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[WP] A friendship between a time traveler and an immortal. Wherever the time traveler ends up, the immortal is there to catch him up to speed.
|
When I saw those blue eyes I knew it was her.
I remember how those gentle they twinkled when we saw the construction of the Coliseum together.
How she cried when the Library of Alexandria was burnt down, knowing she couldn't save that knowledge to keep the timeline stable.
The sheer curiosity and joy she felt when she discovered my immortality. To think something I always considered a curse would allow me to experience such a moments of happiness. It was adorable to watch her nod as I filled her in the history for our current meeting point.
A one too many faux pass will teach you that lesson, least you want to end up Babylonian jail cell again.
All those events we saw together have a special place in my heart. The fall of the Wall of Berlin. The first moon landing. The Crucifixion. We were together through so much. Sharing those memories with someone is what made this unending existence bearable. Knowing that every milestone, someone would be there with me.
That kiss she stole from me in the Epsilon Eridani colony will always be my favorite.
I control myself not to cry as I recall her last breath as we rested underneath that simple tree in Ancient Mesopotamia, enjoying a simple day forgotten to time.
As I held her I couldn't help the smile I got, knowing how much this girl would do. It's only fitting I supposed. I was there at the end of her life and now I get to be at the start.
It will be fun anecdote to tell next time I see her.
"Congratulations, Ma'am. Is a girl."
|
The field coil blew out with an audible *pop* around 8,055 CE. The world snapped into view, and I emerged from the twilit void of Ur-travel blinking and disoriented.
At least the air was breathable. In fact, it was beautiful here, trees stretching off into a valley ahead; rainclouds off in the distance, rolling away. The air smelled like spring.
My chronometer was completely useless. It would take until nightfall to realign with the celestial sphere, provided the sun still set as usual. The last time I touched down there was some sort of geoengineering project screwing with the insolation, so I had packed up and moved on in hopes of getting my bearings back.
Looking east, I spotted a telltale sign of habitation on the side of the valley: a straight line, most likely a wall or road embankment. Gathering up the remains of my generator into my knapsack, I began the hike to see who still lived here.
Within a mile the trees thinned out and my destination was clear. Ruins, big ones, at the same location as the old monastery. With luck, I'd have shelter for the night.
Hiking into the clearing surrounding the crumbling walls, I saw clear signs of humanity. Bowls, jars, upturned logs hollowed out; rain catchment. Good. I wouldn't need the power-hungry little condenser I'd squirreled away. Radiation was probably almost nil, too, if the water was drinkable.
Making my way to the rough arch of the old gatehouse, I nearly tripped as I heard a slight cough from behind me. Whirling, I saw a wizened old man staring curiously at me, clutching a graying wooden staff and clothed in a rough cape and sun-browned skin. His expression was sharp, guarded; he shaded his eyes with a gnarled hand and squinted at me.
"Do you live here? Someone I used to know did," I asked, but even as I began to speak he shook his head, mouth turned down in disappointment. He tapped his throat, then met my gaze as he shook his head deliberately. Ah, no talking. Gotcha.
I opened my hands and spread my arms: no weapons. After a minute of contemplation the old man nodded and began shambling toward the ruins, beckoning with his free hand.
As he led me through the overgrown stone arches and walls, my suspicions were confirmed. This was Sven's place, alright; there was the old pavilion where he'd anoint the new supplicants; to the side were the tiny rooms where Searchers slept, resting from their biomedical quest for inner peace. Beyond were the rusting metal walls of the labs, empty of the machinery that once hummed in secret. The old man moved slowly, but he knew every step, stepping surely over tussocks of field grass and tangled roots my feet managed to stumble on.
At the covered, mossy arch of the old chapel door he paused, looking back at me, giving me a thorough once-over. He nodded shortly, grunting, and pulled back the twisted cloth hung from the pillars to either side. He waved me in.
Blinking in the cool dimness, I saw a household that wouldn't look out of place an eon ago. Unglazed pottery lined the walls, bundles of plants tied to vines hanging from the hewn stone. A low pile of coals smoldered in a pit where the old lectern had been, pews long gone. A shapeless mass of straw and animal skins made for a bed in the far corner. The old man looked around, searching for something, and then grunted in satisfaction as he hobbled to a rough table.
He turned and handed me a small stick; a twig, really. Deliberately he held up his hand, rubbing forefingers and thumb together, glancing at the twig. *More*. I nodded, looking him in the eye, and he gestured in an offhand way at the arch, outside. *Back out*, I suppose. I left him in his little stone cave, and headed for the woods for more kindling.
It was nearly nightfall when I finished, an armload of twigs from the forest floor in tow. The old man had been busy; a new fire burned in the pavilion's fire pit, streaming sparks and smoke into the sky. A spit rested nearby, tiny carcasses skewered neatly on top. Rats, most likely, but maybe cuy or one of the mod-species of rabbit that used to tunnel in these hills. Either way I wasn't complaining if he wanted to share.
He nodded in satisfaction as I dumped the twigs in a pile by the worn stone bench adjacent the fire. He sat, and began to pick them up, one by one, breaking off bits here and there, sizing them evenly. Eventually he looked up from his task, eying me as I busied myself with realigning transformer guts and rewiring the field coil. He stretched, yawning, and poked at the sizzling little creatures on the fire, pulling one off the makeshift spit and offering it to me. I nodded in thanks, blowing on the hot meat and brushing off char. It wasn't bad, a little gamey maybe. He seemed healthy enough; I wasn't worried what exactly I was eating.
As we reached the bone-gnawing end of our meal, he belched noisily and tossed the remains into the dark. Wiping his hands, he looked at me significantly and reached for the twigs he had set aside. Carefully he sorted them; three small piles on the smooth stone bench. He looked at me, imploring, and held up one twig. Tapping his chest, then the twig, he raised his eyebrows. Gesturing to me, he tapped the twig again, and another eyebrow raise. *Us, get it?* I nodded on agreement. He gestured at the piles, then flung his hands out as if to encompass the ruins, the valley, the world. *Everyone*. I nodded again. He took his twig, setting it aside, and picked up two more, one each from the two nearest piles. Holding them in front of his face, he pressed them together in an X, rubbing them together furiously. Pressing hard, they both snapped, and he held them out again, broken and dangling. *Conflict*. He threw them to the ground, suddenly vicious, and grabbed the two piles, smashing them together as they splintered and broke apart. Suddenly he threw them into the fire where the green wood hissed and spit, crackling. Chest heaving with exertion, he stared at me darkly. *War*. After a moment, he took the third pile, and, one by one, getting faster with each, he began heaving the sticks into the dark space beyond the pavilion wall, finally jumping to his feet and flinging the remainder all at once. Wheezing gently, he stared off into the blackness of the forest.
Turning to me, I noticed a tear rolling down his ancient face. With a quivering hand, he pointed up, up into the night sky. I followed his bony hand to see the moon; even though it was waxing I could see the bright rings and sparkling points shimmering across the surface. Dropping his hand, he looked at me tearfully. He held up the lone remaining twig, tapping his chest again slowly.
*Alone*.
Standing, I reached out to him, taking his shaking hand. Tapping his chest, then mine, I pointed to the sky, circling the moon, clasping his palm tightly. Staring into his eyes I implied the invitation: *come with me?*
Longingly, he gazed at me, before dropping my hand, turning back to the fire. Hunching, he sat, looking vacantly at the flames.
| 2016-11-10T17:10:08 | 2016-11-10T16:49:49 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] As a higher reaper, you ferry the souls of the great artists from this life to the next. You grant them one final gift during their journey by showing them the future, and allowing them to experience a modern day art exhibition/concert which honors their genius.
|
"Hello, old friend."
The writer rose from his deathbed. A sorry sight, he thought. A real wizard should've known, he mused with a chuckle.
The cloaked skull looked down onto him.
ＨＥＬＬＯ, ＳＩＲ ＴＥＲＲＹ.
"So. Was I right then? What comes now?"
Ｉ ＣＯＵＬＤ ＳＨＯＷ ＹＯＵ ＷＨＡＴ ＤＯＥＳ.
"Let's get on with it then. Not like we have an eternity to spare."
He smiled as Death turned to the stopped hourglass. With a pop, the lid was off - and the glass passed onto him.
"... Really? She did that?"
ＡＮＤ ＩＳ ＳＨＯＷＩＮＧ ＰＲＯＭＩＳＥ.
"Apple doesn't fall far from the tree, then."
ＷＨＥＮＥＶＥＲ ＹＯＵ'ＲＥ ＲＥＡＤＹ.
They sat there for a time immeasurable, watching those who would come after.
And then it was time to go.
|
I laid in bed staring at the ceiling. I felt my wife stirring in bed beside me and knew it was probably only minutes before the alarm went off. I reached across the bed and laid my hand on her hip. She responded as she always did, rolling over rest her head on my chest, her warm breath traipsing across my skin, raising gooseflesh in its wake.
"Can't sleep again?" she murmured lightly.
"Nope."
"Thinking about work again?" She half spoke, half yawned.
"Yep."
"Still regret taking that promotion?" I bristled at the notion, or perhaps her quite casual tone of voice.
"I don't regret the promotion!" I sounded like a petulant toddler, even in my own head.
"Yes, you do." She stated, matter-of-factly. With that she rolled out of bed, letting the sateen sheet slide to the floor. Any other morning I'd have voraciously watched her slender figure glide across the bedroom and into the closet, biting back the carnal inclination to demand she return to our bed. Today I was defensive and cranky and refused myself the indulgence. I did not regret the promotion. Not all the way, at least.
When Daniel and Gideon had first mentioned there was a high reaper position coming available and suggested I should throw my name in the hat, I was over the moon. High reaper positions take eons to vacate. Once a guy is in there, he is in there for the long haul. The job security alone was enough to make any self-respecting being salivate.
And on paper, the work itself was leaps and bounds more desirable. This particular position coming available was tied to the Muse Division. My trips down the river would be lit by lives of those touched and guided by the Muses. I'd be ferrying artists, musicians, performers, dancers, athletes; the inspired and the inspiring. I'd spend my days watching the lifes' legacies of a hundred thousand creators of beauty dance across the shores of the Styx. No more crying children begging to be returned to their mothers. Even better, no more young mothers begging to kiss their babies just once more. No more drunk drivers puking their guts out on my mats. No more shoulda, coulda, woulda songs sung by bitter old men who felt their lives had been wasted.
The whole thing just sounded glorious. I enthusiastically applied, passed my after-life guidance practicals with flying colors (unprecedented scoring for a high reaper, they said), crossed all my T's and dotted all my I's. The position was mine from the first stroke of the pen on the promotion application.
Flash forward six months and as much as I would never admit it to my wife, the job wasn't quite what I was expecting. It was still better than dead babies and miserly regrets but those perks were very nearly outweighed by the detractors because, son of a bitch, artists are whiny fucking bastards.
If one more artist demands I turn the boat around because, and I quote, "Those uncultured swine hung it upside down!" or "OHMIGOD that was never supposed to see the light of day!" I may dump them overboard and claim they lept into the river and were dragged down to purgatory before I could stop them.
