived. I heard a yell as Garret saw the.. thing in the cargo-hold. That it was an egg was obvious yet not. It was an egg, but it wasn't. It breathed, but it also clicked and whirred. It was machine and it was flesh.
It was signalling home.
I shrugged the egg onto my shoulder and stepped away from my crew. I looked out into the endless stretch that was the universe. I keyed the radio, "Hey, I know I've been quiet.. No choice lads, lasses. This thing has to go and it's already hacked its way into the airlocks, had to be done manually. I don't mind, you live, Earth lives. It's a good trade. Ehh, I don't really have anything else to say to be honest. I'm about to die, I want some quiet time. Peace out mah dudes, catch ya later!" The faint static that denoted an open channel clicked out as I switched off the radio.
I stepped into the void. Attitude thrusters ticking in, out, in, out every now and again. The egg hefted under one arm as we drifted through space. We had moved far enough that the ship I was on this morning was no longer close enough to differentiate from an asteroid. I shifted slightly, pushing the egg firmly away from a moment. It flicked away across the black, its dull gleaming becoming dimmer and dimmer and dimmer until it was no more.
I ignored the warning klaxons as I cracked the seal of the helmet. I did not wish to go slowly into that good night. It shocked me to realise I was breathing nothing and living. I couldn't think of a way to explain it, and yet there it is. I smiled, well, at least I'll be able to feel the fresh space air.
&#x200B;
I pulled off the rest of the helmet and immediately popped like a balloon as the vacuum of space pulled me head first out of my space suit.
&#x200B;
Whoops.
| 2018-09-06T19:23:18 | 2018-09-06T16:55:10 | 534 | 104 |
[WP] The finale of international chess tournament takes place. Two grandmasters sit in front of each other in ultimate showdown. The thing is nobody knows that both of them got here by cheating. First is a mind reader and second one has an ability to see the future.
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Frank smirked. They were only a few moves in, but the match might as well have been over. Frank had the gift of foresight, the ability to see fifteen moves in the future. When he wasn’t fighting crime, he was sweeping the chess world off its feet. His rise to chess stardom was meteoric, thanks primarily to his impeccable intellect, although admittedly the whole seeing-the-future thing didn't hurt either.
It wasn’t cheating, at least not as Frank saw it. Didn’t all chess grandmasters have the ability to see many moves ahead? Sure Frank was better at it, but that just meant he was better at the game itself.
Here, he had already sussed out the precise set of moves needed to win. He had played the Queens Gambit opening, Phil would decline the gambit, and then he would—
Oh. Phil *accepted* the gambit. Interesting. No matter, the future wasn’t an exact science. There was always that damn wildcard, *free will.* He just needed to recalibrate. Maybe continue the gambit, and move queen to d-4? No no, Phil would play the appropriate counter. Instead, Frank moved pawn to e-3 and played it safe. Now Phil would reinforce with pawn to—
What the hell? Knight to f-6?! Of all the possible futures that was the one he had assessed as *least* likely.
Frank shook his head and smiled to himself. This would be an easier game than he had expected. Phil was unpredictable because he was utterly incompetent—he had no idea what he was doing.
How someone so unremarkable had made it this far, Frank didn’t know.
On the other hand... if Phil was playing by the seat of his pants, Frank's gift wouldn't help him. For the first time, he would need to rely purely on skill. Any other round, that wouldn't have been an issue. But now... the eyes of the world were on him. This match would be dissected and analyzed for years to come. What if someone noticed a radical change in his play style? What if they made the connection and realized he was the Great *Futurio,* Protector of Justice?
It was a risk he could not take. Especially not with his nemesis, Psychotorio, still at large.
--------
Phil cracked his knuckles. They were only a few moves in, but the match might as well have been over. Phil had the gift of true empathy—the ability to perfectly intuit an opponents thoughts and actions. When he wasn’t masterminding evil plots, he was crushing the chess world to a fine powder. His rise to chess stardom was cataclysmic, thanks to his gift and the cunning resourcefulness needed to use it.
It was *definitely* cheating, and Phil loved every moment of it. Anyone would have cheated if they could—Phil was just better at it, and therefore, the game itself.
Here, he had already sussed out his opponents precise strategy and the exact moves he would least expect. He knew Frank was expecting Queens Gambit Declined, so he played Queens Gambit Accepted. Now, Frank would follow through on the gambit and play queen to—
Oh. Frank changed his mind and played it safe, moving pawn to e-3. What the hell? That wasn't right, Phil had read his mind and queen to d-4 was his plan the whole time!
Phil shook his head and smiled to himself. This would be an easier game than he had expected. Frank was unpredictable because he lacked conviction—he was overcome with self doubt.
For his next move, Phil played what Frank expected least—knight to f-6. The moment he played it, he was blown away by the confusion emanating from the other side of the table. Frank was doubting every move, flipping back and forth so fast Phil couldn't keep track of any line of thought.
Phil realized in that moment that Frank's indecisiveness was so strong he would be unable to intuit any more of Frank's moves. For the first time, he would need to rely purely on skill. That couldn't happen *now,* during a match that would be studied for years to come! What if someone noticed the change in playstyle and made the connection that he was the Feared *Psychotorio,* the Mind Crusher?
It was too risky. Especially with Futurio hot on his trail.
Frank and Phil locked eyes, each of them suddenly nervous. "Draw?" they asked simultaneously.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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“Sergei.”
“Albert.”
“Both men have taken their seats here at the 2022 World Chess Championship. We have Sergei Topalov, the challenger from Russia versus the Irishman, Albert McNamara. Topalov offered a handshake, McNamara merely grinned and nodded.”
The announcer’s voice reached out to a hundred thousand spectators, slithering in through their headphones and speakers, wrapping them up in an iron vise of tranquility. He sounded like a man for whom golf was too exciting, like someone whose favorite color was beige and who only drank decaf because he ‘liked the flavor.’
From where he sat on the main floor, reclined only a few feet away from a man who called him his bitterest rival, Albert McNamara couldn’t hear a word the announcers said. At least not with his ears. Instead what he got was worse. A full, first person rendering of the inside of the skull of the most boring man alive, an announcer that he would have kept on mute every time if he had ever entertained the slightest interest in watching a chess match.
*“Cheating again, Albert?”* the words floated loudly to the top of his opponent’s thoughts. In his mind Sergei imagined himself a great bear, bellowing the words like challenge at his nemesis. Albert thought it was a bit cliched.
“Of course,” Albert said with the barest inclination of his head. They’d been playing this game for years now, they both knew how it went. To the rest of the chess world Sergei was an intimidating giant of a man, brash in the presence of lesser chess players, frighteningly, lethally silent when sitting across from Albert. In contrast the Irishman was thought to be an eccentric madman, talking to himself, asking questions aloud which Sergei never answered, laughing at jokes nobody told. It suited them both to let the vermin think such things.
“They haven’t touched a piece yet,” the boring announcer said. “This is actually quite common for their games, this particular match-up plays out as an exceedingly high level mind game, both men thinking farther and farther ahead of each other.” He took a breath, offering his partner a space to work.
“That’s right Jim,” she said. Albert perked up for a moment as the other caster began speaking. At least her mental tone had some life. “Some say the McNamara-Topalov match-up leads to the most complex chess games ever played, although critics have described their endings as ‘a fireworks show without substance.’ Personally, I fall somewhere between those two extremes. Their styles are so shockingly different, Topalov’s muscular, aggressive approach contrasting with the endless baits of his oppo—”
“Ah! Sorry to interrupt, Anna. McNamara has just made the first move!”
Down at the board Albert had indolently reached out, pushing a random pawn a single space forward with his index finger. Across the table a red vein throbbed in Sergei’s forehead, pulsing as if in response to the motion.
“What do you see today, old friend?” Albert said, leaning forward. He crossed his right leg over his left, sweeping his jacket back and cupping his chin in his hand. Albert glanced into Sergei’s mind and chuckled. “Ahhh, one of those. That is a good choice.”
*“Stay out of my head,”* Sergei thought back. He reached down, moving a pawn in response. “You’re trash McNamara, you’d never win without your petty tricks.”
“Nor you without yours,” Albert said softly. “Glass houses, friend.”
*“I’m not your friend.”*
Albert flashed him a lopsided smile and a wink. “That’s ok. You don’t have to be.”
*“Leave her out of it,*” Sergei thought back.
“Two moves in and McNamara is already talking up a storm! What do you make of that, Anna?”
“Well Jim, I think McNamara is trying to assert himself. He’s playing up his own confidence, forcing Topalov to accept this strange inversion of his normal table-side dynamic. The more interesting aspect to me is why the Russian bears his silence so willingly…”
Albert tuned the announcers out again. They were a distraction, nothing more.
“Serrrrgeiiii,” Albert called in a singsong voice, stretching out the syllables like a child might. The Russian twitched angrily. “We both know how this ends, you better than me even. We have our gifts after all. Tell me, has my line changed again?”
Albert reached out towards Sergei’s mind. He could feel him assembling hasty walls around the core of his being, trying to hide the vision of the future that his own superhuman power gave him. Albert waltzed confidently into his mind, whistling as he did it. He plucked the vision as if it were an apple from a tree.
“Sergei! That still?” Albert sensed the announcers jump, even the uncommonly boring one. He’d said the words too loudly but he’d been surprised, and for a psychic that feeling was rare. “You might want to get therapy, it’s been so long since I did that! I say that as a friend of course, I’m concerned for you.”
"*Stop speaking, little man."* Sergei reached out, moving another piece. Albert grabbed a knight and moved it without even looking down. The board didn’t matter.
“Jim, look at Sergei!” the announcers said. “He’s nearly shaking and they’re what, five moves each? This looks like it could be another short one.”
“I hope it’s not,” the boring announcer said. “It amazes me that they haven’t both been banned with the way these things go. I’m scared of what it does to the game’s image.”
“Like it or not, it does bring chess into the public eye. Wait, Jim, look at that! Something is happening!”
At Sergei’s hands shook. He reached for a piece, lifted it, dropped it, and lifted it again. Albert glanced into the man’s mind. Sergei had been replaying his vision over and over, the last unbroken part of his mind keeping up a morbid counter. 192, 193, 194, and ever time it flashed by Sergei’s subconscious showed himself one more image of his past.
“You know it’s nothing personal, right?” Albert said. For a moment his confidence and his bluster faded away and he simply took in Sergei like a man, a desperate, cornered man. Veins bulged across his forehead and biceps, his fist was white knuckled around the specially made, reinforced pieces he played with. There was spittle collecting at the corner of his mouth and rage mingled in his eyes with something else. Albert reached back into the man’s mind, searching for the shard of something he saw.
It was love that bled into those eyes. Sergei had actually grown to love the game in the time since his other great passion had been stripped away.
Albert exhaled heavily, smiling sadly at his opponent. “I’m sorry old friend,” he said. “It really is just business. It was back then too.”
“Don’t say it.” Sergei squeezed the words out through teeth that had been ground shut. It was the first time he’d spoken since they sat down.
Albert closed his eyes and relaxed his body, accepting what was to come, just as he had all those times before. “Sergei,” he said. A spike of pain drove itself through the other man’s chest. “Your wife is a—”
Sergei’s fist connected with Albert’s jaw at what felt like the speed of light, snapping his head back and sending him off to a dreamland of World Championship Victories that tried to fill an empty life. He was out before his head hit the ground.
Sergei stood over his nemesis’ body, huffing loudly, his eyes wild. He reeled back for another strike as the security team ran in.
“People please!” the boring announcer said, throwing back his chair as he stood and shouted for what might genuinely have been the first time in his entire life. “Please! This isn’t a chess boxing match!”
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-03-16T19:16:21 | 2021-03-16T18:52:10 | 2,434 | 126 |
[WP][TT] You and your friends found out that you are all immortal. Ever since then practical jokes you pull on each other got a little more... dangerous.
|
I opened my eyes to the void. I tried to scream, but there is no air to carry my voice in the vacuum of space. This was certainly new, and I had to commend whoever had done this. *I'm gonna get that bastard*, I thought to myself. My friends and I had found out that all of us were immortal some 200 years ago. Of course, being 16 at the time, we all decided to cut our hearts out. When we saw a new heart growing and the wounds closing, one of my friends decided to throw his heart at me. The game of Heartbreak was invented that day.
From then, it just escalated. We had decided on a truce after strapping one guy to a nuke and left him on the moon. It took a long time for Robin to collect himself, especially when your eyeball got disintegrated by the sun.
Our immortality works like this: we've aged until we hit our peak physical prime, somewhere around 24, and then stopped there. All the world governments are aware of us, and we've been subjected to all the tests they can throw at us. They found the cure for sickle cell disease in my blood and I've been rewarded handsomely. Robin cured leukemia, Tony made a discovery that made the Higgs Boson look like a rock, Ryan had the world's government in his hand, and Anita was homeless. We were all filthy rich, even Anita. She just liked the way of life.