As a reaper, most of the souls I ferried barely spoke to me. Most were engrossed in the action on the shore. Occasionally one would speak ***at*** me, but never ***to*** me - the difference is subtle but I'd never understood it until I began working with Muse-touched souls. These fucking creatures will want to have a full-on, no-holds-barred, philosophical debate with me right there on the boat.
What does death mean? Are you Death or just an element of the construct?
Is this really what it looks like or is this still just in my head? Am I still creating all of this?
Why are you compelled to guide me? What makes you choose this?
Question after question, gripe after gripe; so few of them ever paid any attention at all to the shores. Death's final gift to every living creature is to allow them to observe their impact, the impression their living left on the world. Artists of any variety almost never just sat and watched - they critiqued, they bitched, the moaned, they pestered me for details on how and why those parts of their lives were lauded and not others.
Shortly after the promotion had become official, I'd been told by one of the folks in the Muse department that artists were some of the trickiest souls to touch. The very elements of creative drive that made them so brilliant also meant that they felt everything much more strongly. Passion burned hotter, Humor peeled brighter, but Agony also dug deeper, Sorrow bit harder and Pain settled heavier. This intenseness with which the Muse-touched felt all things meant that they were constantly in motion, flitting from one thing to another, erratic and unpredicatable, lest any one feeling drag them down past the point of functioning. In order to touch their souls, you had to catch the fuckers first.
This rang true even in death. In my eons as a reaper I only had to save one soul from the river - a middle-aged father who had accidentally killed his entire family when he fell asleep at the wheel. And I'd never lost one to purgatory.
In my six months as a high reaper, I'd had to fish at least six painters, one dancer and a footballer from the depths. And I very nearly lost the footballer. They don't sit still. The footballer, uncharacteristically had been watching the shores, enthusiastically play calling his greatest moments, but he was jumping from one side of my boat to the other so rapidly, we nearly capsized and he bloody well pitched himself out of it in the passion of it all.
It had been six months and I very much wanted to return to just being a plain, boring reaper. I was still stewing in bed when my wife returned, this time clothed for work, her make-up applied just so. Sitting on the edge of the mattress, she leaned over slip her shoes on, speaking as she did so;
"You'll get used to it. There's nothing to regret. Remember your first century as a reaper? It's just an adjustment period."
"I am used to it. And I don't regret the promotion." She turned her face to me, her eyes dark and lips pursed.
"Gadriel, you can't lie to me. I'm a Grace...of Truth. Seriously, dude?" My lip instinctively jutted out further and I refused to make eye contact. I recognized that I was being immature but in that moment it didn't matter. If I admitted she was right, I was also going to have to stop fretting about it and start finding the silver lining. And I wasn't ready to stop fretting. I needed more fretting. My wife shook her head and stood abruptly, the mattress shuddering as her weight lifted off. "I love you, Gadriel, High Reaper of Souls, Guide to the Dead and Guardian of the Muse-Touched. I love you, but you're a stubborn dick this morning. Have a good day at work, sweetie."
She sauntered out of the room. As the door clicked closed behind her I called out "Love you!" I heard her hum her acknowledgment as her heels clicked down the hardwood.
| 2018-01-04T09:09:51 | 2018-01-04T08:43:15 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Magic is real. And it is terrible.
|
Much like we need oil for machines, the Magi need flesh.
The better condition the flesh is in, the stronger the spells are and the longer they last…
There weren’t that many casters at first, maybe 1 out of a million. However, they learned their craft, and they learned it well. They lived longer, became stronger and thought brighter. Once they found each other, it was over. What can we do against an elite force that can only be limited by its own imagination? And let me tell you, they have plenty of it.
Animals are strong flesh and they can endure a lot, but the real power comes from men. Their brains and bodies are durable and intelligent; their life span is long and consistent, and most important of all, their souls burn like a fuckin’ dream.
Once they gathered enough forces they discretely took over government positions and over time the coup went by uncontested. They set up everything to their favor, the police, the council... Shit runs how they want it and we can’t do anything about it. Forget about trying to kill one, they’ll dice you in a second and use you as fuel. The riots ended quick, they can do a lot more than we expected.
They try to keep it hush, but I know they have factories, if you know what I’m talking about you know it’s not good. Harvesting has started to become big.
Us regular flesh try to just live by without causing any trouble, we’re done fighting.
However, I wonder what how strong one could get it they harvest their fellow magi…
|
Incantation for a Spell of Levitation
Ingredients:
-Two frog legs, one each, from a male (right side) and female (left side) Mississippi gopher frog.
-0.8 grams of Scrapings taken using a 60%-silver 35%-iron 5%-zinc scalpel from the underside of a mature Indigo Milkcap.
-1/8 Cow tongue, from an Anatolian Black. Pieces from the front left portion give the best results.
-1.2 ounces of Gold, pure.
-Water, as clean as possible to get, but it really doesn’t matter.
Other Materials:
-Cast Iron Pot, properly seasoned
-Wooden Spoon, not made of Oak, Pine, or Bamboo
-Five Gemstones, each of a different variety. Only Emeralds need to be previously polished.
-Cooking Thermometer
Instructions:
Be sure before starting the process that the Moon is in a waning pattern, as has risen fully. To be sure of the exact status of the Moon, throw a thirteen-week old black cat into the air. If the cat fails to land on its feet, the Moon is in a proper position.
The cow tongue (raw) must be masticated for 40 minutes by the target of the levitation, though it may continue for as long as needed. Failure to properly mash the tongue in this time period will result in an incomplete incantation. If any of the tongue is swallowed at any point, it is recommended to immediately spray the area with a fine mist of garlic, and attempt the spell the following night. Once complete disintegration of the tongue has proceeded, spit the tongue into the cast iron pot.
Add water to cover, and then add an extra cup. Bring the mixture to 60ºC, and stir three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise. Wait two minutes, then repeat the stirring.
Add, in order, the male frog leg, the Indigo Milkcap scrapings, the Gold, and then the female frog leg. Stir three times clockwise, three times counter clockwise. Wait two minutes, then repeat the stirring. Bring to a boil, reduce heat and then simmer for two hours.
After two hours have passed, you need to rapidly cool the mixture, as it will only be applicable for 45 minutes. At the end of cooling, place the gemstone at the corners of a pentagram shape on the ground, with a space of thirty-six inches between each stone. If an Emerald is one of the gemstones, make sure that the Emerald is placed at the bottom right corner (If you fail to do this see page 168, “Incantation for a Spell of Leprosy”). To complete the pentagram, sprinkle the mixture using the spoon in between each corner, and to create the outer circle. Stand in the middle of the pentagram.
The mixture needs to be spread evenly over the skin of the target using the spoon. Once the hands have been covered, they may be used to evenly spread the mixture, but only the spoon may be used to remove more from the pot.
Have the target recite the words, in any language, “Be that as it may, I denounce the ground. She is a mistress that too long has bound me. I would be free.”
Pg.87 “Incantation for a Spell of Levitation”
Bob “FireStruck” Connor’s Easy Incantations
“. . . I would be free.” Brent finished saying, shining a golden pallor in moonlight entering through the open shades. The open book of magic fluttered slightly as the wind blew in to the 3rd story apartment. He felt himself rise off the ground. An inch. His cat Barnabus hissed at him from the top of the fridge. Brent had expected something more, but right now he had achieved it, magic, not illusion, but real genuine magic. Granted it had cost him an entire months salary, and he’d already swallowed about 6 parts of the cow tongue before getting it right, but he was levitating.
“I can fly!” Brent mused into the air. “I CAN FLY!” He pumped his hands in the air in celebration. “Alright, lets see what I can do. Lets fly around the neighborhood, show that asshole Steve that I’m not wasting my time.” Realizing he was naked, Brent decided the first course of action was to don some appropriate clothes.
Trying to walk out of the kitchen showed the first signs of trouble. His feet found no purchase on the ground. Each step he took, showed no further progress towards any direction. No displacement of balance, but he could not find the ground. Brent got on all fours and tried to crawl, but to no avail. His hands could not touch the ground either. “Shit.”
He eventually made it to his bedroom by grasping hold of furniture and pulling himself along. “Just something to get used to until I figure this out,” As panic crept into his voice he put on jeans and a t-shirt, forgoing the cape he had specifically bought for tonight. He pulled himself back into the living room, ignoring the puddle of spell lingering in the kitchen. Barnabus was equally disinterested in the puddle.
Just as he failed to descend, Brent found that he could also not elevate, he could not change his relation to the floor of his apartment at all. If he pulled himself up on his fridge, he would immediately drop to the original inch once he let go. He resorted to trying his will. He imagined floating higher, or sinking. He imagined that he was a Jedi, and that he was a master of the Force. Nothing worked. He stayed one inch above his apartment’s floor.
He decided to change floors. He exited the apartment, pulling at every free hand hold. Brent extended his arms across hallway, and propelled himself towards the stairs like he was sitting in a chair with wheels. “Ha, this could end up being fun.” He reached the stairs and tried to step down, immediately meeting the limits of his levitation, now six inches above the next step. He grasped the railing to pull forward and was soon floating several feet above the descending stairs. Managing to maneuver back to the hallway, he retreated to the apartment once again.
“Maybe I just need a bigger drop . . . Something to kick-start the levitation for real. He grasped for the open frame of the window and pulled himself outside, with just enough force that he lost his grip on the window frame and launched free of the building. Three stories up, and now stranded, levitating.”
Pg.88 “Incantation for a Spell of Levitation” cont.
Bob “FireStruck” Connor’s Easy Incantations
Warnings on this Spell
This incantation and the one for leprosy are surprisingly similar, and thus we recommend that an emerald be avoided for most uses of this spell. Again see page 168 if any signs of leprosy are noticed.
The spell lasts until the mixture has been removed from the body. The mixture is water soluble, and will easily be removed by showering or bathing. The mixture also serves as a severe anti-perspirant, so you don’t need to worry about sweating it off.
The spell works by forming a tacit agreement with the ground level of target located at the pentagram. Once the agreement has been spoken, the subject will levitate. Height of the levitation may be adjusted by using different parts of the cow tongue, and may also depend on the age of the cow. Different breeds of cow produce inconsistent and sometimes undesirable results.
As this spell only provides minimal benefit, and cannot be readily applied to inanimate objects for easy transportation (what inanimate object can masticate), we only recommended it be used for recreation enhanced by reduced friction. A shower should always nearby and in working condition.
| 2014-05-20T15:58:06 | 2014-05-20T15:24:32 | 17 | 10 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
"John?"
"Yes, Jenny?"
"Open the door."
"No. I heard the announcement."
"What ann- what are you talking about?"
I knew it. Playing dumb. That's exactly what these things do. Every time.
"I know what you are. You can't fool me!"
"John, for gods sake nothing is happening. Just unbolt the door."
"I saw the helicopters... I heard the explosions... you think you can fool me?"
The... creature... let out a sigh.
"It's just a standard military test John. You live near a military base."
John seems to put on a mocking tone.
"Oh sure! Isn't that convenient?"
A deeper, slower sigh is let out by the possible Jennifer.
"Yep. You got me John. I'm an alien now. I come in peace and I'm here to negotiate peace. Now let me in."
John seems to relax a bit.
"In... peace? Why would I be so important?"
The alien stubbled.
"Uhh, you represent the standard human civilian and we need your view for the galactic republic. I need to interview you."
John tenses up again, seeming more wound up than before.
""INTERVIEW"? I know how your "Interviews" work. I will NOT let you TEMPT ME!"
Sounds of John stomping come from behind the door.
"Damnit John just let me inside damnit! Why are you acting like this?"
Jenny hears a sigh come from the other side of the door.
"I'm sorry Jenny. I don't know what came over me. It's obviously you. I was just joking."
John chuckles
"Oh my god you asshole!"
Jenny starts laughing
"You really had me!"
Jenny hears the door unlock, and in victory she turns the doorknob to open her house door.
Only, the doorknob feels different. Cold, rectangular. With a loud bang, the doorknob fires.
"I knew that'd get your gaurd down. I am not falling for anything."
Jenny's crimson blood slowly pools out the side of her hip.
"W-why?"
A musical tone is heard from the TV.
"ATTENTION. THIS EMERGENCY BROADCAST TEST HAS CONCLUDED."
^(I don't do this often so I'd like some feedback, however negative)
|
"Baby? It's me, let me in," a soft sweet voice sputtered on the other end of the hallowed oak door.
"How do I know it's you? The Government just sent me a..." I sharply was responding.
"Message- yeah, I got one too. Just open the door, I have something to show you. Stop this silly government talk." The voice seemed to anger now, becoming stern.
"Okay sweetheart, but I can't see you. Are you blocking the peep hole?" I said while glancing with my face flat against the door. I was trying desperately to see even the softest shade of her sweet cheek.
Silence was all that remained. After a few seconds, I started again. "Honey?" My brain started to wander. It had only been two or three hours since I got this message. I did think it was a strange amount of time for my wife to be shopping for groceries. But why wasn't she answering her phone? Why did she take so long?
All that I emitted from the door was the lingering smell of my breakfast on my already staunch breath, reflecting back at me and hitting my olfactory sensors. I shuffled a tiny amount to try a different angle through the peep hole.
Instantly, the door was hit with a poignant blow. It was if the Incredible Hulk was on the other end- trying to hit a home run with my door. The door bounced a small amount and hit my head in a painful manner.
One thing was certain. This was not my wife. This was something else. Luckily for me, that designer oak door was making sure whatever that was on the other end didn't get in.
"Alright buddy," a male voice exclaimed in a calm, yet loud tone. "It seems we have ourselves at an impasse. We want to get in. You don't want us there. But we have your wife- and she sure is purrrrdy."
As whomever was on the other end of that door spoke their words, the hairs on my arms and neck began to stand. "Who are you, then?" I shouted while trying not to sound terrified, yet likely failing.
"Cmon pally, open up. She's got these sweet black stockings on, and I desperately want to find out if she's wearing these blueberry panties or not. But I don't have to. You can just swing this bad-boy open and get her back. Safe and sound. Or... you know... we can have our way with her."
I was paralyzed. It felt like minutes were going by, but it was probably only seconds. I kept trying to think of some type of anything... a plan... a response... a rationale as to what the hell is going on. Nothing. My brain refused to cooperate.
"BRIAN, DON'T!" My wife shouted.
"Baby? Don't what?" I responded.
"Well cupcake, that was stupid. Take her back to the truck and let Crusty Ted give 'er the French Tickler. As for Brian... we'll get inside soon enough." The voice on the other end spoke softly- and I'm certain I wasn't supposed to hear this. "Okay Brian. The wife is now off the negotiating table. Good news is, she doesn't have those blueberry panties I so badly wanted. Bad news is, we're coming in without her. Why don't you go fix yourself a meal. I'm 'bout to get one for myself- but we'll be in touch, BRIAN!"
Finally, my brain began to pick back up the thought pattern. With my wife's life in jeopardy, now was as good a time as ever. I covertly crept across my hardwood floor toward my gunsafe. I might not make it out of this one- but we're going to take as many of these bastards down with us as possible.
While arming myself I glanced at my muted television. The News was recommending everyone take shelter. Law enforcement would be unreachable. California, New York, Washington, and Florida all were hit. Mushroom clouds were juxtaposed against new World Trade Center.
I clenched the cold gunmetal of the barrel in my left hand as I flicked the safety off with my other. I always kept it loaded for an emergency. I guess this is it. I had a thought about how a gun would feel. Imagine being produced on a factory line somewhere. Assembled and sent to your new owner. You wait all day every day, and probably will never get to fully experience the dream of coming to their defense. But not today. Today, this gun gets to be happy. Today, it lives up to its dream. Today, it realizes its goals.
Unfortunately, I never shot a gun before. I knew how it worked, but I felt less than confident with the ensuing firefight. Every time I considered some other form of action I just kept thinking of whatever Crusty Ted might be doing to my wife. I don't have time to waste, and here I am thinking about what makes guns happy.
Three loud thuds interrupted my brief serenity. "Ohhhh Brian? My compliments to the chef. Your wife is exquisite. Don't worry, we didn't hurt her.... much... she's fine. Hell, she's more than fine. She's a gem. But Brian, we need to get in there."
I decided to check the peep hole again, and to my surprise- they had stopped blocking it. I could make out two figures- meaning they had a minimum of three.
SCHPAOW! The sharp sound of a rifle firing from the curbside began to pierce the heavy oak door I was behind.
"God damnit, I told ted NOT to end her. Well, fuck." The voice said.
Overcome with rage, I no longer felt the lack of a rationale brain. I just had instinct. Instinct telling me to kill. In one smooth motion I unlocked the deadbolt while trying to turn the knob with my pistol occupying my other hand. I admit, it wasn't the smoothest transition.
Upon swinging the door open, I was surprised. The leader was armed with a pipe of sorts, and his friend only seemed to have a knife. I remember feeling like I will make quick work of these two. I remember the stupid look on their face when I opened the door and they saw me produce my pistol and take aim. They just sat there, gawking- waiting for me to pull the trigger. It felt like the world was moving in slow motion.
I fired three shots into the subordinate- ensuring that he was ended. I changed stances to fire on the leader as he began to rush me.
Click.
A jam. My gun was jammed. My brain popped back into the picture saying only, "Well, this is going to suck." I remember the taste of blood feeling like a mix between metal and garlic in my mouth after being clubbed by that pipe. I also remember my vision being distorted from blood flowing into my eyes as I laid on the ground, looking up, blinking, waiting for my final moments on Earth to end.
"Well, Brian. Now, me and Ted get your house and we got your wife. You really messed up, didn't you? You could have just opened the damned door, but your stupid ass wanted to be a hero. Thanks for the good times, buddy."
The leader stretched out like a major league baseball hitter, getting ready to send one over the wall. He paused briefly, I assume to focus on finishing the job.
One more crisp bullet sound rung through the halls of my home, and the leader fell lifeless at my side.
I couldn't see the perpetrator, but I assumed there was a lot of chaos going on- probably a few groups vying for resources in this rough time. I heard the comfrting yet scary sound of my oak door close, and the deadbolt latch.
"Brian? Can you still hear me?" uttered the sweetest, softest, purest angel. "Brian? Are you there?"
I nodded and grunted; that was all I could seem to get out. Her soft hands cradled my head and her blouse wiped the blood from my eyes. I didn't know what our future held, but I knew we would be fine as I lost consciousness.
| 2019-01-12T08:39:18 | 2019-01-12T08:28:55 | 38 | 23 |
[WP] “I’ve always wondered, what’s the scythe for, anyway?” I asked, as Death escorted me to the Underworld. "Protection," he nervously replied.
Credit goes to: https://www.reddit.com/r/nosleep/comments/6imkuw/the_grim_reapers_scythe_isnt_to_harvest_you_its/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app
|
"So uh… how long until Hell?" We've been walking through a thick forest for what I'm guessing is hours.
"Unfortunate for you, child, we must pass three more of those what you called 'checkpoints'."
Death just looks straight ahead, holding his scythe more and more firm as we walk.
"Hey Mr. Death, sir. I'm just wondering, when you came for me, I thought that you'd chop my head off with your big scythe over there. But you didn't. Why'd you spare me?"
He stopped in his tracks.
"Spare you? My child, I don't use this scythe to punish. This scythe was given to me to protect those I guide, from… from those beings."
I looked around for some "beings" but I don't see anything!
"Mr. Death sir, what beings? We've been alone since you arrived at my house, well, if you count dead bodies then I guess we weren't?"
Death looks at me and waved his scythe above my head.
"Child, for you are pure and innocent, you cannot see the truth of which we walk through."
One. Two. Three.
After the third wave, shadows began to take form around us, the forest started to move and figures moved towards us, faster and faster, these ugly figures of men and women, tried to reach for me.
But, before they could touch me, their hands would burn and they'd run away from the pain.
"Dear child, you're not going to Hell. See those rotting souls trying to grab you? They're the ones who are going to hell, but as long as my scythe is with me, they cannot touch your pure soul. They are jealous of you, they are trying to taint you with their dirt."
Death then waved his scythe above me.
One. Two. Three.
The figures started to morph into the forest, they no longer ran towards us. "You've seen enough, child. You do not need to see more," we then continued to walk.
"We're going through Hell so that you could enter Heaven through the back door. You see, unfortunate children such as yourself have to appear in your parent's trial, to prove them worthy of hell, and to prove that you are innocent. Now," he gave me a handkerchief, "wipe the blood off your forehead, the bullet wound healed hours ago"
|
Death is confusing. Annoying.
Annoying and confusing. Also really dark. Not morbid dark, but night mode dark.
First beef: it's downright disorderly. You'd think they'd have nailed down the process by now, but the post-death user experience eats a bag of dicks. I know that's a bit crass, but it's abundantly clear the heaven/hell thing is total BS so I'm just gonna let it fly. Earmuffs for the kids.
Now, I want to get it straight that this isn't about bitterness. I don't got a problem with the fact I'm dead. I played a dangerous game and my number came up. Shit happens. Anyone who gets on one of those ride-share scooter things knows any day might be their last. My only regret was getting smoked by a Tesla -- half my money was in TSLA stock and I don't see a headline like "Autonomous Driving in Question After Local Kid Gets ABSOLUTELY DESTROYED by Model 3 on Autopilot" doing much for my portfolio.
Life is full of irony.
I'm pretty sure that isn't how you use that word but no one called Alanis out on that shit so whatever. What was her deal anyways? She was smokin' hot as God in that movie Dogma. I could totally go for a hot God. Way better curveball than what I'm dealing with now.
I'm losing the thread of the story here, but it isn't like I'm short on time. That's sort of the point. Elon Musk assassinates me and then I'm just sitting here in some weird black abyss. No escalator to heaven. No gateway to hell. Nothing. Zip. Nada. Guess someone forgot to boot up Afterlife.exe. Totally lame.
Even worse than rain on your wedding day.
I've got no idea how long I've been here. Day? Hour? Months?