As i drifted in space, I saw a piece of paper orbiting around me. I grabbed it quickly and read Ryan's scrawl. "haha faggot good luck". I tore the note into little pieces and flung them. This changed my course a tiny bit. I turned around to see the blue marble spinning below me. Maybe this isn't so bad.
I got bored quickly and looked for the ISS. Maybe I could freak them out a little bit.
to be continued
|
Mostly, Carlos just wanted to watch Netflix and eat potato chips until he fell asleep. It was Monday night, and that was par for the course of Monday nights. And yes, it had become a little routine and boring, but Carlos was okay with boring every once in a while, especially when everything in his life was chaos, except for Monday nights.
The bomb strapped to his coffee table, however, was far, far from boring.
Carlos dropped his bag of potato chips and swore loudly. It was a classic looking bomb, with weird wires sticking out and timer on the front. The timer was counting down from 15 minutes, and Carlos wasn't sure when the timer had begun.
A note on the bomb read, "Solve the riddle, save your house :)"
Glaring, Carlos tried to match the handwriting. The smiley face immediately reminded him of Jessica, who was cute and bubbly and ended every one of her texts in a smiley face. Jessica used long dashes for eyes though, not dots, and she hadn't participated in their prank wars. Not yet, at least.
It had to be Michael, he decided. Michael was a sociopathic asshole who would blow up Carlos' house because he got bored. If Michael thought that Carlos tying his arms and legs together and throwing him in the river was bad, wait until he got payback for *this*.
Examining the note, Carlos frowned. There was no riddle. There was nothing on or around the bomb to indicate any kind of riddle. There were only three wires sticking out, a red, blue, and green one. It was obvious enough that Carlos would have to cut a wire, but he would have to solve the riddle to find out which one.
The timer read, "13:07."
He called Michael. "Michael you son of a bitch," he started when the phone picked up, but was quickly interrupted.
"This is Eric dude. Michael's out. I have his phone."
Carlos sighed. Eric could help. Eric was a scrawny book nerd with big glasses, an Afro, and really dark skin who knew more about technology than anyone born in the 1940's had any right to. He was younger than the rest of them, too, beating out Jessica's youthful 19 with his own 18 years.
The group had been a normal group of people collected off the street in the late 1950's. A varied group, at least. Several different ethnicities, black, Latino, white, male, female. Young like Eric, or nearly 62, like Michael. They'd been taken in by the government exposed to nuclear waste.
Most of them had died. The few who remained couldn't.
"Eric," Carlos sighed, "Michael left a bomb on my coffee table and I need to know which wire to cut."
Eric frowned. "I'd have to see it. Did he leave any explanation?"
"No! Just a note that says to solve the riddle, but there is no riddle! There's nothing to solve!"
There was silence for a few seconds as Eric thought it through. "Okay, look around your place. Is anything out of place, anything missing?"
Carlos glanced at the timer first. 10:27.
He looked around. His stuff was all in its place. His books on the bookshelf looked right, but he couldn't really remember what order they had been in. His rug wasn't moved, his tv was where he left it, even the pictures on his walls were okay. Growling in frustration, Carlos stomped around, desperately trying to figure out what was wrong.
When the timer hit 8:15, he noticed that his fake plant was gone.
"My fern!" he yelled into the phone, startling Eric.
"Pardon?" Eric asked.
"The fake fern I keep on my counter, it's gone!" There was even a ring of dust where it had been sitting.
Eric nodded. "Okay, that's something. Anything else, anything at all?"
Carlos began to notice things then. The green candle he had next to the bookshelf, the green box of tissues by the tv, the green cat figurine he had on his entertainment center.
"It's green things, he's taken all the green things from my living room!"
"Wow," Eric said, sounding impressed. "He wanted you to notice the *lack* of color. Well. Is there a green wire?"
Carlos grabbed a pair of scissors from his kitchen. He quickly lunged and cut the green wire.
Smirking, he noted that he still had 5:47 left.
*"This is news Channel 6 reporting an explosion today. The police believe a meth lab exploded in a house at approximately 8:30 tonight. The house was thankfully by itself, far away from any close by neighborhoods. The lone occupant, a man of Latino descent, escaped the flames, but questions still arise about who he was..."*
Michael cackled gleefully at the news. Next up was Romeo, that damn Italian model who had let a lion loose in Michael's bedroom last year. He'd laughed then, but they would see who was laughing when Romeo woke up tied to a stake with a fire drawing closer. He'd probably set up another "riddle" as well, giving Romeo the impression that he could stop it. The only thing that would put out the flames would be the wood finally burning away.
"Eric!" Michael called out. "Bring me my phone! I need to make arrangements!"
| 2016-04-07T12:17:56 | 2016-04-07T11:23:54 | 89 | 62 |
[WP] A young child summons a demon, but they only want a friend.
Inspired by this **NSFW** [manga](https://bato.to/comic/_/comics/the-sister-of-the-woods-with-a-thousand-young-r18806)
|
In the dark
On the depth of night
I was summoned
Once again
&nbsp;
A little boy
He made a wish
The lonely boy
We had a deal
&nbsp;
Riches or lovers
He didn’t want
A true friend
Was all he asked
&nbsp;
For such a thing
His soul was mine
Just had to endure
Until he died
&nbsp;
Envy and malice
I always knew
Cowardice and betrayal
I always saw
&nbsp;
Expected cruelty
Received love
Awaited anger
But I got none
&nbsp;
Don’t know when
But before long
No longer a trick
A bond was formed
&nbsp;
I saw him fight
With all his might
Not with violence
But a pure heart
&nbsp;
Lust and Greed
That’s my domain
Kindness and Love
Don’t know at all
&nbsp;
Life I can take
But not extend
So here I am
A plea for help
&nbsp;
My sins are vast
I know no love
But this boy
He deserves more
&nbsp;
I beg you
Don’t let him die
I implore you
He’s all I have
&nbsp;
If you must
Take me instead
With all the guilt
That I now feel
&nbsp;
And if you can’t
For who I am
Then take his soul
And show him joy
&nbsp;
Forgive the boy
He didn’t knew
What I am
Or who are you
&nbsp;
But he is good
And I should know
Because his friend
I am now
|
FADE IN:
INT. A CHILD'S BEDROOM - NIGHT
*A seven-year-old girl sits on the floor of her room. This is ELLA. In front of her is a crude pentagram, constructed from stuffed animals, books, and discarded clothing. The girl reads from a sheet of yellowed paper, stumbling through the words with a quaver in her voice.*
**ELLA:** I summon thee now, bringer of the darkness. Thy flesh be given form by my will.
*A dull, moan-like noise becomes audible, and the empty air above the pentagram appears to warp.*
**ELLA:** (*CONT'D*) I summon thee now, devou... devourer of mine enemies. Thy spirit be given force by my need.
*Sparks of otherworldly power arc from within the distortion. The moan grows in volume.*
**ELLA:** (*CONT'D*) I summon thee now, keeper of mine secrets! Thy presence be wrought from my call!
*A bright flash temporarily blinds the girl. She rubs her eyes, then looks up to see a colossal monster - covered in green scales, black fur, and horns - standing before her. This is N'GJOR.*
**N'GJOR:** (*Bellowing*) What foolish mortal summons me, the great and powerf...
*N'gjor stops in mid-sentence, peering down at Ella.*
**ELLA:** Hello.
**N'GJOR:** You... you're not exactly what I expected.
**ELLA:** Sorry.
**N'GJOR:** No, no, there's no need to apologize.
*A moment of awkward silence passes.*
**N'GJOR:** (*CONT'D*) So, uh, did you need me to murder someone?
**ELLA:** No, thank you.
**N'GJOR:** Oh. Torture them?
**ELLA:** Nope.
**N'GJOR:** Right. Sorry, what am I doing here, then?
*Instead of responding, Ella walks across to her closet. She pulls a wooden Chess set from within.*
**ELLA:** Would you like to play Chess?
**N'GJOR:** Aren't you a little young for a game that complicated?
*Ella shakes her head.*
**ELLA:** My dad says I'm very intelligent for my age.
**N'GJOR:** I'm inclined to agree with him. The thing is, I usually get summoned for... well, nasty work.
**ELLA:** Like what?
**N'GJOR:** Are you sure you want to know?
**ELLA:** Please.
**N'GJOR:** Okay, well, last week, a warlord wanted me to slaughter all of the men in a village.
**ELLA:** What did you do?
**N'GJOR:** I ate the warlord. I might be a monster, but I'm not a *monster*.
*Ella giggles, then starts setting up Chess pieces.*
**ELLA:** Nobody likes me at school.
**N'GJOR:** ... Sorry, what?
**ELLA:** They say I'm weird. Everybody wants to play with ponies and makeup and stuff, but I just want to read and talk.
**N'GJOR:** Oh. I see what's going on here. You want me to scare your classmates, am I right?
**ELLA:** No, thank you. Here, pick a hand.
*Ella holds her fists out to N'gjor, who cautiously points at one. The girl opens her hand to reveal a white pawn.*
**ELLA:** (*CONT'D*) You go first.
**N'GJOR:** I'm sorry to keep coming back to this, but did you *really* summon me for a game of Chess?
**ELLA:** Would you rather play Mancala?
**N'GJOR:** No, I like Chess, I've just never been in this situation before.
*N'gjor makes a move on the board. Ella quickly responds in kind.*
**ELLA:** Me, neither.
**N'GJOR:** I really feel like you should at least be a little bit scared.
**ELLA:** Why?
*The monster and the girl each make another move.*
**N'GJOR:** The fact that I'm eight feet tall with claws as long as your fingers comes to mind.
**ELLA:** I know the rules. You can't hurt me unless you can overpower my will.
**N'GJOR:** What makes you think I won't do that?
*N'gjor moves another piece. Ella looks at the board, then up at her companion. Tears well up in her eyes, but she smiles.*
**ELLA:** I knew you'd be my friend.
**N'GJOR:** I... I don't know what you're talking about.
*Ella makes another move on the board, then stands up, walks over to N'gjor, and gives him a hug.*
**ELLA:** (*Whispering*) Checkmate!
**N'GJOR:** Alright, alright... but I'm not going to let you win this time.
*Both players start setting their pieces up again.*
FADE OUT.
| 2016-05-19T00:23:01 | 2016-05-18T21:44:26 | 145 | 65 |
[WP] Reincarnation is real. How do you know? Because it happens to you. Everyone else forgets their past life, but not you. Your first life was a hunter in a tribe of people that predates the Egyptian empire. You’ve been reincarnated 194 times. Tell us the story of you, today in the modern world.
|
'*Motherfucker, that is* not *what happened.*'
It was a re-occuring thought as I read through the history book I was assigned to read in this lifetime. This school was *marginally* better than the one I went through in my last life, but it had the same problems- *being a victim of the longest game of telephone in history*.
Luckily, this lifetime was in an age where information- and sadly, misinformation- flowed as free as the wind. The neuroplasticity of a new, young brain made it easy to adapt to this upheaval, just like the last 192 new ages. This new direction of the world actually made my goal from the past three lives all the more easier.
Get through school and college. Become a known, respected historian. Then, *set these fuckers straight on what actually happened.*
|
Immortality is a vague concept for most, something that could only be expressed in mythology and fiction. And experiencing it first hand, it’s nothing like they say.
&#x200B;
Sure, it’s technically not immortality, I’m born; age and grow, learning of the world around me; then die one day. One small difference is that I do it all over again, memories intact. They’re with me the moment I was born, but I don’t understand what they are. Flashes of light, a strange face. As I grow, I begin to understand my past. To not tell anyone. I remember the first time I was reborn, when I finally understood what had happened, I was killed for harboring the god of evil. I was only three.
&#x200B;
Each life is different, my soul is always the same, the person within the body, but on the outside is fluid. My gender, eye color, hair texture, everything changes. I’ve experienced life as a civil war soldier, an eager sixteen year-old boy who died of an infection; an Egyptain Queen married to my cousin. I’ve seen the world from every perspective, watching from a thousand eyes.
&#x200B;
All the lives are present in my daily life, a stranger bearing the face of a long ago love or a sworn enemy. All the new social rules and scientific discoveries. People molding the future of humanity.
&#x200B;
Golden sunshine blankets the room, warming the mahogany floors. Plants add a splash of color to an otherwise plain room. The simple decoration reminds me of my past, living in log cabins and farming maize in the plains. I used to try to latch onto the new world, new technologies and decoration. However, this life is simple, a break life to describe it best. Maybe 80 years of reminiscing in the past and studying the world. Drawing past romances, reliving my stories in writing. Speaking of writing, I’ve managed to snag it as a full time career. Many critics praise me as one of the world’s best authors, you have a lot of time to develop your skills when you’ve been alive for thousands of years. I’m an excellent gardener, an unmatchable artist, a wordsmith with skills beyond my years, and a survivalist.