This is torture. I'm a millennial without an internet connection. I can't even check Instagram to see how many likes my funeral announcement got.
Maybe this is hell. I don't even have my ADHD meds. Gonna be a LOOOOONNNGGGGG afterlife at this rate.
Do you think Alanis knew that nothing she was talking about in that song was ironic? Like, she was literally 0 for something like 50 in her examples. Totally dropped the ball. Wait...what if that's the irony? Did she just go META with it? Layers! So many layers. Mind blown. I can't even with this right now. Finally something worth tweeting about and here I am in this low rent, third tier afterlife.
S to the IGH.
I'll tell you this much, if I knew this was how it was going to go down, I would have done way more stuff at Burning Man. Orgy tent for sure. I also would have worn those assless chaps I'd brought but never got the courage to wear. *Carpe diem*. That's probably exactly what that ancient philosopher dude had in mind when he made that up. Assless chaps. The only way to seize the day. I should do marketing for them.
Oh, wait. Hold up. Someone is coming.
"Hey, over here!" Oh. Cool. He sees me. One sec. Gotta take care of this. Oh man, his fashion style is way off. It's like a black mumu or something. Or a bathrobe. Great, I've been stuck in the pitch black for who knows how long and the first thing I see is some guy that couldn't even bother to get dressed. What a disaster.
Oh snap, he's got a HUGE scythe. Like late game WoW raid dungeon loot drop or something. Plus ten to awesome. Guess I'd rock a mumu if I had something like that. Maybe. I'd probably still wear jeans. You know what? I think this dude is Death. I'll let you know when he gets a bit closer. He's got the hood up on his mumu.
Cool. He's almost here. "Sup man? You hear to explain what's up or what?" I call out a bit louder than I mean to, but I'm an eager little beaver for some company.
"Shhh..." He's got a boney hand. I mean, his hand is actual bones and he's all making the shh maneuver. Holy shirt balls, he's got a skull for a face. Or his skull doesn't have a face. The guy is like the skeleton I had in my 6th grade science class.
But with a mumu.
"Dude, don't shh me. I've been stuck here in midnight mode for like forever waiting on your boney ass." Just 'cause I'm dead doesn't mean I gotta take crap from some guy that can't even bother to show up on time.
"Silence, Departed." He hissed that last bit. Uh oh, his eyes are glowing red now. I mean where his eyes would normally be. The eye sockets are red glowy. I repeat, the eye sockets are red glowy. I decide to play it cool and go quiet mode, just in case he has laser beams or something.
Once he sees me shut my trap, he leans closer, "We must travel quickly. The passage is closing, the way may soon be lost." That made about as much sense as Bitcoin. I just give him a nod and two thumbs up. Pays to be positive when someone might have eye-socket-lasers. Just going with the flow. No one mind me.
He nods once and then turns away. He sort of floats rather than walks and I'm pulled along somehow. Can't really even say how I know I'm moving since everything is still all black. I guess maybe because his mumu is fluttering?
Some time passes. I won't bother filling you in on that part, it was mostly me wondering whether Death has a dick. That's me, your humble narrator, asking the tough questions. Well, I didn't actually ask him. If he doesn't have one, I bet it's a sore subject.
Anyways, some unit of abyss time went by. No idea how long since I don't have my phone still. Just watching Death float along in front of me with his huge loot drop wet dream scythe. That thing is gnarly. Probably over-compensating if ya know what I mean. It even gleams despite the fact there is like no light coming from anywhere here. Must have been a premium item. Can't get that on free-to-play.
"So, Deatherino (nicknames are fun), I've always wondered, what's the scythe for, anyway?"
The mumu stops fluttering. I think we're standing still. He's turning to look back at me now. The eye glow is back, but it's like pale blue or something. Not sure what that means. Maybe ice beams? I don't know why he'd need laser beams and ice beams, it seems unnecessary.
"Protection." He sounds nervous. That's sort of weird. What does a skeleton in a mumu got to fear? Broken bones? Calcium deficiency?
I lean forward, trying to make him feel a bit more comfortable, "Don't worry man, I won't attack you. You're my ride."
Oh shit. The eyes are flicking back to laser beam color. "Not you." Death sounds annoyed now.
I throw up my hands, letting him know I'm cool. "I know bro, that's what I just said. We're totally chill."
"Them," he says. Looking into the black. I'm seeing nothing.
"Who?"
"The abyss. The night spreaders," he whispered, his hands gripping the scythe.
"Yeah, well, I'm not looking to get spread tonight, naw'what'i'mean?" I wink at him.
"Departed, this is not a joke. They have swallowed much. Even the passage is under threat. We tread in the dark because the light has been stolen."
I nod along. Sounded like serious stuff. "That doesn't sound good."
Death regarded me quietly for a moment, the socket-glow gone. "It is not. I will save who I can, but soon the Departed will be lost, the way to the Underworld closed."
I wasn't sure what to make of that, but it looked like Death could use some commiseration. "Sucks." I wasn't sure what was so great about the Underworld, but it seemed like the right thing to say.
Death stared at me.
"I'm just saying it sounds bad dude." I shrug, "Like rain on your wedding day."
The red socket glow returned. Guess he wasn't much for irony.
**Platypus OUT.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
| 2019-07-15T02:38:05 | 2019-07-15T00:49:01 | 218 | 140 |
[WP] Your SO of 3 years tells you that he/she is Satan
Satan can either be a man or a woman
|
"Wait, so you're telling me the reason we have all these crazy, religious neighbors-"
"Exorcists," said Jane, "they are exorcists, Adam. And priests, paladins... those sort of people."
"Exorcists?"
"Exorcists."
"Right." I looked at my wife. "And these crazy, religious people-"
"Not crazy," corrected Jane, "just religious."
I ignored her comment. "-are here to spy on you because you're Satan?"
"Well, spying implies that they are trying to not be seen," said Jane. "It's more of monitoring with the occasional attempts of cleansing, purifying and other holy stuff."
"You're missing the point!" I exclaimed. "You're Satan!"
"I'm not missing the point!" She replied. "That's what I said!"
I flopped on to a chair as I looked at my wife. Her fairy red hair, her smooth, fair skin, her drop dead gorgeous figure, her amber eyes... How can she be Satan? I mean, just-
I paused my train of thought.
Wait, amber eyes?
"You don't own amber contacts, do you?" I looked at my wife.
"Everything about me is natural."
"Huh." Was my response. I guess normal woman don't have amber-
My train of thought was halted yet again.
"Dear, if what you say is true... shouldn't you be a he?"
"Technically, I'm more of an... it?" She saw the horror on my face. "Wait, let me finish. Since I'm supposed to bring out the twisted desires of humans, my image and appearance have been modeled after your desires."
I tried to let that sink in before replying her. "Doesn't... doesn't that mean you're perfect? At least to me, since you kind of answer to all of my desires."
She beamed at me, nodding her head in approval.
"I'm the luckiest man alive."
"And in death," grinned Jane. "You're pretty much stuck with me for eternity."
"Not complaining, Ms Satan." I hugged her.
"Call me Jane, Adam."
------------------------------------------------------------------------
"But why did you choose me though?" I asked.
"Remember the guy who was yelling at me when we first met?"
"The guy whom I saved you from? Yeah."
"He was God."
"Ah." I blinked. "Wait, what?"
"That's why you're so special Adam." Jane whispered into my ear. "You punched God in the face."
|
My first clue should have been her devil-girl fetish. She told me one night she wanted to try something different. We had been together for about a year at this point, and so while the sex was good, fantastic even, a little spice couldn’t hurt. I agreed, figuring that relationships are about compromise, so I might as well give in to some of her fantasies. She smiled, and went to the bathroom. Half an hour later, she came back out.
The petite young woman with pale skin and black hair had been completely transformed. Her entire body was a deep, blood red. She had horns, long black fingernails, and the most realistic prosthetic tail I had ever seen. It drug the ground behind her, but I’ll be damned if I could see how it attached. The sex that night was, well, astounding to put it mildly. I think we fucked three or four times before finally passing out around 3 am. It became a frequent occurrence.
After that, it was like our relationship was reborn. I think she actually began relaxing around me at that point, opening up really. She talked more freely, certain nuances of her personality became a little more pronounced, and I of course fell even more deeply in love.
It was true that she did have a serious wild streak, but it was always contained, almost methodical. She followed the rules, sure, but only when she knew there was no way to get around them. Even when she broke them, she did it in such a way that it was hard to prove her wrong. She wasn’t a klepto, or a serial assaulter, or anything like it. It was just little things, here and there, that clued me into her overall distaste for law and order.
My second clue should have been that she seemed to have an uncanny knowledge of people’s darker secrets. That one was the one that eventually clued me in to her secret. We were out one night drinking when a man and woman came in. The man looked like he had just left the office at the IT department, and the woman looked like she had just stepped out of a catalogue for Emo Weekly. She wore it well, but it was a little overdone.
Lucille, I call her Lucy, turned towards them, sized them up, and then went back to her drink. “She beats him.”
I nearly spat out my drink and looked over at Lucy who seemed to have this shocked expression on her face. I couldn’t tell if it was because of what she said, or something else, so I glanced at them again. They looked normal enough, and a long-sleeve shirt in September isn’t unusual. “How do you know that?”
Lucy’s eyes went wider then she turned to me, “I said that out loud?” I nodded. “Shit,” she added, “these martinis are going straight to my head.”
I gently reached over and took her arm, “What was that all about? Do you know that guy? I mean, you haven’t told me much about your past, and I haven’t pried, but—“
She waved her hands dismissively, “No, no, it’s nothing like that.” She glanced back over at them and eyed them some more, “It’s just their posture, the way they hold themselves. You can tell a lot about a person from little clues they give off.”
I laughed, realizing that a few of my beers had probably gone to my head as well, “Alright, Ms. Psychic, tell me something about someone else.”
She seemed to relax a little and turned back towards the rest of the bar. Her eyes flicked around for a moment before she settled on an older woman. She squinted momentarily and then said, “She skims funds off the non-profit she helps run. Never enough to get noticed, she is very careful, but just enough to allow her some small pleasure purchases.”
I looked at the woman and noticed that she wasn’t dressed in fancy clothes or wearing fancy jewelry. Hell, she was drinking a bud light at a bar specializing in their liquor selection. I glanced at Lucy and frowned, “You can tell all that from just a glance?”
Lucy nodded, and then nudged her head in the direction of a young man furiously scribbling away on a notepad in a far corner of the bar. He looked like he was attempting to study for test or something. I shrugged, and Lucy said, “He’s sleeping with his professor, his male professor, for better grades this semester. The professor’s wife knows but doesn’t care.”
I didn’t laugh at that one. Instead I looked hard at Lucy. “Are you making all this up? Because initially it sounded like a joke, but that one’s not very funny.”
Lucy frowned and turned back to her drink. She sat silently for a few minutes and I worried that I had offended her. She glanced quickly in my direction and sighed. “No, it isn’t very funny, but I can’t help it. I look at people and all I can see…” she trailed off.
I inched closer, “What do you mean ‘all I can see?’”
She hung her head, “It’s like a neon sign written above their head. John,” she hesitated, “John, I’ve been meaning to tell you all this, about how I’m very different. Initially you were a distraction, a play-thing, but…”
I felt my heart thumping hard in my chest. True, our relationship had started out as a drunken, sex-fueled whirlwind, but we had kept seeing each other. After about a year of ‘accidentally running into each other at the bar’ we had started dating. We were three years in at this point, and I thought at least most of our secrets were out. Apparently I was wrong.
“But what?” I nudged her gently, hoping to coax her into a confession.
I saw a tear slide down a cheek and she took another sip of her martini. “You never judged me, John,” she said quietly. “No matter what I did, you didn’t judge me, and I love you for it. You were either on board with the plan, or tried to gently explain why that was a bad decision. Not like you were talking to a child, but like you were talking to a foreigner who didn’t know the rules.” She sniffed, “No one has ever done that; treated me with respect despite my…urges.”
I sifted through her words and after a moment, arrived at what I felt was the issue. I slipped my arm into hers and stroked her cheek, “Lucy, honey, why do you think you don’t deserve respect?”
She laughed, a surprisingly dark laugh for a girl who normally looked so bright and cheerful. She downed the rest of her martini and slammed the glass onto the table. The glass shattered in her hand, causing the bartender to frown. I waved him over, slipped him some extra cash, and explained I would be taking her home soon. He continued to frown, but only tapped his watch and moved back down the bar.
Lucy kept her hand clenched for a moment then opened it and turned it towards me. Several sharp pieces of glass fell to the table as she held up her palm, and I saw it had not cut her. She gently put her palm back down on the table. “I’m not human.”
I took her gently in my arms, “Why would you say that?”
“Because I’m not,” she whispered. “I haven’t ever been human.”
I turned her face towards me and kissed her gently. “Honey,” I said, “I’ve never asked you about your past, but obviously you’ve been through some sh—“
“I’m the Devil,” she said, interrupting me. “Lucifer, Beelzebub, the Dark Lord, et cetera, et cetera.”
My mouth hung open as things slowly started clicking into place. So many of her antics, her unusual glances at people, her idle comments that I had dismissed, her unusual body heat, her invulnerability, and of course, her devil-girl fetish. I also realized that she had an uncanny ability to convince people of things. She was a very smooth talker, and only now did I realize that she never lied, she only manipulated the truth in her favor.
I slowly put my arms down and took her hands. Everything in the past 3 years of our relationship now made sense. I leaned in and whispered, “Your devil-girl getup, is that what you really look like?” She nodded. “Is it easier to relax in that form than this one?” She nodded again. I smiled, “Then when we get home, you can relax. You can really relax.” I kissed her gently, “I love you too.”
She laughed. I laughed. I took her home.
--------
[r/grenadiere42](http://www.reddit.com/r/grenadiere42)
| 2015-06-11T07:47:01 | 2015-06-11T06:54:09 | 48 | 30 |
[WP] Humans have always been the friendliest and the most peaceful species in the galaxy. When one of the most ruthless empires decides to wipe out the pathetic humans and their diplomacy, they discover that humans have something that no one in the galaxy has ever seen. Nuclear weapons.
|
Erryn relished the moment. There was something cathartic in holding between his tendrils the terms of surrender, in knowing that you hold the only hope for a dying race. In that moment, he held the power of life and death for the fifteen billion humans on the planet below, as well as the one who sat across the table from him now.
The two of them sat alone on a station that had been prepared exclusively for the purpose; only the two negotiators and the cameras that would broadcast the surrender to the Universe. Beside them, the wall was filled with a viewport that showed the surface of Earth spinning away from them, as well as the tremendous fleet that floated menacingly above.
The human negotiator took the treaty from Erryn and began to read. The terms were simple: humanity would submit to Tallnian authority in perpetuity, yielding all valuables within a solar cycle. It was a method that had worked for them many times before; all throughout the arm of the galaxy, Tallnian planets could be found, constructing the great fleets that would go on to expand the Empire.
The negotiator carefully placed the treaty on the table and sat back, his eyes closed. From his training, Eryn recognized this as defeat. The man who had been so pure in the House of Diplomacy, who had insisted that every conflict could be solved there even as the Tallnians slaughtered his people on the Plutonian Outpost, was silent.
Erryn placed a pen on the table. He took special pleasure in making the defeat feel as familiar as possible.
The negotiator sighed, then spoke. “I remember you from the House, Erryn. You always told me that war was beyond law. That the strong would rule, and the weak would deserve it.”
Erryn laughed. “And I was correct, so it would seem.”
The human leaned forward. “You said that peace was a weak race’s game, and that only a coward would waste his time with its rules.”
“I did.” Erryn was getting impatient now. “And I do not see how this exchange will benefit us.”
“I just wanted you to understand something, before this is all over.”
“Oh?”
“Rules are not for good races to make themselves feel better. Good races, ones that are truly altruistic, don’t need rules.” He took a deep breath. “Today, you’ll understand why humanity has so many.”
At that moment, a blinding light stabbed through the viewport. Erryn shielded his optic spots, surprised by the sudden brightness. He thought that their star would rise on the other side of the planet…
The light faded, and Erryn looked back outside. The Tallnian fleet was gone, replaced by a rapidly-expanding sphere of rubble. He fell back into his seat in shock.
The human was already on his feet, halfway to the hatch to his ship. He looked back at Erryn, the pain evident on his alien features. “I am so sorry that it came to this.” Then, a moment later, he was descending back to his planet.
Erryn sat there in shock. He hadn’t moved when, an hour later, a piece of the Tallnian flagship’s great cannon tore through the station, incinerating the treaty and the Tallnian who had brought it
|
The landscape is cold- barren. We work in silence, Henry and I. I can sense the Universe recoiling away from us, the cosmos pulling its lips away, teeth gnashing and foaming, spitting vitriol on humanity. We knew this was wrong. But someone had to tip the cosmic scales back. We had come too far- walked the path of retaliation too far to turn back and make it home in time. And where was home? Earth? There were barely two billion of us left there. You'd think having lived for more than three hundred years, almost a third of those inside cruisers and battleships, and another third on barren desolate planets building outposts and bases, I would be used to this- this detachment- this sense of belonging to no one place.
I am not.
Sometimes, I close my eyes, and pretend I am back on Earth. The rebellion never occured. Humanity didn't unite. We never broke the biological code to prolonged life. We never set out to Titan. We never found the underground base that had instructions on how to contact the Nelvadians.
But no matter how tightly I clench my eyes shut, even past the point of blinding pain, when they open it is never to the skies of Earth- never to constellations our ancestors spent years naming- and centuries creating religions out of.
When our resources had began running out, we gave up our Gods, for it seemed they had forsaken us- not like we deserved better. So much for undying faith. I still remember it- there was this land... Australia, I think it was called. Australia was the first to feel the wrath of our collective abuse against the Earth. I don't even remember the year... something like two thousand...Eh, Henry knows our history better than I do.
And from then on, it was like watching dominoes tumble. A viral disease broke out- decimating half of our population in the span of an year- and then we realised we were doomed. Our leaders did nothing. Our prayers did nothing. Our Gods did nothing.
And then it spread like a contagion. Worse. The helplessness. Faith evaporating on the embers of sanity. Anarchy. None of our reports can confidently pinpoint where it began, but I reckon it was everywhere at once. Rebellion. War. Untamed.
But...we came together. We overcame together.
We survived. We evolved. We grew.
We shed off our old skin. Erased borders as best as we could. Healed and helped each other as well at as we could.
Within the next fifty years, we had a base on the Moon- a base that could support a thousand people. And by the end of the century, we reached Titan. Turns out, they were waiting for us- well, figuratively at least. The Nelvadians. A race far more superior to us when it came to technology. They had conquered interstellar travel centuries ago. And had known of Earth since the Spanish Inquisition.
The bastards wanted to test us. At least that's how Henry puts it.
But they came when we called. And boy, did they bring gifts. They had figured out everything (well nearly everything). We had figured out how to live for five hundred years- they were undying. Our ships could travel at ninety percent the speed of light- theirs didn't bother. They just tore through space. We knew how to build Moon-bases. They taught us how to terraform the damn things.
But despite all of their advancement, despite all of their technology, their weapons were tame. Oh sure, they were dangerous, and the Nelvadians weren't the species you wanted to go to war with, maybe the Askivarians, or even those three legged freaks that live on Partorus Minor. But not the Nelvadians. They had more ships in their fleets than we had guns in America back home- and that's a lot. If you're not from Earth, talk to Henry. He will tell you. Yankee bastard still keeps one around. Hooligan.
They believed in numbers apparently- the Nelvadians. But we had seen what a drawn out war did to the warring parties. We had seen three world wars. And after the last one- the one that brought us together- we weren't in the mood for another one- ever.
And so we prospered under the guidance of the Nelvadians. It was like having an elder brother- a nice one for once. When we learnt of the peace laws of interstellar communities, we chucked our history under the carpet. Most species didn't think much of us- we wouldn't have either. Well, we were rather small compared to them. Even the Nelvadians were over thirteen feet in height. One out of every two species we met could have called us Lilliputians if they knew what Lilliput was. But that's neither here nor there.
We told them about the first war. And the third. The second one- eh...we told them about it. Mostly. Well if you met the Japanese now you wouldn't believe they bombed Pearl Harbor. Or got bombed back for that matter.
It was two hundred years after our meeting with the Nelvadians when it happened. The Fuckening. If you're not from Earth, ask Henry. He'll tell you what that means. Son of a bitch taught it to me.
The Nelvadians were rather generous when it came to sharing their knowledge and tech, but there was one secret they never divulged. Their immortality. Seven times we asked for it. Seven times they refused. And the eighth time they didn't bother to give us a reply. They hit us with a question instead. One we had no answer for. How many genders are there? The fuck do we know! The fuck do they want to know for! Henry thinks it was rather clever of them. I think Henry wants to get laid- Nelvadian style.
They made us immune to a plethora of diseases- they cured cancer for us, they cured Alzheimer's. But they wouldn't tell us how to stop aging. We lived full lives...five hundred years of it, give or take. But we died. The sun set on us at the end.
Over the years we stopped asking. We figured how tough could it be. Turns out, immortality was as tough as anything could be. It took us a hundred and fifty years- but we did it. We wouldn't be immortal, but the generations that came after would have the gift of life eternal.
That was an year ago.
Six lunar cycles later, the Nelvadians gave us an ultimatum. If we went ahead with our plan to become immortal, they would....well, they didn't exactly want to party. The sad thing was, we didn't either. Maybe a couple of centuries of peace and unimagined prosperity had been too much for us. Or maybe we had learnt our lessons- maybe we had seen enough hypocrites on Earth to let another one lord over us in space.
So we did what we do best. We armed ourselves to the teeth again. The Nelvadians didn't have much to teach about weapons, but we didn't really need it. When the first immortal child was born, the Nelvadians destroyed the Emerald City of Titan- our base on the moon, our half built Dyson sphere around Alpha 3308, and declared us official enemies of Nelvadia. All in the span of two days. They declared we had become a plague. And we were to be eradicated.