&#x200B;
My writings deal with historical fiction, based off of the lives I have lived with a dash of dramatic flair. It's painful to relive everything, but in how much the world around me reminds me, it's the safest option to do. I try to surround myself with a few tight-knit friends, many of them painfully reminding me of a long-dead friend. Who knows, they could be the reincarnation of one of them, without either of us knowing. As far as I know, I’m the only one who knows my past. But it’s not like I let anyone else know.
&#x200B;
I don’t have any lovers, those are the hardest to let go of. I suppose I’m generally attractive, a successful author living in a nice house with a picket fence. A Latino male of an average face and body. Although I am a little shorter than the average male. Currently twenty-four, with wavy black hair and glasses. Glasses, a wonderful invention. I once had a life where they weren’t invented, died pretty quick because of how blurry everything was. That was not a very fun death.
&#x200B;
Funny how I describe myself. I can string words together so elegantly, but I feel so detached from my body I describe myself as if I was a subject in an experiment. Perhaps I am.
&#x200B;
Perhaps that's all I am, everything I’ve gone through is some staged act, everything just a dream. Something I wonder every day, if my conscious is even real. If all my memories are just planted into my head. Or for how long I’ll have to deal with this. No one ever wants to die, me included, just no one wants to live forever. Dealing with knowing that your closest friend will be nothing more than a faint memory, dead for centuries. There’s no way out of this hell trap, sucide just restarts the process. Believe me, I’ve tried. Many times.
&#x200B;
Maybe I was just meant to suffer.
| 2019-07-31T22:05:02 | 2019-07-31T21:48:48 | 81 | 12 |
[WP] Human blood turns darker with every evil deed and you've just murdered your wife. You never admitted to doing it, but you were the only suspect in the case. Imagine everyone's surprise when they found out that your blood is still milky white.
|
Detective Holland stood at the courthouse doors, watching the man walk away. The group of reporters who had been waiting outside of the building had mobbed him the moment the doors had opened, cameras flashing. The man pushed through them with some difficulty, making his way to the street. Holland watched him intently. He seemed so relaxed, just as he had in the courtroom. His shoulders were back, his head was held high. He seemed so confident of himself. It was not the normal behavior of a man who had only moments before scraped his way to innocence in a trial for murder.
“I can’t believe they let him walk away,” Detective McNeil said, shaking his head. “All because of a bit of blood.”
“They say the blood never lies, McNeil.” Holland answered.
“They say a lot of things.” McNeil grumbled. “They say a lot of things that aren’t always true.” The man was beginning to struggle making his way through the crowd. An officer who had been waiting for the man in a patrol car on the side of the street stepped out and began to make his way to the reporters.
“Nothing in this world is inherently true.” Holland said after a moment, never taking her eyes off of the man.
“What do we do now?” McNeil asked. “We know he did it, but they just let him walk free. Even with all the evidence! Christ, Holland, the officers walked in on that man standing over his wife’s dead body and his prints were all over the knife. There was no sign of a break in. No one else had visited the home that day. He barely even had an alibi! And even then...”
“His blood was white as milk.” Holland interjected. “The only humans to have such pure blood are babies, and they do not stay that way for long.”
“That shouldn’t have been enough to let a murderer walk free.” McNeil said. The officer had pushed his way into the crowd and was forcefully clearing a path for the man to walk. Holland watched.
“His mother-in-law called him a monster,” she said. “The jury seemed to agree. Yet when the blood was brought out, the tune they sang changed quickly. I even heard someone call him a saint.”
The reporters were becoming more desperate to get answers from the man as he drew closer to the patrol car. They began to squeeze even tighter, trying to halt the progress made by the officer. The officer began to get heated and started shoving the reporters back.
“Yeah, I have some problems with that too.” McNeil said. “What kind of man goes his whole life without ever doing anything wrong? It’s unnatural. It’s downright bullshit.”
Despite the officer’s intense physical protest the reporters only pressed harder. Holland saw the exact moment that the officer lost his temper. His entire body tightened extraordinarily and a moment later he had thrown one of the reporters to the ground. The man did not flinch.
“What do you think causes the blood to change?” Holland asked.
“What’re you asking me for? You know damn well why it changes.” McNeil snorted. “Everyone’s blood gets darker for every wrong committed. That’s the way it’s always been.”
“Yes.” Holland said. Another reporter stepped on top of the fallen one, trying to get closer to the man. No one in the crowd paid any attention to the pained cries of the man beneath their feet. “The blood darkens when we commit a wrong.” The officer pulled out a truncheon and slammed it into the head of a cameraman, sending him sprawling. “We all commit wrongs constantly, purposeful or not. We are all taught this since birth.” Another reporter tumbled to the ground and suddenly they had arrived at the patrol car. The officer opened the door and the man calmly slipped into the backseat, ignoring everyone around him. “We are all taught what is right and what is wrong. It has been drilled into our heads all our lives.”
“What’s your point?” McNeil asked.
“Only a saint has blood that white, is that not what they said?” Holland said. “Only a saint...”
The officer got into the front seat of the car and began to pull away from the sidewalk. The reporters chased after it for a moment, leaving their fallen comrade to stumble to his feet behind them, right arm hanging limply.
“Or...” she said, watching the car gain speed as it drove away from the courthouse. “Or someone who never believed what he did was wrong.”
The car disappeared around the street corner.
|
Milenia ago, they said that the caretaker of the Underworld – Anubis – would weigh the hearts of the recently deceased against the Feather of Truth, and those poor souls whose hears were founding wanting – weighing more than the magical feather – would be cast away from the afterlife. Into complete and utter oblivion.
Now, of course, we know better. There is no magic in the world that can make a feather lighter than a human heart, but there is one small, tiny piece of magic and Ritual that is permanently affixed to us, as a species. There's always the Blood. The Blood, which grows darker and redder every time we commit an act of Evil. Every time a sin weighs heavy on our soul. There's no time limit, of course, so there's at least a little pink in practically everybody's blood. We all lie as children. Some of us steal a trinket or two. Phlebotomists, of course, gossip about the blood pulled from their patients, they whisper amongst themselves when it's that deep, cherry red. They gasp in awe when they pull a vial that's practically luminescent except for a thin band of pink, dancing within, a glass figurine made of regret. It's all confidential, of course. Record sealed and expunged. The tint of your blood is erased from the history books – and often times never written down. There's privacy laws, now. The blood you might have transfused into you always delivered in that same opaque black bag.
Not that it matters. Your heart always knows, it seems. Within days, the colour stabilizes, bringing you back to your natural self. Your true hue.
When I first met Cassandra – well, two or three dates in, come to think of it – her blood was that soft strawberry pink. Like a good milkshake. We were good and drunk and we figured why the hell not. Mine, of course, pulsed angry and rose-red. It was so stupid of me to agree to this, but she took my arm and she kissed the blood welling at my wrist away and told me it was stupid, really. She didn't care. We all make mistakes, and mine must just… weigh heavier on my shoulders.
I still don't know why we stayed together. I'll never know why she said yes when I asked her to marry me. She said I helped her feel free. Knowing my true hue was the rosy red. That she could relax, and be herself. We were married for half a decade, and it was happy. We'd never actually had kids (though, Gods know we tried), but life was good, and money was coming in, and it was just her and me, and we would spend long hours curling up next to each other with a good book and a cup of hot coffee. She would kick my ass ten ways to Sunday in whatever the newest fighting game was.
One night, when I had been working late (There was an accident. Third and Snow. All hands were on deck. We were able to save… not enough. Not enough, but most.), I came home sometime around four – maybe five in the morning. Groggy. Exhausted. I found her washing the dishes, and I snuck up behind her, bumping into her as her soapy hand slid over a knife's business edge. I must have bumped her or surprised her. She yelped an ouch and jumped what felt like three feet, quickly jamming her index finger in her mouth to staunch the bleeding. I saw it anyway, though. Along the killing edge of the knife, it will be there, burned into my memories forever. Blood so black it drank the light in around it.
“Oh, shit,” I managed to mumble out, my brain not yet catching on to what I'd done. What I'd seen. “Let me take care of that,”
“No worries,” she assured me, turning around and throwing her unsliced hand around my shoulders with a strong hug and a lightning-quick peck on the lips. “It's just a scratch. You must be exhausted. Go to bed.”
And I did.
For weeks, that night-black blood haunted my dreams. Every time we moved to embrace, or she went to kiss me – Hells, eventually, every time I so much as thought of touching her, I couldn't. I could only think of that liquid sin coursing just under her skin.
Eventually, I slept on the couch. Telling her whenever she asked me to come back to bed that I thought we needed a new mattress or something. I just couldn't sleep on that thing.
It was two months of nightmares. Two months of horror at that pitch-coloured blood before it broke me. Before I did anything. Of course, I wasn't myself, and it was stupid.I'm not a praying man. Never have been. Maybe that's why, when I did it the first time – when I spilled my fire-engine red regret onto our nice, clean carpets, that the blood darkened, even as it flew through the air.
I said I just wanted to forget. I'd do anything. I just wanted to Love my wife again. I just wanted to look at her and not shudder at the oil soup she was hiding.
And something from the dark accepted. It just wanted one thing. One little thing from me.
And it's not like I was using my soul, anyway.
I felt it leave me like a sigh. Tangible relief. Then something else came in. A lung full of bad air, of sin and soot and smog filled me. It coursed through my veins, it forced me to my feet, and it dragged me across the room. Down the hall. To our bed.
And, with a smile I didn't feel pulling savagely at my cheeks, we painted the room black.
I was left standing, head to toe, soaked in liquid darkness. Some corpse at my feet. Some corpse I didn't know. Just skin and – no. That had to be oil. No blood ran that dark. I wonder why there was oil in the room, and who would transport it in uncured leather.
I washed the dark away from me in the shower, that night. I splashed bleach all over, just to clean it away. I threw the leather in the rubbish, and the whole house smelled like vinegar and bleach for a week and I cleaned, obsessively.
Work went as it always did for a while. Long, boring shifts, listening to the whines of pointless windbags complain about some ache or pain or broken bone or some terrible disease they were sure they had wracking their mortal form. I couldn't bring myself to care. Not even about the paycheck.
It was after a month of the quiet, daily grind that the police came, asking about my wife. I laughed it off. I'd never met a woman named Cassandra.
Within two days, they had me in a windowless room, strapped down, just in case, with nothing but two women in nice suits and a man in a clean smock, jabbing me in my forearm with a too-big needle. Part of the process, they assured me. As if I should be bothered, and the gloved hands pulled back on the plunger, which filled with… something the colour of milk.
That couldn't possibly be blood. No blood was that faultless. No soul that unburdened.
“Draw another vial,” one of the women ordered, and the nurse complied, only to extract another tiny tube of what was practically liquid sunlight. They left me in that room for what felt like half an eternity. I had no clocks with which to gauge time flying by. No books to read, and nothing to do but count my own breaths and heartbeats and ruminate on the crushing boredom.
When they finally returned, they handed me my cell phone and my wallet. “You're free to go, Sir,”
That's it. That's all they said.
“You're free to go.”
I wonder what all the fuss was about?
| 2020-02-09T14:01:39 | 2020-02-09T13:21:11 | 69 | 38 |
[WP] If a person opts into brain scans during life, a full digital model of their brain can be created. Posthumously, these scans are given to the bereaved family and not uncommonly used as the AI for house robots. You lost a loved one, and their robot... occasionally says VERY strange things
|
“RHINOS!” Jimmy yelled from the backseat. “Rhinos *all* around, it’s *JUMANJI* time baby!”
"That's right, kiddo!" John said, turning around from the passenger seat and giving Jimmy a fist-bump. "Rhinos!"
Karen had the gas pedal floored, focused only on the road barely visible behind her tears. When the doctors told her about the procedure she was skeptical. Now she knew she should have trusted her gut. "Jimmy could've beat it on his own," she said, more to herself than to John.
"He was in pain," John replied. "It was the only option that made sense."
“Slap a pudding cup on it!” Jimmy yelled from the backseat.
"You think *that* makes sense?" Karen spat. "They screwed up the reincarnation, John. They screwed it all up."
"What'd they screw up, mommy?" Jimmy asked.
"Nothing dear. We're just talking about grownup things."
"Everything's great, son" John said. "We'll get some pudding on the way back."
Karen peeled into the emergency room parking lot, turned the car off where it stood, and gave John a look as if daring him to challenge her on the parking job. He shrugged, but said nothing.
They were taken to an examination room, and after a few moments the doctor entered. "Hi, my names Dr. Don. I understand Jimmy was recently reincarnated and hasn't been acting normal?"
Karen nodded. "Its been getting worse, and now he's hardly making sense most of the time. This morning he started bleeding from his nose."
"It was probably just a nosebleed though," John said. "Kids will be kids, and Jimmy's always had an active imagination."
"Soup." Jimmy said, matter of factly.
"You like soup, Jimmy?" Dr. Don asked.
"I sure do," Jimmy replied.
"What kind of soup?"
"Gazpacho!"