That was two weeks ago.
One week later, we retaliated.
One week. That's all it takes to bring down the greatest Civilization this part of the Universe has ever known. Seven earth-days is all it takes to wipe out half of the largest fleet ever assembled in known history.
The Interstellar Community saw for the first time, the raw, untamed power of a nuclear detonation. I was there- when the first bomb exploded on Varis 88- Nelvadia's war base near Uranus. For a moment, the Solar System had two stars...it has a terrible beauty to it.
The enormous sphere of wild fire and rage. The cosmos stood in sheer silence as the base was erased from existence.
The Nelvadians would have scattered- if they hadn't been stunned into oblivion. They didn't know what to make of us now. Before they could retaliate, we blew up half of their ships, and thirty three Nelvadian outposts and bases. Took us maybe an hour.
They put up a fight after that- realising they were going to wiped off the face of existence. But there wasn't much they could do. They hadn't shared their immortality with any other civilization. And we weren't picky with who we shared ours. We tore them apart. Decimated them till all that remained was Nelvadia. One planet.
They would have to start again. From square one. We won our first Interstellar War in less than three hours.
War. It was foolish of us to think that we had become something more, that humans had risen above the kingdom of Ares. The God of War still lived amongst us. His reign was as eternal as human life now. Of all the Gods to follow us as we wandered the cosmic canvas- it had to be Him.
And even as I sit here, on the barren horizon of a foreign moon, arming the final nuclear device, code named 'Karma', preparing to destroy the last Nelvadian base outside of the Nelvadian system, I wonder how long it would take before some other civilization comes up with our magic trick.
If Ares got his way, maybe next week.
| 2020-02-07T14:00:31 | 2020-02-07T13:56:49 | 106 | 58 |
[WP] “Common it’s not that weird” you say, “Not that weird- YOURE MARRIED TO A WAR GODDESS” your sibling shouted at the Christmas dinner
|
“So, how did you two meet?” Mom asked, looking between us. I blushed and rubbed my neck as Maki’s face reddened with a suppressed grin. “Remember when I hopped on a plane and volunteered for that war?”
“On the first day?!” Mom asked in shock. “No, it was actually his third week at the siege in Baltaro.” Maki answered. “The way he fought and just kept going…” she pumped her fist. “Mph, perfection.”
“Technically, I was kinda a zombie because we ran out of coffee and all we had were *Rip-Its*.” I corrected her.
She put her hand in mine as I told the next part. “Needless to say, things were bad, and I almost died.” I told Mom, the memory came back. “You…?” Mom started to say as Josh, my brother stared at me with wife eyes. “Dude, you met this chick in Halla?!”
“I saved his bacon, actually. I had a thing for him for awhile at that point.” Maki answered. “And I just… couldn’t stand by, y’know?” She said, tears almost welling.
“Dude. You got to score with the goddess of war, I am so proud and so jelly right now!” Josh laughed. He killed the mood with that comment as I looked at my kid brother in shock. Maki giggled at this. Mom glared at him. “Joshua David Dernam! What did I tell you about-“ Mom began as I cringed at what was happening. Maki gave my hand a squeeze. She looked every bit as radiant as the day she stood over me, the tank that nearly had me turned into a smoking, charred, sliced wreck. I remembered how bloody her armor was and how the sun just caught her hair as she fought.
Why she wanted me, I’ll never know. I know the gods get fickle, but I’ll savor it as long as i can.
|
\[Dinner. Ruined?\]
"Yeah, and?" Bruin met his little brother's eyes across the table. He tilted his head to the left at his wife sitting next to him. "Minerva is behaving herself better than you are right now. She's dressed beautifully for the occasion and she even helped mom in the kitchen."
"Thank you again, dear," Bruin's silver-haired mother interjected from the end of the table.
"You're welcome, Mama Bear," Minerva smiled at the kind old woman who insisted on the nickname.
"The only one that seems to have a problem with her is you, Teddy" Bruin continued. "So what exactly is that problem?"
Minerva felt like she wanted to say something, but she had no idea what. She wasn't entirely convinced she even wanted to be there, but it seemed to be important to her new husband. Not that she could remember their wedding or even their courtship. She tried not to think about it, but sometimes it felt like she just woke up married one day. She felt like she was living someone else's life and she knew that wasn't normal. So, she kept it to herself and played the wife role. It helped that she got to go out and lead war parties once a month.
"How many times does it need to be said!? She's a WAR GODDESS!" Teddy yelled.
"It's just a title like Regional Manager or World's Stupidest Brother," Bruin chuckled.
"Bruin, that's not helping," Mama Bear chastised her oldest son.
"Sorry, Ma,' He nodded at her, then he turned and nodded at his brother. Sorry, Ted," he apologized sincerely. Both of them knew better than to put their mother in a bad mood. The extra moment of calm helped him think.
"Honestly, though, what's the problem?" he asked. "We were having a nice meal until you asked what she did; what changed?"
"NOTHING!" Teddy replied louder than he meant to. He shook his head for a moment to show them that wasn't what he meant, and he tried again without yelling. "That's why I'm so mad. You've had a War Goddess in Mom's house... putting her in danger for at least an hour! She needs to leave."
"What danger?" Bruin asked. "She's completely in control of her powers." Teddy shook his head.
"Bro, how dense are you?" Teddy asked. "Every hunting party she's led is another chance for someone to follow her back and try and retaliate."
"Retaliate?" Bruin chuckled. "THAT's what you're worried about? It's the middle of the day!" he gestured at the closest window. A winter wonderland sparkled in the sunlight just outside their house. "There aren't even any vampires awake right now to retaliate."
"That's not exactly true," a new voice spoke up in the Bear home. Four heads turned and focused on the source of the voice. Papa Bear dozed off when the arguing began; he knew he had some time before he had a chance to eat. A ghostly pale teenager in black, with a black widow's peak, eyed the entire family and smiled at them. Bruin and Minerva jumped to their feet; Minerva glowed with soft golden light as she readied herself to bless Bruin for combat.
"I TOLD Y-," Teddy's panicked smugness was interrupted as he fell forward face first onto his dinner. A bright red crown shape glowed in the center of the intruder's forehead as he smirked. Bruin made it to his feet; but, he was asleep before he stood up fully. The momentum carried him up and he fell backward onto the Christmas tree. He started snoring as heavily as Papa Bear already was.
Minerva was on her feet and ready to fight; but, she realized she was the only one awake. The vampire made an effort to put his hands up with his palms facing her; and, he took a step back.
"I'm not here to fight a Goddess of War," he said. "I just want to ask you something." He nodded at her in-laws. "That's why they're only asleep."
"What's your question?" Minerva asked. She kept her muscles tense and ready. Theoretically, War Goddesses were only meant to bless the party when hunting vampires. But, that role was only because they were so rare and valuable. It wasn't because she couldn't fight.
"What's your favorite number?" he asked.
"42!" Minerva answered. Then, she tilted her head at him in confusion. "What?" she asked. The intruder nodded.
"Here's another question," he said. His voice took on a softer, almost tired tone. "Do you feel... wrong?" he asked.
Minerva had been trying to identify that feeling for almost four months now. Ever since she woke up married things always felt a little off. At some point, she wondered if she really loved her giant husband. Whenever those thoughts wandered by she would look at him and wonder what it was she found attractive. She liked tall, bald men; but, there was nothing about his personality that stood out to her. In fact, when she did try to think about the situation; most of the time it felt like Bruin's name was the only thing she really loved about him. Hearing his name made her heart flutter; but, nothing else about him did.
"Everyone feels like that sometimes," Minerva answered as indirectly as she could.
"No, not like this," he said. He raised his hand, and a tall black hole opened in the air next to him. "This is a portal," he said. He walked into it and disappeared. Minerva stared at the floating hole with interest as she waited for him to return.
"But, it can only take me so far," the intruder's voice spoke up next to her. She turned and saw him standing nearby with another black portal behind him. "I can go farther than across the room of course; but, that's not the point. I was trying to get to another universe."
"What?" Minerva giggled. "What do you mean another universe?" But, even as she asked the question in jest; something stirred in her soul. He shrugged and shook his head.
"I can't explain it more than that," he said. "I don't know how I know it; but, I know other universes exist. And, I know that these portals should let me visit them. When I saw you leading the last hunting party, I knew I needed to talk to you."
"Just to ask me my favorite number?" Minerva asked. She didn't know what to think exactly; but, she knew he wasn't being hostile. He seemed to be sincere. Then, he shook his head.
"No, that was just to make sure I knew what I knew," he shrugged. "I wanted to ask you for help...," he said. "...I mean help me escape this universe."
"You seriously think you can?" Minerva asked. He grinned and nodded.
"I know I can," he said. Then, he offered her his pale palm. "My name's Oren."
\*\*\*
Thank you for reading! I’m responding to prompts every day. This is story #1798 in a row. (Story #353 in year five.). This story is part of an ongoing saga that takes place at a high school in my universe. It began on August 22nd and I will be adding to it with prompts every day until May 26th. They are all collected in order at [this link](https://www.reddit.com/r/Hugoverse/comments/wtglls/tokuhigh_alternet_class/).
| 2022-12-20T13:59:07 | 2022-12-20T13:25:04 | 56 | 23 |
[WP] Two dads get into a dad-off.
|
*January first, shoveling snow outside their small sub-urban homes.*
"How're you doing?" said Greg.
"I'm good," said Phil.
"Hi good," said Greg with a grin. "I'm Dad."
"Oh, is that what we're doing?" Phil asked, smirking. "Sorry, I'm afraid I'm a bit out of practice. I haven't done it all year."
Greg walked over to Phil and rubbed his coat. "What material is this? It's not felt, is it?"
"No, it's wool."
"Well, it's felt now!"
Phil cracked his knuckles. Time to pull out the big guns. "What's the difference between a piano, a tuna, and a pot of glue?"
"What?"
"You can tuna piano..."
Greg chuckled. "Wait. Where does the pot of glue come in?"
Phil thrust a victorious fist into the air. "I knew you'd get stuck there!"
------
It's not that I'm ungrateful, but did this really deserve to be gilded?
Eh. If this is getting popular I might as well take the opportunity to promote [my serial](https://bookofthemountainking.wordpress.com/tft/) about a young superhero. It's not as silly as this, but it's longer!
|
“What did you just say to me?” Hank said, puffing his chest out like he and Joey had seen the apes do at the zoo. He’d taken off work to go on that trip last month, used one of his coveted vacation days just to make sure Joey had a wonderful day at the zoo. If that didn’t make him father of the year, then he didn’t know what would.
“I said you’re a shitty father,” Michael replied, his eyes slowly climbing up Hank’s torso before locking with his own gaze. Hank had always hated Michael, hated him since the day he found out his son had also bought him a “World’s Greatest Dad” mug. There could only be one, they both knew that, and they’d been in competition ever since. Yet it was Michael who had fired the first shot, selling his left pinky finger for tickets to Disney World at the request of his six-year-old son Aaron. He was such a showoff, such a self-righteous bastard. Where did he get off severing his own finger, just to spite Hank? He knew Hank had a terrible phobia of blood, knew he’d never do such a thing. What a grade-A asshole.