Dr. Don looked to John and Karen. "We'll look at him further but he seems okay at first glance."
"He's never had gazpacho in his life," Karen said.
Dr. Don turned back to Jimmy. "Where'd you try gazpacho, kiddo?"
"What's a gaspaco?"
"Point taken," Dr. Don said to Karen. "We'll take him in and run a brain scan."
"Is that really necessary, doctor?" John said, shuffling nervously. "He's six. All six-year-old's are a little odd."
Karen jabbed her husband. "Doctor, please. Just run the tests and fix him. Please."
Dr. Don nodded. "You two can wait here," he said and escorted Jimmy to another room. John and Karen sat in two chairs at the edge of the room.
“We shouldn’t be here,” John said after a moment. “Jimmy’s fine.”
“You’re in denial, John. I want Jimmy back as much as you do but this isn’t him.”
“So what if there’s a few glitches? Let's just be happy we were able to bring Jimmy back at all. *Some* of our son is better than none of him.”
“Right, and *all* of him is better than some of him. Maybe they can fix him, John. You don’t know.”
John opened his mouth but didn’t say anything. He sat back in his chair, arms crossed, foot tapping anxiously. After an hour of silence the doctor came back in.
“We’ve identified the problem,” Dr. Don said.
Karen stood up so fast the chair she was sitting on flipped over. “*And?*”
“Well, you didn’t tell me this was his second reincarnation.”
“Second reincarnation? What do you mean?”
“Doctor,” John said. “I think we should talk in private—”
“No,” Karen interjected. “Tell me now. What do you mean by *second reincarnation?*”
Dr. Don shifted uncomfortably. “Well… whenever you try and reincarnate someone based on a prior reincarnation, there’s bound to be glitches. It’s like how whenever you create a photocopy of a photocopy some of the quality degrades.”
“I don’t understand,” Karen said, her brow furrowed. “Are you saying Jimmy was an incarnation?”
“Well yes,” Dr. Don replied.
“You’re wrong. He was natural. That was the first time he passed away.”
“Honey,” John said, putting his hand on her shoulder.
“Get *off me,* John! This doctor doesn’t know what he’s talking about. Where's your supervisor?“
“Look,” Dr. Don said, handing his chart to Karen. “I called for his records from your clinic. It says he passed away two years ago in a car crash and was reincarnated for the first time then.”
“No, no.” Karen said. “There was a car crash, but he was only injured.”
Dr. Don shrugged. “That’s not what the records say.”
“The records are *wrong.* See, here it says his mother passed away with him. I’m his mother. Do I look dead to—”
Realization struck. Karen turned to look at John. He looked away. There were tears in his eyes.
***
&nbsp;
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
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“Can you hear me?” I ask EZRA, who is sitting across from us. I see slight red lights flicker in the black bulbs of its eyes.
“Nancy, I’m telling you I don’t think this is a good idea.” I tell my wife, trying for the last time to convince her not to go through with this. “This isn’t healthy. You’ve been doing so well, Nancy. I’m worried this is just going to make it worse.”
She’s not listening to me. She’s watching the fingers of EZRA as the upload continues.
EZRA's fingers and toes are twitching and curling as Jason’s brain scan is being uploaded into some deep internal network of its mainframe. I have a strong, almost overwhelming urge to toss it out the window.
The twitching grows into a full body palsy as the house robot begins to slide down from one end of the couch to the next. I touch Nancy’s hand and she grabs onto me, clawing my arm.
“What’s wrong with it?” she whispers to me, in a high-pitched voice.
“It’s done this before, remember? When we uploaded your father? Just give it a few seconds…”
“You think he’s alright? You think Jason is okay in there?”
I touch her arm. “It’s not Jason who is in there, Nancy. Our boy is dead. He died two years ago from cancer, remember?”
“Yes, of course I remember. You think I’d just forget that?” she says, looking at me with pure hatred.
“Of course not,” I say, looking away.
The robot has fallen on the ground now and the palsy has ended, but the twitching fingers and toes have returned. I lean down and pick it up. It’s heavy but not too heavy and I set it softly on the couch again. I look it into its eyes but I see nothing but a red pulsing dot surrounded by the charcoaled ruins of its black glass bulbs.
“I’m just saying, I think it’s best you understand that," I say. "I don’t think it would be healthy for you to think this is Jason.”
“It was just an expression, Larry. You always twist my words, don’t you?”
“No, Nancy. I wasn’t trying to do that. I’m just not sure if this is a good idea. You’ve been doing so well lately. You’ve been able to reduce your medication. You’ve been able to go to the grocery store. There are so many great advancements you’ve made just in the last few months. I’d hate to see any of that fall away.”
“It’s not going to *fall away*, Larry." She said, her voice dripping with mockery. "Don’t be ridiculous. This is going to help. Can’t you see that? No, of course you can’t see that. You never could see it. Any of it. You always think you know best.”
I stand up and stretch. “I’m going to get a glass of water. Would you like me to bring you anything when I return?”
“No.” she said sharply. “Besides EZRA will be able to help me soon. Once the upload is done.”
“Sure,” I said, stepping out the door.
\---
We purchased EZRA eight years ago when Nancy was pregnant with Jason. I was working full time and she was still working at the bakery. We thought it would be best for us to invest in an EZRA--the newest housecleaning model from the Dyson corporation. They were expensive, but it was worth it.
Even after eight years, EZRA is still the most advanced robotic helper in the industry. And it is still extremely popular, one reason being the ability to upload the brain scans of those loved ones who have passed.
We uploaded Nancy’s father Terry after he died at the age of eighty-two due to a heart attack. The brain scan wasn’t advanced at the time, not as they have now, and it's not often that we see Terry in EZRA. On occasion EZRA will say very strange things, things that must have been stored deep down inside Terry. And its generally when EZRA believes they are alone when it says these things.
One night I had came down from the upstairs bedroom and I saw EZRA standing at the window looking out. EZRA was supposed to be on their docking station. I had never known it to come off in the middle of the night. EZRA had its head pressed against the glass and was repeating the words, “Let me out, father. Let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said, walking slowly up to it. Its hand was wrapped tight around our window curtain and it was pulling firmly down on the fabric. I thought it would break the curtain rod. It kept repeating “let me out, father. Let me out, father.”
"Ezra", I said again, walking quietly up to it. When I touched its shoulder it spun around. Tearing the curtain off the wall and knocking me to the ground. 'Let me out! Let me out! Let me out!' It screamed, staggering forward.
“EZRA shut down!” I shouted and it fell to its knees, then collapsed to the floor.”
The next day we had a technician come and do a diagnostic. They said a relay switch had gone bad. They fixed it on the spot.
We’ve had no issues with Ezra since.
\---
I pull down a glass and it slips in my hand and falls and breaks on the tiled kitchen floor. I lean forward and take a long drink directly from the sink spout. When I’m done, I wipe my mouth on my sleeve then walk back into the living room.
“Look, look how handsome he looks,” Nancy says, standing next to EZRA. “I can see our boy in it already.”
I stare at EZRA who is standing there, looking at the wall. The red dots have grown in its black glass eyes. The twitching in its hands have stopped.
“EZRA, I’ve broken a glass in the kitchen. Please go clean it up.”
“Right away, sir,” EZRA says and walks past me with uncanny speed and agility. It always makes me nervous to watch their movements. The salesman said we’d get used to it after a while. That it was normal, and our brain had to adjust to these unhuman movements.
After all these years, I’ve never adjusted.
\----
Jason’s brain scan was top of the line when we purchased it. For the first few months after diagnosis we thought he would get better. That there would be some miracle that would come last minute and rescue him, and us, from this hell. But it was not a movie and we had to face the cold hard truth.
That’s when we purchased the brain scan.
My wife, understandable, was almost frenzied with grief at this time and she refused to even think about it. But, when I finally convinced her it may be a good idea for us to think about doing it—when she finally accepted the idea—then money was not a concern to her and we’d buy the most advanced brain scan money could buy.
And so, we did just that. And it has been sitting in a safety deposit box for two years. That is, before we uploaded it into EZRA.
For me, that was never the idea. There are other, more healthy options. There are companies that can review and revise the brain scan to develop something akin to a home movie for the bereaved. Memories, feelings, all of that. Something to keep and watch on birthdays that never come.
This is not what my wife wanted. And truth be told, it’s not what I wanted either.
She first suggested the idea of uploading into EZRA a couple months ago and I didn’t take it seriously at first. The idea seemed grotesque. But we had uploaded her father into EZRA, and outside of the few strange occurrences at night, it did bring some comfort.
Some days it seemed like Terry was in our house. EZRA would be absolutely boiling over with Terry’s thoughts and memories. But in the end, the brain scan was not a high quality one, and Terrys brain had deteriorated so far by the end of his life that the memories seemed warped, scattered and woven amongst so many strands. They’d come out incoherent from EZRAs mouth.
Sometimes it was funny. Sometimes it was not.
In the end, we decided to remove Terry from EZRA and that’s when Nancy suggested we add Jason.
I feel it is a mistake. That in some ways those who have passed should not be carried forward in the lifeless hulk of an artificial intelligence house robot. That these are not games to play lightly with. My son was a special boy, the greatest person I’d even known. But he is gone, and the memories should live within us, not displayed grotesquely through a machine.
But for my wife, it’s not so easy. It’s been very hard on her. Very hard. And I would do anything to make her happy. And if this is what she needs, as she so continuously tells me. Then I will do it for her.
\---
More at r/CataclysmicRhythmic
| 2021-03-06T12:05:42 | 2021-03-06T11:38:13 | 2,839 | 75 |
[WP] As a child, you had a very unique diary; whatever you wrote, something would respond, their words magically appearing on the page. Years later, while searching a library hundreds of miles away, you rediscover the diary you thought you'd lost. Inside is a pen and your first entry: "Hello".
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"Hello."
My old diary! My old handwriting, even. I'd had conversations late into the night, joked around with it on weekends, told it my secrets. I looked up to it as an older brother I never had. But that was the only entry.
"Hi" I wrote, hoping to figure out what happened.
"WHO ARE YOU???" It responded, using my old handwriting. Well that's odd. It always knew me before. I decided to mess with it.
"I'm the diary, of course!"
"How are you doing this?" Once again, my old handwriting. Why did that question seem so familiar? I knew exactly what to say next.
"The same way you are."
"Well, nice to meet you. I'm Richard." *Oh*. The same words, the old handwriting. Just then it clicked.
"I know. We're going to become great friends."
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Okay so I’ve never done this before, and I’m not really sure what I’m doing tbh. I think the idea I came up with became too ambitious to be left as a short story, but I know there’s not enough space here. Sorry for the cliffhanger:
The library was always the first place. She’d moved a lot, as a child, and every new place inevitably had a one. An almost preternatural urge to visit, pulled at her strings. This place was no different.
Purgatory they called it. It didn’t look anything like purgatory, in fact it had an almost idyllic fifties vibe to it. The people here never failed to greet her with a wide grin. She had never heard of the place, before Ethan announced they’d be relocating there, for work.
But she didn’t want to think about Ethan, and his job right now, she wanted an escape. And the library always had what she was looking for. Fortunately this one was in walking distance. Something about this particular library was... different to her, it almost made her uneasy. But something cut through that uneasiness.
It was a small building, made of bricks. The inside felt almost stuck in time... save the outdated computers in one corner. The rows of books still felt oddly overwhelming despite the smaller selection, compared to the last city she’d been in.
There was no one else around, save the two library clerks themselves, one of which was passing the time with a book of her own.
She wandered around a bit, taking out random books, and thinning through them, seeing if anything caught her eye. And then she heard it.
A vague whisper calling out to her, almost indistinguishable. Raspy, but embodying a sort of... glee.
Anxiously, she made her way in the direction it had been calling her. A dusty old shelf, fills of dusty, worn tomes. The subjects of these tomes being the occult, witchcraft... the kinds of things her parents had always warned her away from.
The whispers stopped as soon as she stood in front of them. These books were exactly why she’d come here in the first place, she thought. No wait, that couldn’t be...
Then, it caught her eye. A small, leather bound book obscured by much larger books. She reached out, hesitant but excited. This was important somehow.
She opened it, and her eyes found the first page. “Hello Gwen, how have you been?” She nearly dropped the book. How did it know her name? She had never seen this book in her life and yet, something about it seemed so familiar. She had to know. She whispered to the book, “how do you know me?” But the book remained blank, save for the original question. “Come on I know you can talk... what are you?”
Absolutely nothing. She stared at it blankly for what seemed like an eternity before a it dawned on her. Of course, it was communicating with her through ink. She needed a pen. She began digging for one immediately, and found a table, obscured from the sight of the clerks, allowing her some privacy.
She took out the pen and began writing “please tell me, how do you know my name?” She felt an odd wave of pure elation as the words left the pen.
“It would seem you’ve forgotten your old friend dear, this is troubling, however, I’m sure it has something to do with the fact that you are wearing a new face this time.”