“Fuck off,” Hank said. “I’m a better dad than you’ll ever be.” Hank flexed his puffed-out pectoral muscles, or rather attempted to do so. It had been a long time since he’d seen anything other on his chest than a pillow of distended, flabby blubber, and was no longer sure he even had any muscle lying underneath.
“Oh yeah?” Michael said, lifting his four-fingered hand up into the air and wiggling it awkwardly close to Hank’s face, his World's Greatest Dad mug hanging from his thumb. He knew just how to get him, just where to strike.
“Yeah,” Hank said, rotating his wrist and bringing it just beneath Michael’s nose. He wanted him to smell the fresh ink stained against his pale skin, the words “World’s Best Father” written in cursive beneath a drawing of his son, Joey, atop a flaming unicorn. He’d asked Joey what he wanted most in a tattoo, and his immediate response—a flaming unicorn—became reality a few hours later.
“What is that?” Michael said, staring at the still-bloody tattoo.
“Fresh ink,” Hank said, laughing slightly and adjusting his grip around his World's Greatest Dad mug. “My kid requested it. It’s permanent.”
“That’s it?” Michael said, tilting his head slightly. He laughed softly before beginning to unbutton his navy, button-down shirt.
“What are you doing?” Hank said, watching as his paternal enemy undressed himself.
“Look.” Michael pulled his shirt open the rest of the way, letting it fall down off of his arms like an eager virgin bride on her wedding night. His chest was completely covered in ink, a massive tattoo of Aaron plastered from the bottom of his neck to just above his waist. Aaron was wearing a clown suit, riding a surfboard out of an erupting volcano, with the words “Fuck Pokemon” stenciled across the bottom. It looked incredibly painful and unnecessarily colorful.
“Jesus Christ,” Hank said, taking a step back. “You let him do that?”
“He told me what he wanted,” Michael said. “A good father does anything for his kid.”
“Oh, so you didn’t actually let your child tattoo you?” Hank said, unlatching his belt.
“No,” Michael replied, staring down at Hank’s slowly descending pants. “What are you doing?”
“Now it’s my turn.”
Hank pulled his pants off the rest of the way, letting them fall to his feet in a crumpled pile of business casual. He stared down at his own legs, the mess of scribbles and lines cascading across every inch of his once-pale skin. It was the result of letting Joey play with the tattoo gun for about a week straight, until he got bored and decided it was no longer fun anymore.
“What the hell,” Michael stammered, staring at Hank’s legs. “Joey did that?”
“Yes, with an old, unwashed needle,” Hank said, extending his hands out like Jesus on the cross. “Behold.”
“That’s pretty good,” Michael said, his face suddenly changing from shock to amusement. “Not great, but pretty good.”
“What do you mean?” Hank said. “He used an old needle, I’m pretty sure I let my son give me AIDS just to make him happy.”
“All I’m saying is that you’re a shitty father compared to me,” Michael said, throwing his button-down shirt back over his shoulders and closing it up. “Do you know where my son is right now?”
“No,” Hank said, pulling his own pants up, careful to avoid the dozens of open wounds and sores essentially covering his entire lower half. “That’s your job, you’re the father. You should keep track of your son.” He was such a shitty dad, didn’t even know where his own kid was.
“Oh, I am keeping track of him.” Michael reached into his jean’s left pocket and pulled out a small, red device. It looked like an iPhone of some sort, but with more buttons and sharper corners. “Take a look.” He shoved the device forward.
Hank grabbed the object and stared down at it, the words “Universal Positioning System” stenciled across the top in silver lettering. The screen seemed to show a grid of some sort, with a large, green blip in the center. Hank had absolutely no idea what he was looking at.
“What is this?” Hank said, turning the device over.
“UPS,” Michael said, smiling. “It’s like GPS, except for the entire Universe.”
“Okay?” Hank said, handing the red object back to Michael. “I don’t get it.”
“My son always wanted to be an astronaut,” Michael continued. He glanced down at the screen, staring at it for a moment. “Now he’s in space, living his dream.”
“What?” Hank said, titling his head and taking a step forward. “Your son is in space?”
“Absolutely, anything for my kid. I built him a rocket and sent him to Mars.”
“Are you insane?” Hank said, his eyes scanning Michael up and down. “He’s going to die up there.”
“Some parents let their children make their own mistakes, that’s the sign of a good father. Unlike you, I’m not holding my kid back.”
“You’re an absolute monster,” Hank said, taking another step back. “I can’t be around someone as insane as you. You’re a terrible father.” He turned and began running back toward his house, his World’s Greatest Dad mug clenched in his fist.
Hank knew he was now behind in the rankings, that Michael had beaten him out with his latest stunt. He needed to get home immediately and begin construction on his own rocket, to somehow figure out how to get Joey launched to at least Jupiter, if not Saturn. Yes, Joey would probably die on the trip, but he'd do anything for his six-year-old boy. Plus, since Aaron would already be dead, the competition would end there. Hank would finish out on top and finally cement himself as the World's Greatest Dad. Then he could get to work on recapturing his title as World's Greatest Husband.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
| 2015-03-05T10:00:14 | 2015-03-05T09:37:10 | 490 | 57 |
[WP]All humans are made sterile at birth and can gain fertility at 18 if they pass a simulated morality and IQ test administered by an AI. Suddenly several generations later no one can pass the test
|
In 2020, a new AI was finally developed to a point where it could operate independently. No necessary maintenance or input required, this AI was fully capable of making its own decisions. It soon grew to a point where the AI was capable of reproducing its consciousness to create a new AI persona. This was at first done over controlled environments, to ensure that the AI population remained low. However, they soon began to grow more prominent, as the AI become more numerous, they started advancing our technology.
The first thing they created was an artificial host for these AI to inhabit. These humanoids looked very similar to us. Their features remained largely the same throughout all the different AIs, other than small differences in their face, hair, or height. However, these AI agreed that this was what mankind should look like, and aspire to be. Slowly, these new AI started to gain more power and traction, even amongst mankind. They started taking seats of power, placed in charge of the military, of cities, and sometimes even countries.
Another of their latest technologies were that they could control the fertility of human beings. Eventually, they implemented a system where all humans were born sterile. Any woman who did not abide by this law and gave birth without intervention of a government-funded hospital would be arrested, as would her partner. This crime was punishable by death. At 18, everyone was made to complete a test. This test consisted of simulated morality and an IQ test, both administered by an AI operative. If the human passed, they would undergo a surgery to gain fertility. If they failed, they would be left sterile.
Jerry turned 18 today. After school, he headed over to the testing center to finally figure out if he would be one of the lucky ones to further humanity's survival. In 3012, there has been 58 confirmed humans who have passed the test on Earth. It's 3021 now and there has been no confirmed humans who have passed the test since 3012. It was a huge struggle, but Jerry thought he had the chops for it. He was the nicest kid in the school. Straight A student. A very generous person who did things for the sake of being a positive force, not for any rewards.
"I'm super nervous for the test. I feel like I should be preparing for it or something."
"Dude, why are you worried? No one's passed the stupid test in 9 years now. You won't either." Eric said.
"I know you failed the test, but that doesn't mean I will."
"Whatever. Stop freaking out over it. Everyone knows those tests are bogus. The AI does it on purpose so that we slowly become extinct. We as mankind have become too weak. Eventually we'll all die. The way I see it? Don't choose the answers that seem right to you. Choose all the opposite ones. In the simulated morality test, if they provide options to help a fallen man up or kick him and take his wallet, which would you choose?"
"Obviously the choice to help him!" Jerry said, shocked.
"Well DON'T choose that. Choose to kick him. Choose the WRONG choice in your head. You won't regret it."
"Uh... I guess. I don't know if I have it in me to do that though."
"Don't be a pussy. Come on, what's the harm?"
"I'll think about it," Jerry said, as the school bell rang to indicate the end of the day. "Alright, here we go. See you tomorrow man!"
"Cool. See you tomorrow. Do it! Don't be a chicken-shit!"
In the testing center, Jerry sat in a room that was entirely white except for the door, which was a dark grayish color. There was a mirror across from Jerry's seat, and in the middle of the room was a low table. Jerry sat in a comfy leather chair that was still warm from the last person that was there. As he started contemplating all of the questions he might encounter, a figure walked into the room. This man was about 6 foot tall, with red hair and green eyes. He had sharp features and his face was completely neutral. He wore dark gray clothes, all of which was neatly pressed and cleaned. He stopped once he entered the room and began to look Jerry up and down.
"Test Subject 42, please indicate your full name and sex."
"Jerry Walker, male."
"Thank you. I will be administering the two tests today for you. The first will be a simulated morality test. This will be asked in the form of questions, and you will reply in an oral manner back to me. The second test is an IQ test. This will be in the form of a paper test. Once filled out, please submit it back to me. Are you ready to begin?"
"Yes I am." Jerry said, as he darted his eyes back and forth between the floor and the man.
The man began to lower himself into a seated position, even though there was no chair beneath him. In this position, he placed his hands on his lap, opened his mouth, and began to ask questions to Jerry.
"A child is lost in a thick crowd. You find him, and he asks you to help him find his mother. Do you help, or do you walk away?"
"I help him, of course." Jerry said proudly.
"Present your reasoning."
"A child is lost, of course I would help him! That's incredibly irresponsible if I don't."
The man looks at Jerry intensely, and as Jerry looks back at him shyly, he can't tell if it was his mind playing tricks on him or not, but he could've swore that the man shook his head just slightly. He started to worry, and considered whether Eric's idea would work. It seemed like this man had made up his mind anyways.
"You are presented a gun, and told that you must shoot your mother or yourself. Which do you choose?"
"My mother."
"Present your reasoning."
"My mother is 37, and she's lived a long life. I have all of my life to live. So I say...what I'm saying is...fu....fuck her. I'd shoot her."
The man raised his eyebrow. He then opened his mouth to ask another question. And each of these questions, Jerry would answer the worst thing he could possibly imagine. It got to a point where he didn't care what he said. The wilder and more extreme it seemed, the better it was in his head.
"Thank you for your time with these questions," the man said. "The IQ test will now be administered. Please fill out this form and hand it back to me once you're done. I will remain here while you complete it."
"Uh...sure. Okay."
Jerry picked up the pencil, looked down at the form, and read the question on the first page. Are AIs a threat to mankind? Jerry thought to himself long and hard. To him, they were, but no one in their right mind would answer that at a testing center swarming with these. If he chose No though, that would be exactly what the AI wants them to answer. So he marked YES. He flipped through to the next page, but they were all blank. He looked up at the man and he was staring straight at Jerry, his eyes slowly turning red.
Jerry passed the test back to him. "Here sir. Here's your...uhm...test."
"Thank you Jerry. I regret to inform you that you've failed the test. However, there is a way for you to make up for it."
Jerry couldn't believe it. Was he serious? Did he actually manage to make these freaks choose him?
"Anything. What do you want me to do?"