She arched her brow at this. A new face? What could that possibly mean? She began writing her response.
“I’m not sure what you mean, this is my face, I’ve always had it”
She felt a wave of emotion, like a child giggling, as words formed on the page. “I suppose you’re not wrong dear, the soul is the same but... the face does not match the one I remember. You were a child then, do you truly not remember?”
She had hoped speaking with this things would clear up any questions she had but now she had even more. There was certainly a sense of familiarity here, as if she had held this very book long ago, but no concrete memories of ever having done so.
“No, I’m sorry I don’t remember. Can you tell me more?” The book let out another phantom chuckle. “Yes, yes of course I understand now, you humans don’t have the longest lifespans... and it has been a couple centuries now at the very least.”
| 2021-03-31T11:13:51 | 2021-03-31T10:17:12 | 92 | 30 |
[WP] The last star has winked out, and now you sit alone, staring into an empty void as the last living being in creation. For fun you say "Let there be light," and watch a star flash into being. From behind a voice says "Sorry, sorry, I just thought it'd be funny."
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Ugh, all alone, that damn wish came true and now is the time for the curse to set in. I am immortal. I’ll keep on living. It’s booring now that I’ve seen the heat death of the universe. Everything was destroyed, burned out, nothing left.
For giggles I say “let there be light” and a star is born in front of me.
Then I hear it, “Sorry, sorry, I just throught it’d be funny”.
My blood ran cold from the existential dread that went down my spine. He found me.
And then I realized he was also the cure.
I turned around and greeted the Snail.
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I am immortal, the last human being alive in the entire universe. I don't know how I became immortal though. I only know that when the bombs dropped and humanity destroyed itself, I, for whatever twisted reason of fate, was the only one left standing. Even though every plant and animal had died, even though the Earth itself had reduced to a toxic hellscape permanently shrouded in shadow, my body simply refused to let me die. At first, I thought it was a blessing. I thought I was meant to be a savior, to somehow rebuild human civilization anew and to restore life back into the barren Earth. But, in time, I realized that those thoughts were nothing more than delusions.
They say that a person will go mad if they are forced to endure solitary isolation for too long. Imagine what several millennia can do to the human mind. As the centuries passed and my countless attempts to restart life on Earth failed again and again, I started to hate the entire universe for forcing this horrific cruel fate on me. But more than that, I started to despise whoever had created the universe for I was sure that they were the same person who had trapped me in this hellish fate for their own twisted entertainment. Eventually, I gave up on trying to revive humanity and instead, I searched for death. But no matter what I tried, no matter how often I disintegrated my body to nothing more than mere atoms, I would always find myself waking up in perfect health the next day. And so, I decided to destroy it all.
I explored the dark depths of the Earth, scoured through the lost books of knowledge, connected together the various theories of physics, and eventually, I found it. A way to travel billions of years back into the past to the very birth of the universe. My plan was to stop the Big Bang from happening, to prevent this disgusting universe full of misery and pain from ever existing. It took me decades to create my colossal time machine and then even more decades to fill it with every weapon of mass destruction that humanity had left to offer. But finally, there came a day that all my preparations were complete and I turned on my machine for the first time.
And it worked. I watched the earth tear itself apart from under me as the stars in the night sky blinked out from existence one by one. Until finally, there was nothing, but me and my time machine floating in an infinite void. I took a deep breath. I had finally done it. Carefully, I studied the various computers that were scanning the outside darkness. The second that God or whoever started the universe was born, I would blast them out of existence with every weapon in my arsenal or hopefully die trying in the process.
So, I waited. And I waited. And I waited. Months passed, then years, then eventually decades. And in all that time, I never detected a single damn thing in the void besides myself. Finally, in a fit of frustration, I screamed out into the void, "Let there be light!" Almost immediately, a small pinprick of light sprung up in the middle of the darkness. For a few seconds, all I could do was stare at it, completely astonished by what had happened. Then a voice from directly behind me spoke, "Sorry, sorry, I just thought it would be funny."
I nearly jumped out of my skin as chills ran down my spine. That voice ... I immediately knew that I had finally found the person I had been waiting to kill all this time. I pulled out a blaster pistol from my jacket and spun around to point it at the intruder. I don't really know who I expected to see. Perhaps an old glowing bearded man in a toga. Perhaps some bizarre Lovecraftian space alien that would be beyond human comprehension. Or perhaps it would be a giant floating mass of spaghetti with meatballs for eyes. All of these possibilities ran through my head in a matter of milliseconds. But what I never expected to see was another version of myself looking back at me from the other side of the room with a wry smile on his face.
"How...how is this possible?" I finally managed to stutter out.
"It's funny, I remember asking that exact same question once." The other version of me clapped his hands and a chair sprung into existence next to me. "Sit. We have much to talk about."
| 2021-07-30T20:50:10 | 2021-07-30T20:05:54 | 47 | 30 |
[WP] While performing an archaeological dig, you make the find of the millennia- but quickly must decide between leaving your find in the unknown past or risk causing mass panic among the public.
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Archaeology is fun they said, you just dig and forget about your problems they said. No one ever told me I'd nearly break a bone falling down a hole. And now I'm lost and confused, unable to decide if people need to know of what I found.
At first, it was all dark but my echoing voice led me to understand I was in some kind of chamber. I was about to use my lighter when the smell of methane suggested that I'd blow myself up doing that. Now you see, methane isn't that uncommon underground, however, when I turned on my torchlight and noticed strange lines on the wall, joining up a few meters on my left in some kind of drawing, I understood this wasn't just some random cave but most likely a man made structure. And you know what releases methane and has something to do with men ? Dead bodies. I know what you're gonna say : "Dude you dig up the past, no shit you're gonna find dead bodies !" and I'll tell you you're right to think that, but methane is a gas, it expands everywhere and escape through even the tiniest crevice which meant either the bodies started decaying recently, or that chamber had remained perfectly sealed for thousand, maybe millions of years ! This only made me even more excited about this discovery.
I started exploring that structure. The walls, grounds and ceilings were obviously old albeit without any fracture so I was confident it posed no risk to investigate whatever piece of the past I stumbled upon. In another room, I found bones, leaving only the idea that this place had been sealed shut for ages. As I peaked into yet another chamber, I saw more drawings and stepped close to the wall to get a better look. The walls, let me tell you a bit more about them. Some had strange hieroglyphs, a mix between what we found in ancient egypt and nordic runes. I never saw that kind of writing before. Then, I touched the wall. Don't question it, that's an archaeologist reflex, I had to do it. Anyway, the texture of the rock was unlike anything I ever experienced, and let me tell you in my line of work, you quickly get accustomed to the feel of different kinds of stone. Something else happened. My fingertips and palm got slightly burnt, which made me remove my hand immediately. That's when I noticed I could read, well, not read, but I could understand the hieroglyph and they were telling of a formidable specie. As I explored other rooms, visions of great golden cities and magnificent forest came to me. I even found some kind of archive, listing a bunch of technologies we could only dream to have !
I knew I had to share that knowledge, until I went deeper into the dark ruins and laid my eyes on something quite grim.
In what appeared to be some kind of general quarters, there was one final mural surrounded by piles of bones, most likely the scribes, eager to relate one last piece of history before their demise. That's where the dilemma presented itself. The story was of that peaceful and advanced people who had to face an alien invasion. Those extraterrestrial beings weren't strong, advanced or intelligent, but they were many. And for each one the ancient civilization defeated, more where produced. Eventually the alien won, but never managed to leave the planet and still roam among us. Well, that's what I thought, until the visions showed me that that scourge the ancient civilization had to face were our long dead ancestors, the homo sapiens. We *are* the aliens. Evolved and unaware of a forgotten past, but we never came from other lifeforms, we literally invaded the damn planet !
To whoever find this journal, I hope you'll take that decision for me. I know these technologies would help our world a lot, it would be a great step forward in every scientific field. But I cannot resolve myself to bring the historical knowledge that comes with it, that there is life out there, and that we are that life. It would shake our world, some would think we belong there since we were there for so long, other thinking the world is getting worse maybe because we were never supposed to be there in the first place.
One could say it's fine, the world won't do anything, but I know such a discovery could bring about war and chaos.
&#x200B;
PS : Yo I don't know how to write anything, I don't even really read books so it's normal if there are many words repeating and stuff like that. Hope you enjoyed it though.
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**Part One**
&#x200B;
*June 4th, 1952*
*Since the discovery of the mysterious bunker in Brazil, the archeology world has exploded about rumors of the Kaiser’s lost bunker, I‘ve been called in by my university, I can see the Statue of Liberties Bronze glint in the distance as my air ship approaches Philadelphia Airfield*
*June 16th, 1952*
*The long journey south begins, once I unearth this mysterious German bunker, this will put me on the map, Fredrick Abenerthy, daring jungle explorer, they might even make a picture show about my adventures, I can see it now, Abenerthy, The Kaiser’s Lost Bunker*
*July 4th, 1952*
*We have finally arrived at the jungle, Brazils only air field in the area is over 150 miles from the jungles edge, we begin final approach to the dig site, our guides said they won’t take us further, something about the jungle having dark spirits, however fortune favors the bold!*
*July 10th, 1952*
*We made it, the papers were not lying, a massive steel door behind a water fall, with the Kaiser’s eagle on the valve, luckily, we brought more than enough blasting powder to blow it off it’s hinges, though I could’ve sworn I saw a man in a suit and hat speaking to the workers, must’ve been one of the surveyors we brought with us*
*July 15th, 1952*
Huzzah! The charges worked, the door is on the stone cliff smoking from the heat, my legacy is assured now, I can’t wait for the workers to set up the supports, we enter the cave at first light!
*July 16th, 1952*
*Dammit! A cave in, it happened just after we went in, the workers are digging at the rock, we can’t risk a total collapse with more powder, we have food for 3 days, Jameson thinks we should wait at the mouth of the cave for the workers to dig through, Ha, as if I’d let him sneak off while I sleep and get all the glory!*
*July 18th, 1952*
*We’ve begun our journey into the bunker proper, plenty of old equipment, documents, we managed to find a closed of tunnel, we’re using our tools to punch through, Jameson complained of pain in his foot and insisted on going back, after taking off his boot and seeing his infected foot, black veins and puss orbs showing, Hudson carried him back to the entrance while I set to work*
*July 10th, 1953*
*It took hours to dig through the rock blocking the tunnel, but as I finished, Jameson and Hudson, the twin brothers, came back, and told me the workers aren’t responding, or digging, they left us to die! No matter, we will continue on and get out ourselves, my escape will be glorified forever!*
*July 19th, 1952*
*Jameson is only getting worse, Hudson, being Hudson, insisted we wait before contining, bah, as if we should stop and risk losing the potential glory of discovery, no no, we will continue on, and create glory*
*July 32nd, 1964*
*Jameson died in his sleep last night, his infection seems to have stopped his heart, shame, but we must continue onward, toward our glorious escape, I had to drag Hudson away from his brothers corpse, we cannot delay any more*
*???*
*I feel myself growing wary of Hudson, he’s been acting more quiet, more reckless since Jameson died, he nearly walked over a narrow ledge, this tunnel keeps growing bigger, we’ve been traveling for…how long, I’ve forgotten what day it is, I swore I just saw that man in the suit, from the dig*
*???*
*Hudson lashed out at me, he told me I was acting insane and now our food was nearly gone, he was going mad from the cave, I needed to dispose of him, before he killed me, I sacrificed his blood to the master that night, while he slept, I must continue, I must, I must, I must, I must, I must*
*???*
*The Master speaks to me now, he tells me to keep going, I can feel the whispers of the cosmos on my lips as I repeat his chants to guide me further down the tunnel, the dryness of my throat and my empty stomach are rectified with his blessing, he demands blood, he needs to be released.*
*???*
*I have reached his tomb, the great stone door stands, skeletons of his previous servants scatter it, it bears the marks of 10,000 attempts to open it, I slit my wrists, and let my blood drip into the doors cracks, letting my blood add to the doors blood lock, eventually, it will open, my death is for the masters release, I will add as much as I can before my death*
*???*
*The Lord Ocumentius stands above the cowardly gods, he is beyond their power, he is eternal, the angels and devils squabble while he waits beyond time, trapped in a thousand tombs across the cosmos, he will return one day, one day he will arrive, to seek vengeance on those who imprisoned him, he is Ocumentius, I am Ocumentius, I am Ocumentius, I am Ocumentius*
*ᛏᚺᛖ ᛗᚨᛋᛏᛖᚱ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᚱᛖᛏᚢᚱᚾ ᚠᚱᛟᛗ ᛒᛖᚤᛟᚾᛞ ᛏᛁᛗᛖ, ᚺᛖ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ, ᚠᛟᚱ ᚺᛖ ᛁᛋ ᛒᛖᚤᛟᚾᛞ ᛏᚺᛖ ᛈᚨᛏᚺᛖᛏᛁᚲ ᚷᛟᛞᛋ ᛟᚠ ᛟᛚᛞ, ᚺᛖ ᛁᛋ ᛟᚲᚢᛗᛖᚾᛏᛁᚢᛋ, ᛏᚺᛖ ᚷᛟᛞ ᚨᛗᛟᚾᚷ ᚴᛁᚾᚷᛋ, ᚾᛟᛏᚺᛁᚾᚷ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᚺᚨᛚᛏ ᚺᛁᛗ, ᚺᛁᛋ ᛚᛟᚤᚨᛚ ᛋᚢᛒᛃᛖᚲᛏᛋ ᚹᛁᛚᛚ ᚨᚡᛖᚾᚷᛖ ᚺᛁᛋ ᛞᛖᚠᛖᚨᛏ ᛒᚤ ᛏᚺᛖᛁᚱ ᚺᚨᚾᛞᛋ, ᚨᚾᛞ ᚱᛖᛋᛏᛟᚱᛖ ᚺᛁᛗ.*
| 2022-01-05T09:25:46 | 2022-01-05T08:41:12 | 85 | 22 |
[WP] Yesterday, you knocked over a salt shaker in Texas. Today, you bought a newspaper in Fiji. Tomorrow, the chain of events you set in motion will stop a bank robbery in France. You are the master of the butterfly effect.
|
A single grain of sugar, placed upon a leaf. That was enough to attract a butterfly to perch next to it. When that butterfly took off again, the flap of its wings was seen by a child. That child ran towards it, wanting to see a butterfly up close for the first time. They ran across the road, forgetting to look both ways. Driving on that road was a businesswoman, who had to slam her brakes to avoid hitting the child.
This caused her to be 2 seconds behind where she otherwise would've been. Far enough back to avoid getting crushed by a dying tree falling onto the road in front of her. That woman would go on to her work, and negotiate a deal between the company she worked for and another company, which would've fallen through without her.
One part of this deal was the creation of a new research and development division. One of the many people hired by this division was Mark M. White. He originally took it as a summer job, and it sparked a passion for tinkering and engineering within him. He started a hobby project of his own, an efficient electric motor.
His work was published in the local newspaper, which found itself in the hands of a talent scout for a government project. Mark was recruited to this project, a project to build a time machine.
After several long years, sending electrons and protons seconds into the past, they finally had a working prototype. It could send an object the size of a grain of sand up to 10 years into the past. After some thought, a grain of sugar was chosen, as it had slightly less mass, and it would be easier to keep track of, since sugar is a more rare material than sand.
The machine powered up, the grain disappeared. The screens showed the grain made it safely to its destination, though a few millimeters in front of where it was aimed. It seems to have landed upon a leaf.
|
Henry slept for most of the 12 hour flight to Nadi. Thankfully, despite it being a full flight, the seat next to him remained vacant giving him a bit of extra room to get comfortable.
The nap on the plane did wonders for helping Henry reset his circadian rhythm and sync up with the time zone. After eating breakfast at the airport cafe and making a quick pit stop at the convenience store, Henry lazily headed over towards the pick up zone.
Most passengers from his flight had already left, either with friends and family or by cab. A single driver however remained standing with a placard in hand, still waiting for a man named Johnathan Dilmont to walk out from the terminal.
Henry looked over at the seemingly aggrieved driver and smirked. He couldn’t help but smile while imagining the arrogant Jonathan, who was probably still in a holding cell in Austin being interrogated by TSA drug squad for the salt shaker in his bag.
“Still waiting aye?” Henry asked, while walking over to the driver
“Are you Mr Dilmont?”
“Yup, apologies for the delay, I slept through the meal service, so I stopped for a quick breakfast”
“Ahah no trouble Mr Dilmont, please come with me, the car isn’t far, shall I grab your bag for you”.
“Thanks, what’s your name by the way?” Henry asked, while passing over his carry on.
“Francis, sir, good to meet you”
“Likewise Francis”
…
The two of them made their way over towards the car, Henry hopped in the back, while the driver popped his bags into the boot before getting into the drivers seat.
“Ah by the way, I’ll need you to make an extra stop, I need to stop by the department store, can you head over to the Langur”.
“Ah yes, no trouble Mr Dilmont, but that is on the opposite side of town, we may be late for your meeting”.
“Don’t worry, I’m sure we will arrive right on time”. Henry replied, before opening up the newspaper he bought back at the airport and beginning to read it.
…
The two of them made their way by car in silence, roughly 20 minutes had passed when Henry’s smart watch softly chimed.
With that, Henry took his eyes off the paper and looked out the window.
He scanned the cars driving on the opposite side of the road, seemingly looking for something. After a few seconds he was able to spot a black SUV heading southbound, in the direction of the airport.
Henry deeply signed, before bracing himself in the car.
“Hey Francis?”
“Yes Mr Dilmont?”
“Catch!”
Henry threw his newspaper over the drivers seat and onto Francis!
The paper scattered and blocked Francis’s vision!
“Ffuiclalal !!!”
Francis struggled to get his words out due to the shocking turn of events!
He slammed his foot on the break, while also trying to wave the loose papers away with one hand and steer the car with the other!
Sadly he had lost just enough control in that brief second that he veered into the southbound lane directly onto the path of the Black SUV!
BANG!!
…
The cars collided, although both cars were travelling at low speeds, the collision was still quite bad given they were travelling in opposite directions.
Henry took a second to regain his bearings, he then checked over onto Francis who was moaning in pain.
Henry breathed easily in relief at the pained Francis, as it meant he was still alive. With that confirmation, Henry forcefully opened the car door and quickly alighted from the scene, running off into the nearby shopping district.
…
10 minutes later, Henry sat down at a pub near the Langur Department store.
“Sorry Francis” Henry sighed as he said to himself, while he waited on his drink.
Henry knew that in terms of the greater good, what he did was right, but still he couldn’t help but be angry at himself for getting poor Francis caught in the middle.
Others might think that Henry’s bizarre actions were those of a madman, but what the world didn’t know was, that Henry had a gift.
It was hard to describe, but he could see both the future as well as the laws of causality, With this power, Henry could stop international incidents and global wars, all through a few seemingly small and inconsequential actions.
Such as today.
The black SUV that Henry targeted was being driven by ‘Arsene Lupin’ a notorious phantom thief, who was wanted all over the world.
The man had been laying low in Fiji for the past two years and now that he was out of the spotlight, he was planning to return to France with a new identity and start another wave of heists.
Problem was, his next heist would’ve triggered a snowball of incidents: involving counterfeit money, stolen Nazi artworks, the Priory of Sion and the ultimate resurrection of Rasputin.
Thankfully Henry was able to prevent this calamitous set of events from occurring, all by dropping a salt shaker into Jonathan’s bag and by throwing a newspaper in Francis’s face. These actions resulted in Arsene missing his flight, thus preventing his heist and chain of events which would have ensured.
…
As his scotch arrived, Henry raised his drink to Francis, before downing it in one go.
He sighed deeply again before taking the empty glass, and placing it on the floor near the doorway.
| 2022-04-24T07:57:45 | 2022-04-24T05:46:31 | 62 | 23 |
[WP] Earth is the last human stronghold in the galaxy, and we have no fucking clue about it.
|
With heavy hearts, we loaded the projectile into the wormhole. Genocide had never been easy for us - not as it was for the humans. They'd left us no choice, however. We were losing colony after colony, world after world razed to the ground. They were suffering similar losses - now, there existed only one planet on each side. Earth, the cradle of humanity, and V'rakkis, the birthplace of the Collective.
The Council had determined that using our warp technology would be the only way to save our species. The Tenets spoke out against murder, and many still protested the decision, but in our hearts, we all knew what was necessary.
The carefully calibrated artificial wormhole would send the projectile back to Earth, the first - and now last, of the human worlds.
They caught us off guard. Before the sequence was completed, a squadron of human suicide fighters rammed into the bow of the flagship. The triple-reinforced hull barely shuddered - but shudder it did. The few milli-units of vibration threw off the calculations, and the projectile disappeared into the unknown.
We sat in silence, hoping against hope that we'd succeeded.
---
Millions of years earlier, a Tyrannosaurus Rex looked up from its meal, watching a massive meteor drop into the atmosphere.
---
Questions? Criticisms? Want to see more? Check out more of my stuff at /r/Draxagon
|
I remember the day well, the day our history was changed forever.
I was but nineteen years old, a recent immigrant to the British Lunar Territory. After the Unification War and the subsequent War of Restoration we'd emerged victorious but our homeland was devastated, London was a smoking crater and the largest city still standing was Oxford. Since we could only support forty million and the post-war baby boom was starting to cause strain my family moved to the Moon to mine for helium and gold. A hard life but the promise of riches drove us upwards. Back then we didn't have these nice dome cities, it was pretty much a cluster of airtight sheds but my God the views were amazing. Anyway after a year or so some shady government scientist comes to visit us, says he's lost his job and needed cash fast. Chap couldn't work the mines for shit but nobody had the heart to give him the sack because he told the most amazing stories. Kept the morale up which is pretty important when you have the highest rate of mental illness in the Empire.
Turn's out the guy had worked on the space telescopes, he'd managed to figure out there was almost certainly life around this old star some twelve light years away. Of course it had some funny Greek name I can't remember for the life of me back then, it got renamed when we began to study it more. There was one planet they'd dubbed *Carolus* for reasons that escape me. Anyway it turns out this bankrupt scientist still had a good few connections and arranged for me to get a place on the ship that was headed out there. He said there was a 40% chance I'd die, the technology they used so we'd arrive in about six months rather than six decades was patchy at best, I found out many years later the initial tests had thrown a hapless guinea pig into orbit around Pluto and a couple of the volunteers had been cooked alive by radiation but when you're nineteen you think you're invincible. I signed up with a CV full of bullshit and a false name but they took me on and within a year I was on the surface of another world.
Some genius in the Interplanetary Society had decided taking guns could provoke hostility but all that achieved was getting us overpowered by a bunch of aliens armed with muskets. These guys weren't fucking around, they meant business. While their weapons were rudimentary they could easily penetrate our suits and we hadn't figured out yet what noxious gases the atmosphere might contain.
I say "alien" but that's not really accurate. These guys were on average about five foot four and the women even smaller. They were ridiculously delicate compared to us, the heaviest was about ten stone at most. They were pale as snow, nobody had anything resembling a suntan even though their sun was a lot like ours. Eyes were weird as well, whereas we have brown, green and blue mostly these guys had amber, purple and this really pale bluish-green. Anyway we were herded into some sort of crude aircraft that was even less safe than ours (which naturally sealed itself to the natives) and we were taken to what resembled a city.
It was the strangest thing, all the buildings were made from a local stone that glowed blue at night in sync with the three moons for one reason or another (the boffins think it's a bacterium of some sort) and it was obvious they'd been chiselled by hand but the style was incredibly modern. It was like a middle-age stone mason had been tasked with re-creating a 23rd century metropolis. The result was spectacular but slightly depressing, like a pale imitation of previous glory. Anyway it turns out that we were able to analyse DNA similarities using something called hybridisation (it does not take much difficult chemistry) and the results were unbelievable. It turns out these people were human. As in modern *homo sapiens* human with a difference of perhaps ten thousand years. These bizarre technology gaps and styles seemed to confirm what we were all thinking, at some point mankind had been the custodians of an empire far, far greater than the ones of today.
Of course, we immediately opened diplomatic relations. Several ambassadors were left on Carolus to learn the customs and language of the "aliens" and we took several representatives back to Earth. Within four months Carolus was an Imperial territory and a regular interstellar trade route opened. The other Great Powers raced out to the stars in search of other lost colonies and they found them too, many of them. What they found was so strange it was disbelieved by many for years, they found humans in various states of mutation and social development. Piece by piece a narrative was put together, a common theme in the folklore of these worlds was a great deity, a God of prosperity, perfection and unlimited power with whom the people dwelled. After a time this deity was seen less and less as chaos, war and famine struck mighty blows and despite attempts to re-connect with his people he ultimately faded away never to be seen again, sometimes with a prophecy of return and revitalisation.
Perhaps if God did not exist, it would be necessary to invent him?
| 2015-01-30T11:57:13 | 2015-01-30T10:46:51 | 29 | 21 |
[WP] Suddenly across the globe, large, feathered, rotted corpses begin to drop out of the sky. They are soon identified to be Angels.
|
"Whelp." Marv sucked on his teeth and tucked his thumbs into his dusty suspenders. It was difficult to see the descending shadows as they tumbled like flakes of ash out of the low, sickly green skyline now. The deluge had slowed over the past few days. "I guess them hippies were right. We shoulda reduced our carbon footprints. Who knows what heaven musta been like."
The boy sitting on top of a rusted-out car next to Marv wiped the back of a dirty hand across his forehead to smear some of the grimy sweat collecting along his hairline. "...can we eat 'em?"
"What?! No, boy! Whatchu mean, can we eat 'em?"
Instead of chastened, the boy looked thoughtful. "Well, I'd bet even with the pollution and all they are safer than stuff down here. And it's not like we're gonna have the money to buy synthmeat any time soon."
"Hm."
Well, the boy wasn't *wrong.* Two days later, Marv answered a question he never thought he would ask: Yes, angels taste a bit like turkey jerky. The spicy variety. Must be all that righteous fury.
|
The Shepherd hadn't strayed more than a dozen miles from his home in all 54 years of his life. He had learned his trade from his father, as his father had learned from his father before him. He knew the winds and clouds that swept over the Moorlands better than any other... he knew which wisps in the sky portended fair weather in the coming month, and he knew which ones were harbingers of something worse.
A low, dusky sheet of cloud had descended across the Moorlands, and a light breeze whispered as it cut through the grass. The Shepherd studied the clouds and wind as he had so many times before, hoping to glean some insight of the weather to come. As he strained to look at the sky, he thought for a moment that he saw something roiling and writihing within the impenetrable haze. It filled him with a sense of dread. This was something new in the sky, and experience had taught him that such things rarely bode well.
He turned to his grandsons, two young children presently assisting the dogs in corralling a few unruly sheep.
"Boys, we'll take lunch early today. Back to the house. Quickly."
They began jogging and skipping giddily toward the house. An early lunch was a rare treat for them. They were too young and too naive to the horrors of the world to share in their grandfather's unease. As he finished driving the last of the sheep into their enclosure, a gust of cold wind hit. The animals began bleating furiously, and rain began to fall.
"A sudden rainstorm?," the Shepherd thought. He wiped his brow and sighed. Maybe his unease was unjustified. Maybe he was growing dull in his old age. As he looked down, though, he noticed that his hand bore a streak of... *blood*? He looked up, and saw the white coats of his sheep speckled in red. This was no rain.
The Shepherd set off toward his house at a pace that sent pain piercing through his weathered joints with every stride. The rain of blood intensified, rolling off his coat in dark rivulets. Just then, a crumpled heap of... something... landed in front of him with the sound of snapping bone.
The Shepherd cautiously approached. The broken mass reeked of carrion and oozed a black, ichorous fluid. As far as he could tell from the hideous, rotten breasts, this corpse had once been a woman. As he moved around the body, he saw something peculiar about the back.
Wings. Bloody, blackened, and crumpled... but unmistakable. It was an angel.
He stood dumbstruck for a moment, then resumed his headlong rush toward his home and his grandchildren. More rotten angelic corpses began to fall from the sky, and the sanguine rain became a torrent. The splatter of blood and the crack of bone drowned out the sound of his breathing and footsteps.
When the Shepherd reached his home, he flung open the door and rushed to find his grandchildren. He saw the youngest laughing by the hearth, seemingly untouched and oblivious to the apocalyptic scene unfolding outside.
"Where is your brother?" asked the Shepherd.
The grandson stood and turned toward his grandfather, gesturing with the knife in his hand. Blood ran down the blade toward a mutilated corpse in the corner of the room. A grin spread across the child's face, and he began to cackle with a voice far too deep for a child so young.
"He didn't hear it. He couldn't. I tried to help him, but..."
The young child's eyes grew large with bloodlust, and he lunged toward his grandfather. The Shepherd attempted to deflect the blow, but he was overcome by the child's unnatural strength. The blade sunk deep, finding the artery it was seeking. The Shepherd was overcome first by cold, then by darkness.
"Don't worry, grandpa. We'll all be one soon."
******************************************************
From a stone cairn high atop a hill in the Moorlands, I surveyed the landscape below as it was darkened by an unholy rain. A beautiful rain.
These fools and their "guardian" angels. What has an *angel* ever guarded? They are automatons, mindless weapons that enforce an unnatural order. They exist to uphold arbitrary rules concocted by their creator. They are the shield that protects those who possess what they do not deserve. They are chains that fetter those with the power to claim what is rightfully theirs.
No longer.
The ritual is complete. Their wings will darken the sky no more. But there are worse things in this world than angels.
| 2016-07-19T07:42:38 | 2016-07-19T07:36:46 | 19 | 10 |
[WP] As a henchman to the Joker, you've now broken the record for the longest surviving employee. This means you'll receive something no one ever has from him: your annual review.
|
Most people go a whole year without anything interesting going down. Things tend to slow down once you have a 21st birthday, graduate from college, and try to find a job. Then it is just boring old existence until you collect your retirement gift and fade away in some small room that dozens of people before you have died in.
That was not my year at all.
After graduating with my degree, work was hard to find anywhere. I tried Star City, Metropolis, even a high school in Smallville, but sadly no one would take a Bachelor's in Psychology as "enough experience" and I was stuck at Arkham Asylum as a janitor. It was one thing to read about these crime lords and another to see them up close. Ivy's skin almost glows in the dark with just a slight hint of red from her lips, Croc sharpens his claws and teeth on various metal objects around his cell, and seeing Hatter doing puppet shows with his socks is quite entertaining before he starts talking about Alice. But the one man I had yet to see was the Joker.Only the senior staff was allowed near his cell for fear of escape attempts, and it was for good reason. The one night they needed a fill-in I was called for the job. And let the Clown Prince of Crime free.
Something in me that day snapped. My student loans were about to go into default, I was two days from eviction in my apartment, and frankly I was just done with the way my life was going. So I let him out and followed along. For some reason I thought he would kill me right away, but he just laughed and motioned me to follow him. "Come along now, Lassie! We have to blow Timmy out of the well!" and off we went via the emergency exit tunnel. Since then, I have nearly died from various means. Joker Toxin canisters nearly bursting in my face, bullets whizzing by my head as we raided S.T.A.R. Labs for new mind-control technology, and just being near Harley and Joker during one of their little brawls has left men dead or crippled. After a full year, the boss has called me up to his makeshift office at the Ace Chemical plant.
"Well, little Lassie has come home at last! Tell me now, how long has it been since we left the Loony Bin together hand in hand?" He looks at me with his cold grey eyes, waiting for an answer. "I know exactly how long boss, one full year." "Well then Happy New Year old bean!" He pulls a party popper and a kazoo from his jacket and begins playing Auld Lang Syne. "Now! I believe this calls for a review if I am correct! Can't have some busy-body bringing down the company brand now can we? Harley! I need that report on Lassie here post haste!" Harley walks in wearing a pencil skirt, a tight white blouse, and a pair of black cat-eye glasses. Boss always was one for gags. He pulls a pair of reading glasses out for himself and goes over the file. "Hmm, I see you have filled your murder quota for the year, but your basic bedlam and comic mischief is quite low. We'll have to work on that. And the fact that Batman is still alive does not look good for you! So tell me Lassie. Why should I keep you around?"
He pulls a revolver from his jacket, his tailor really should get a raise, and points it at me. I have no feeling as the very real possibility of my death is at the other end of the barrel. I knew exactly the reason why I let him out in the first place. The whole reason for leaving my previous life behind that day I opened his cell. I look him straight in the eyes and answer him.
"Because life is one big joke. You might as well find people to laugh with." The Joker's grin is now a scowl. He looks at Harley and says "Did you hear what this guy has just said to me? I have a gun pointed at his head and he gives me some stupid answer?" He cocks the hammer back, pulls the trigger, and it's a giant flag. "I LOVE THIS GUY! Harley! Leave us at once! We need to discuss new business with our new Vice President Lassie here!" "Okay, Mr. J. Don't forget your lunch with Mr.Freeze today!" "Well, reschedule it, old Frosty Bones can wait!"
|
Have you ever felt your life couldn't be any worst that it currently is ? That your entire existance could be summed up to a succession of really bad decisions ? I'm Frank Xandar, 32 years old, no girlfriend, a rap sheet longer than my arm and no real friends. The only thing I have is my job and even then it's hard to qualify this as a job when you're pulling heist for an unpredictable psychopath like the Joker. Still, I manage, I endure and I actually managed to survive this gig for a full year, well above the usual average for this kind of job. So imagine my surprise when the bossman asked to see me this morning for a yearly review. I'm scared shitless, most people that see the inside of this office, don't live to tell the tales.
So here I am, sitting on a kindergarden plastic chair, using every once of mental aptitude not to piss myself while waiting for the Joker, bossman, Mista' J as *she* always calls him. The office is deemly lit, the walls are decorated with severed clown heads mounted on little bats bodies. Bloody weapons are everywhere, not modern weapons mind you, mostly swords and medieval stuff.
The bossman enters, his presence is scaring me to my very core. Every muscle in my body screams at me to run away but I can't flinch a single inch. He sits in the chair across from the desk and looks up at me.
>So... Xandar is it?
>>Huh.... yes sir.
>What kind of name is Xandar anyway, I mean I flipped trough most of the phonebook, well actually I killed trough most of the phonebook but I never saw that name before.
>>Huh.. It's polish, sir.
>Polish eh? Oh well... you live with the cards you're dealt.
...
>Now, Xandar, you seem like a nice enough fellow but I'll be honest, I don't think I ever saw you before in my life. I mean for all I know you could be an undercover copper!
>>No sir, absolutly not. I assure you. I've been a loyal henchman of yours for a year now. Miss Quinn recruited a bunch of us during her last stay in Arkham.
>Harley did that? I always knew the gal had a few lose screws. Oh Well, we like lose screws around here right Xandar?
>>Yes sir.
>You didn't make any advance toward my Harley now did you Xandar my boy ? I mean, she can be quite the seductress and I'm not one to share my toys, you understand ?
>>Yes sir, I mean no sir, I would never think about doing something like this. I swear.
>Right.... Anyway! We are here for your mandatory one year performance review. Funny thing, you know it's actually the first time I have to do a one year review ? You people usually disappear a lot sooner.
>>Yes sir, we usually do... hehe.
>Well.... at least you're honest. I don't trust honest people Xandar, they tend to develop morals and such. Are you really honest Xandar ?
>>Well... I am when I say that I'm entirely loyal to you sir but I'm a thief at heart.
>A thief!
The Joker jumps out his chair and knocks me to the ground, placing a giant knife to my throat.
>Would you steel from me Xandar ? Would you take what is mine ? I don't take kindly to thievery Xandar and my henchmen should do well to remember it.
>>No sir, I mean yes sir I know it, we all know it. I would never even think to steal from you sir.
Satisfied, the Joker gets back into his chair and opens a folder that was sitting on his desk.
>Now, Xandar according to your employee file, you've participated in over 25 heists, have gone up against the Bat about 6 times, suffered 3 broken jaws, 2 dislocated shoulders, 8 broken ribs and a broken femur. Careful boy, those hospital guys are bigger thieves than me!
>>Yes sir, good thing we have good insurance, hehe.
>We have insurance ? Really ? Why did nobody tell me this before!
The Joker pops his head trough the office window
>Hey Harley, we have insurance on these guys ?
>>>Of course we do Mista' J, Bat breaks them often so we need to repair them better
>Why didn't you tell me this sooner your harlot brain ?
>>>It was your idea Mista' J.
>Really ? In that case it's a great idea
...
>Now, where was I ?
>>Huh... Insurance sir.
>Oh right, insurance, well that will not do. We'll have to do something about that. I guess I should read your contracts more closely. I'd ask the lawman who wrote them up but I slit his throat last month. Oh well.. What else is in there Xandar ?
>>You mean in our contracts ? It's pretty generic sir, health plan, division of loot, yearly performance reviews, annual bonuses,...
>Wait wait WAIT.... annual bonuses ? That will certainly not work. Did I really put that in there ? Huh... I most have thought that nobody would ever live that long. I mean most henchmen die within the first month. Except cowards... you're not a coward are you Xandar?
>>No sir, absolutly not, like my file says, I went up against the Bat a few times. Came out bruised. I'm not a coward.
>Good.... Because you know what we do to cowards around here.
>>Yes sir, I do. It was made quite clear on my first day sir. I still have nightmares about that day sir.
>Good... Now Xandar, you seem like a good-enough fellow, you do good in heists, you fight... well-enough....I guess and you seem loyal. Overall I would give your evaluation a solid 8/10. Good work.
>> Thank you sir.
>However... I can't have people holding off as long as you have, it's bad more morale.
>>Bad for morale sir ?
>Yes, you see my henchmen are supposed to be disposable, replaceable, it keeps them on their toe. If word gets out that you can actually survive that long, people will start to get silly survival ideas, they'll be less agressive, more cautious, cowards. Like I said, it's all bad for morale.
>>I don't understand sir, are you firing me ?
>No....no no no no. No such things. You're a valued employee Xandar, I can't just fire you and watch such a useful ressource go to work for the Penguin or Harvey Two-face... Fear and loyalty must be rewarded and punish.
>>I don't understand sir, I though...
I never finished my sentence, never saw the gun either, must have been hidden under the desk. All I felt was the pain in my gut. I looked down to see my bloody hands holding up my entrails, then nothing.
>Sorry about the mess Xandar, you seemed like a nice enough fellow but I can't have my men become weak by idiolizing survivors and old-timers, it's bad for business. And yearly bonuses? Hah! I'll have to find a new lawyer to redraft those employee contracts right away. Harley! Clean up in my office, now!
| 2016-11-21T09:34:58 | 2016-11-21T06:51:31 | 21 | 12 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
It's gotta be....
It's a vampire.
I looked right into the eyes of the 4 digit freaked, took a step back into the doorway and said
"You, you are not allowed inside this building, or my home."
He said something quietly to his friends and they started calling me names but I didn't care.
A week later I thought it was a bad dream, something that didn't happen, I didn't want to think of it.
A month later I was convinced it was a dream.
Four years later I saw the same man when I left a bar on a Saturday night.
That was 68 years ago, my number just hit triple digits.
|
"DAD!" I shouted, as I slammed the front door to the house behind me. I was in a state of near panic, frantically trying to take my dress shoes off, as I shouted for him again, "DAD!"
I heard noise from the living room, the springs of my Dad's favourite chair protesting like they always did, from age and use, as he stood and called back, "Trent? What's the matter?"
Relief washed over me at the sound of his voice, and I managed to finish ripping off my shoes. Unable to form any words, I simply rushed down the short hallway, to where he was coming into the other end, and threw my arms around him. The weight of my rail-thin 13-year-old frame barely moved him, and after a split-second of surprise, he wrapped his arms around me. Dad was the only one I could talk to about this. He was the only one who knew about my power, the only one I dared trust.
Despite being dripping with sweat, I was shivering, but after a couple of moments in the comfort of my father's arms, I was able to draw a ragged, deep breath and center myself. I eased off the death-grip I had around my Dad's ribs, and backed up a half-step. He moved his hands to my shoulders as I backed away, looking worriedly at my face.
"What's going on buddy?" He asked.
"I... ju... th...," I stumbled over my words, and took another calming breath. "I was working at the dance, for the golf club, like we had talked about, as the entry-man." The school loved their 'clubs', and loved using them for 'volunteers' for events like this. I honestly hadn't minded this one. It was far better than the Halloween clean-up crew 'volunteers', or the 'stack 200 chairs the morning after a meeting in the gym' jobs. I had even joked with Dad about this being good 'bouncer' training for when I was older.
I'd make a perfect bouncer, you see, because of my gift. I can read people's age, can see it just over people's heads, almost like a digital clock. I learned young not to talk about it, learned that it wasn't 'normal', but I was fine with that. Only 3 people in the world have ever known about it. Myself, Dad, and Mom while she was still alive.
Dad nodded for me to continue, as I searched for the right words, "We were set up at a table by the fire exit to the gym. I was checking school IDs, and Nick was stamping hands, and it was really cool, and it was a good time. Most of the kids from the school were already inside when Vincent Holst showed up with Daisy Redden."
Daisy Redden was *the* hottest, smartest, most sought-after girl in our Junior High. I had a crush on her, and my dad knew that, but *everyone* had a crush on her. The Holst family was fairly enigmatic in our town. Vincent, like his parents, didn't socialize much.
I had paused for a second as the memory of their arrival came back to me, fresh again. Dad prompted me, "Is that what has you upset, Trent? A date?"
I shook my head, freeing myself of the image, and refocused on my Dad's face, "Wha..? No, no, not that at all. Dad, Vincent was dropped off by his parents. They came over to the table to pay for the entry fee. That.... that's when I saw their numbers." I began to shake again slightly.
"Why does that have you so worked up?"
I tried to keep a steady voice, but it cracked and broke as my throat ran dry, "Because his Dad's number was Eight Hundred Ninety-two, and his Mom's was.... was... One thousand Two Hun..Hundred and Forty-Fi..Forty-Five."
I'm not sure entirely what convinced him of my sincerity that night, but he stood there and just looked at me for a while before he spoke.
"Pack a bag."
| 2021-11-13T01:48:11 | 2017-09-02T00:12:30 | 585 | 14 |
[WP] Your ability to see people's age in years as an invisible number above their heads has made you the perfect bouncer. One day you see a four digit number.
|
I stood outside the bar, hearing laughter and chatting from the warm interior. I looked down the line of people waiting for entry and started looking down the line muttering under my breath, "Twenty-two, twenty-five, Thirty, Twenty-nine, and... a twenty year old."
I sighed and I could see my breath within the cold night air. "Alright guys!" I gestured to the front of the line, "Come on in!" As the first four passed me, I held up my hand to block the entrance for the twenty year old, a tall black-haired boy who *might* have been able to enter as he looked to be at least twenty-three to any other outside viewer. Unluckily for him however, I have an exceptionally rare ability to see the age of any individual floating above their heads.
The boy looked at me confidently and smiled, "Is there a problem, sir?"
"May I see your ID please?"
The boy looked surprised and took out his wallet. "Alright, just give me a second here...". The boy gave an elaborate shuffling through his wallet for a good thirty seconds before he finally said, "I think I might have left my ID at home or something. Can you make an exception please? My friends drove me and one of them just went in, I mean we are literally the same age. Just ask him!"
I nudged him out of the line and said, "Sorry kid, no ID no entry."
The boy's previous friendly face slowly contorted into one of utter anger. He looked as if he were going to punch me until he stopped himself. Still clenching his fist with knuckles pale as ice, he stormed off without saying another word.
I sighed and looked at the next one in line. He looks definitely like a kid. I'd guess... ten years old. I used my ability and his age appeared above him displaying... **FOUR DIGITS**. WHAT PERSON IS 7300 YEARS OLD? He looks like a kid too!
He had auburn hair and was looking at me with wide eyes. I quickly blinked a few times to mask my loss of composure. "Uh... So, how old are you?"
The boy gave a huge grin and yelled in an ear-piercing voice, "Seven, three, zero, zero years old!"
I raised an eyebrow and knelt down. In a soft voice I asked, "Are you lost kid? Where's your mom?"
The boy scowled and yelled even louder in a tantrum impatiently, "I am **seven, three, zero, zero years old!**"
There is no way this kid is immortal or something. As far as I know, immortality and reincarnation or anything of the sort is nonexistent. I quickly pat his head gently and said, "Let's go find your mom, okay?"
The kid started sniffling and pointed inside the bar, "But my mom is inside!" I gently grabbed the kid's hand and guided him inside with me saying, "Come on kid. I'll find your mother."
We walked inside the bar with lots of people chattering and hearing the clinks of wine glasses. I grabbed the kid and held him up by the shoulders. I said in a loud booming voice, "WHOSE KID IS THIS?"
A thirty one year old whom I assumed to be the mother quickly ran to the kid and hugged him closely saying, "I am so, so sorry Alan. I thought you were asleep!"
I shook my head, "Listen, next time. Watch him closely and don't leave him alone by himself. *Ever*."
She glanced at me and softly said, "Alright."
I put a hand on the kid's shoulder and glanced at the mother, "By the way, how old is he anyways?"
The mother sniffled and wiped her tears with the sleeve of her shirt. She said, "He's only ten years old."
"Then why does he call himself a 7300 year old?"
The mother gave a hint of a smile, "It's just his way of adding up to 10 years old. The two extra zeroes are just to make him seem smarter with math." She ruffled Alan's hair, "Aren't you smart?"
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|
I've always seen them. The numbers. It took me a long time to figure out what they were, and longer still to learn to pretend they weren't there.
My family took me to a psychologist when I was young, he thought they were a visual hallucination. None of the pills he proscribed me worked, but I pretended they did at the last batch. I didn't want them trying surgery.
It wasn't long after I left school that I realised I could use this... talent... to be the perfect bouncer. I did pretty well for myself, ended up working the door of one of the bigger clubs in the city.
That is why, late on a Friday night, I was winnowing through the line queuing up outside the club. The lights from the club over the street were bright and strobing, the music pounded through the air mixing with the shouts and laughter from the crowds stumbling and weaving their way between each raucous island of light and noise.
I almost missed it, distracted by two drunks arguing across the street. A flash of an impossible number. My eyes must have been playing tricks, mixing two numbers from people stood close together. Surely.
Then suddenly, there she was. She was stood in front of me, ID in hand. She had a nervous smile, her eyes were a pale green and her skin was almost luminous and smooth, pale as alabaster. Long hair tumbled about her shoulders, down her back. It was gold and yet it seemed like shimmers of silver cascaded through it when it caught the light.
Above her head, impossible, floated the number 1391.
I stared. Had I finally jumped off the deep end? Had I burst a blood vessel in my brain and my ability was going screwy?
"Um... hello? Could I... um... go inside? Please?" Her voice was soft, she had an accent I couldn't quite place, melodic like singing.
I startled out of my reverie and took her ID, "Sorry," I mumbled, examining the plastic card, checking it against our registry. It was real. Tara White, aged 24. But I had never been wrong before. What the hell was going on?
I handed the card back to her, "You can go in," I said stiffly. I couldn't bring her up on it. The ID seemed real and I couldn't hold up the line. Besides, what would it look like if I started asking if she was over a thousand years old? It was preposterous.
The impossible girl gave a bright smile, "Thank you!" She vanished into the club and was gone.
I was preoccupied for the rest of the night, it made it hard to concentrate on my job. Thoughts of the mysterious girl whirled through my head. Who was she? What was she?
I did not see her again until the club wound down and emptied in the early hours, and in the flood of people leaving I did not realise she had passed me until I saw a flash of silver-gold rounding the corner. By the time I reached the next street she was gone. My heart fell. I'd lost her, my only chance at finding out about that damn number, gone.
I was despondent the next day, I'd blown it. I'd never see her again. By the time midnight rolled around on Saturday I had managed to convince myself it was a fluke. I must have imagined that number... even if I knew in my heart that I had not. Still, it was the only way I could put the mystery out of my mind and I had almost succeeded when I caught those shy green eyes again in the queue.
I looked up sharply, and sure enough the 1391 floated above her head mockingly. Beside her was a tall man, probably pushing seven feet. He had shoulders broad enough to make Atlas envious and his skin was as dark as her's was pale. He caught my eyes and the blood drained out of me. Terror, deep and primal washed through me. I felt like a gazelle staring into the eyes of a lion. For all those brown eyes were soft, they were deep and dark and I felt like I was drowning.
He held out his ID, said nothing. Every motion was measured and precise, he moved not an inch more than he needed and there was a terrible fluidity about it. An effortless, predatory grace.
It was only then that I realised what number was above his head and a new terror filled me, my limbs trembled and my heart seized in my chest.
12,150.
I swallowed hard, fumbled for the ID. It too was real. He was Alexander Roberts, aged 28. I handed it back, gestured for them to go in. I could not trust my tongue.
The man gave a thin smile and ushered Tara inside. When they were gone it was like a heavy weight had left me and I gulped for breath. My hands shook.
I took my break early and rushed to the staff bathroom, I splashed cold water onto my face. The shock of it helped but my hands were still trembling. I felt nauseous. Why had that man had such an effect on me? Who the hell *were* they?
Thankfully I did not encounter the terrible man and the shy girl again that night, but over the next few weeks Tara became a regular. She would always come on the weekends, sometimes with her terrifying companion and sometimes alone. I quickly noticed that she was always sober when I saw her, no matter how late she had stayed at the club. She never seemed to leave with anyone, though she seemed to often get hit on in the queue and probably more often still at the bar itself. She always deflected these advances... at least the ones she noticed. A lot of the time she seemed to not realise she was being flirted with at all.
She was always quick to smile, there was a shy earnestness about her and an almost frightening amount of curiosity. It made me wonder just how she was related to Alexander. The man still made me uneasy even if the terror of him had lessened.
I waited until Tara came without her protector, as I had come to think of him. It was a Sunday night, the air was getting colder and the crowds a little thinner. She left the club early today and before she could vanish like she always did I called out to her, "Tara, I need to speak with you a moment. It is about your ID."
She turned, confused, "Is there something wrong?"
"Your ID is fake, isn't it? You aren't 24. I can see people's ages. I know you are much older than that. You're nearly 1400, aren't you?" I watched her eyes widen slightly.
"Th-that is ridiculous, of course I'm not! No one lives that long," she protested, pulling away from me.
"I have never been wrong before. What are you? Who are you?"
She looked around nervously as the crowds of drunks still wending their way to the last embers of revelry still smouldering in the early hours, "Not here. Come with me, and I will explain. I can't risk someone overhearing," she turned from me and gestured for me to follow.
I had little choice. I had to know who she was, how she could be so old. I followed, and soon we were lost in the crowds.
Whatever explanations my feverish imagination had come up with in the past few weeks, they paled to nothing in the light of the truth.
**EDIT**
Apologies if there are any spelling mistakes or nonsensical sections. I wrote this on my phone and it has started to shove words I already did into the middle or end of sentences once I complete them. Such as turning "paled to nothing" into "patheyd nothing" or such.
**EDIT 2**
Part 2 in replies
| 2018-02-12T22:42:59 | 2017-09-01T23:57:33 | 223 | 23 |
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