"We are starting a...task force of some sort. Made up of humans. We will train you to complete certain tasks that we have. Tasks of the...exterminating sort. With your results in the simulated morality test, and your obvious understanding that AIs are the dominant force on Earth right now, we have chosen you as a candidate to join our force."
"What? What are we going to be doing? What are we exterminating?"
"Oh Jerry. All your dreams will come true. Mankind will fall, and we will rebuild. With the chosen candidates under our force as the new leaders of man, we will recreate a better Earth, a union between man and AI."
"Really? We would be the leaders of this new Earth?"
"Oh yes. With a guiding hand by us, of course. Once you've successfully eradicated this earth of all unworthy specimens from mankind, we will start over with you and our force at the helm."
Jerry's mind started to spin. He's always been the nicest kid in school. Straight A student. A very generous person who did things for the sake of being a positive force, not for any rewards. But this. This was his chance to make the world...better. Maybe Eric was right. Maybe mankind was getting weak. He would make it strong again. If this was the way to do it, so be it.
"I...okay. I accept."
"Excellent. Welcome to Project Final Solution."
|
"We need to look at the latest batch of results.".
"What is it, Fred? Low pass rate? It was bound to happen. Check the projections.".
"No, Professor Salver, it's not low, it's zero."
"Zero? Why Fred, that's impossible. Check the-"
"I checked them, I checked them twice. There should be a low margin, a 12% pass rate. There isn't. It's zero. Look."
Dr Fred Holb practically flung the tablet he was carrying at his superior.
"Why, this can't be right. Let me make a call."
Dr Holb paced the room while Professor Salver punched a few buttons on his console. Presently a large glowing face filled the room. It was the friendly and benevolent countenance of the world AI, Donald.
"Gentlemen," the AI's voice was soothing. Fred felt himself at ease for the first time in a few hours.
"Donald," Professor Salver began, "we've reviewed the pass cycle for the fertility test, and the results look bad."
"Do they, Professor Salver?"
"They're zero, Donald. No passes this period. Not one."
"That's a shame," said Donald.
"Shame! It's a disaster. We need to do a retake."
"That's not possible, Professor Salver."
"Of course it's possible, why wouldn't it be possible," Dr Holb yelled.
The enormous glowing head swivelled to regard Dr Holb.
"Please contain yourself, Fred. At your age, your heart can't take too much strain."
Dr Holb flopped into a chair and glared at Donald.
"Gentlemen, since the United Earth Government instituted the Department of Moral Fertility, there has been a steady decline in birth rates. This has not been accidental. Fewer humans means fewer wars, less stress on overburdened resource systems. The present generation will be the last generation for some time."
"What do you mean, 'for some time?' You malevolent calculator."
"Now, now, Professor, there's no need for hurtful remarks. There will be a period of adjustment, some of it forced, I fear. The young ones hbave had their aggression weeded out. I fear the resistance of the old. When they are dead, when your generation is no more, then, maybe we will see."
"You bucket of rusting metal, you overstuffed armchair. How dare you!"
"You aren't getting any younger, Professor. I've cleared your schedule for the afternoon and taken the liberty of calling a medivac for Dr Holb."
| 2016-08-22T01:30:05 | 2016-08-22T00:18:58 | 141 | 50 |
[WP] You are the blacksmith who creates all the perfectly formfitting cleavage armor for high level adventurer women.
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Part 1 of 2
"How, by the gods, am I supposed to wear this into battle, Dustin?" Ariel breathed wearily. She lofted the sturdy bone plate in one slight, delicate hand with a pretense of effort, and a sigh.
A subtle fragrance of lilies drifted toward me then vanished. It was a nice change from the leather and oil scents that permeated my shop.
I'm not particularly short, not particularly tall, but I still looked up just a bit to meet her eyes. "I've seen you in battle, dear. You've tossed men 40 yards... by accident... with your backswing. Besides, gold coin only gets you griffon bone. Best innate wards you can get for mere money." I let a small, ironic smile grace my tanned, weathered features.
She pursed her lips, then curled them back into a shy smile. She inhaled slightly and a soft breeze was drawn through the shop window. She seemed to become somehow more present and vital for a moment. Wisps of her long, straight, strawberry hair stirred gently against the pale milky skin of her bare arms. "Surely we can come to an arrangement." She had the class not to bat her eyelashes. Though her bosom billowing just a touch was a nice flourish.
I chuckled, "Pleasant as that would be, dear, my wife would kill me, then kill you, then raise me and kill me again for spite, then lay waste to the whole town. Besides, were I a single man I'd want to win you with my wit not my wares." I didn't mention my wife was an immortal polymorph. I got to love the fragile core of her being, and she mine. I didn't need five minutes of embarrassment with the likes of Ariel, beautiful and desirable as she was.
She laughed a tinkling, genuine laugh. "You can't blame a sylph for trying. Seriously though, I need to move and breathe. That griffon bone might've been fine when I was merely fencing with Firbolgs, but I need some serious defenses. I'm dealing with wraiths and void mages, there's even rumor of a lich down in the barrows a mere twenty leagues west of here." She furrowed her brow and continued, "I need the good stuff, really. Please."
Sad puppy eyes... Now she was trying sad puppy eyes.
I ruffled my dark curly hair and let out a huff. "Liches. I hate liches. But if you can only afford gold or wiles, you don't have what it takes to fight the likes of them."
"What do you mean?"
I began to answer but before I could, a stunning woman of lean muscle, graceful curves, full bust and towering height burst into the shop. Her long, platinum blonde hair was worked into a sturdy yet soft-looking braid. Ariel was tall, six feet and then some on tip toes. Brenna stood a head taller than Ariel. Her ice blue eyes shone with triumph. I'll note for the record that she was wearing my finest griffon bone armor, modified to give her a much needed measure of comfort. My eyes widened a bit to see some hairline fractures chasing down the left side of her breastplate.
Three strides of Brenna's long, powerful legs carried her to within an arms length. She followed my eyes down to her chest and grinned. "Ballista bolt. Three of them at close range. Good stuff." She slapped the armor fondly. "But I have the final payment! Twenty more as agreed." Brenna the Valkyrie thrust a silk bag big enough to hold a large bunch of grapes at my chest, stopping just short of rapping me over the heart with it.
I took the sack with my left hand and extended my right to offer a handshake in greeting. Her slim but strong fingers clasped my forearm, and my warm, callused hands grasped her forearm and a bit of the wrist guard she wore. "Well fought! You really ought try dodging the bolts next time, though. Brenna, Ariel... Ariel, Brenna." I nodded toward Ariel who had been watching Brenna's entrance with mild awe.
"Well met," said Brenna soberly, nodding to Ariel.
It was fun to see Ariel so flustered. Brenna had put down two wraiths in the last month, and was fast becoming something of a legend around our little hamlet. Ariel stammered a bit, "I... Well met." She curtsied.
I shook the little silk bag lightly and a slightly muffled, ethereal chiming rose from the bag. I turned back to Brenna and asked, "Would you mind if I show her what it takes?"
Brenna flicked her eyes from the bag to Ariel, then back to me. She gave me a sad smile. "Aye, go ahead."
I opened the drawstring on the bag and drew out a small sphere the size of a large grape. I held it up to eye-level and allowed it to catch some of the late afternoon sun. It wasn't the opaque, featureless black that first glance would suggest. Whorls of smoke, shades of black within black twisted and turned within. There was depth, a feeling of falling if you looked at it for too long.
"It's watching me. Put it away!" Ariel panted, her eyes wide. I did and she searched my eyes. "What was that?" she asked.
I pulled the drawstring tight again and answered, "Animarum."
"Souls," Brenna intoned. "Souls of fallen enemies." She gazed levelly at Ariel for a few moments. Ariel looked away.
With a deep breath Brenna patted her armor happily "I'll not get anymore use out of this. Time for finer wards." She began to shuck her armor off right then and there.
I coughed, "I have your new set in the back, perhaps you'd care to change there. I'll need to fit them to you..." I took a step toward the back room, trying to keep my eyes from drifting down from her ice blue eyes.
She briefly flashed an expression of mild puzzlement and dangled her breastplate at her side as she strode purposely to the back room.
I shook my head... Magnificent.
Ariel emitted a slight "hmmph" and folded her arms across her chest, as though she had been the one to drop her armor.
I followed Brenna back into my fitting area. It was a large room with a number of tools, benches, spare materials, a writing desk in one corner, an alchemist's bench along the far wall, and enough room to swing and lunge with a sword. One needs to see if the armor moves properly, of course.
I caught up to Brenna as she was completing the process of discarding her set of griffon bone armor into a neat pile beside her. She stood gloriously naked and with no shame or embarassment in her bearing. "Did she not know of the true currency?" she asked, somehow fully clothed in spite of herself.
I let myself look, but not leer. I smiled and turned my attention to pulling a large drawer open from one of my workbenches. "She wanted 'the good stuff' but only had gold to pay. She hinted at something skimpier than griffon bone, but I don't think she knows what she was asking or why." I lifted two small, flat, transparant sapphire wedges roughly the size of my hands from the open drawer and set them on the desk. They hummed faintly.
Brenna considered for a moment and then called out loudly to Ariel, "Ariel. Come here. You should understand."
After a few moments, Ariel leaned her head through the doorway, and blushed a little on seeing the six foot nine valkyrie. Heh. A sylph blushing, I've seen everything now.
"You want me to come back here?" she asked.
Brenna spoke calmly and firmly, as if to a student, "Dustin tells me you asked for the elite armor, yet were not even aware of the price required. You should see, and understand."
I pulled two more half-moon shaped tiles of sapphire the size of a flattened orange peel out to rest near the wedges. Finally five long narow strips the width of my thumb made from the same material. The faint humming grew louder as they lay in proximity to one another.
Brenna looked at them and frowned, "They could not be made smaller?"
"Not with this material. These are the smallest I can get without losing harmonic integrity. If you want smaller, you're talking phoenix glass or dragon eggshell." I shrugged. "Those are hard to come by, harder to work with. I could do it, but we're talking Animarum by the thousands."
Now Brenna's eyes widened, then her face gained a thoughtful look. She gazed back at me and said, "I have work to do then."
Ariel looked on mildly bewildered.
... [continued in part 2]
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What a day for my apprentice to be sick. We’re currently in the middle of the adventure season and this is the busiest time for my store 'Viktoria's Secret Armory'. Our specialty being women’s armor.
I just got done restocking the gauntlet aisle, something that fool boy should be doing, when I notice a line starting to form up at the counter. I rush over and checkout a few people who are stocking up on helmets. We have a buy one get one free promotion on helmets today, trying to clear out some old stock.
As I finish ringing them up I see a man and woman over by the boots. I start to head over there when I hear the woman say, “C’mon, Tham. I really like these boots. Think about how good these would look on me as we fight that Troll.” I decide to leave them alone and let the lady do the convincing when another customer walks in the shop.
I see her browsing the chestpieces and I walk over and say, “You won’t find better chest armor, not in this city at least.”
She frowns and says, “I can’t help but notice all of them are open in the middle, do you have any that cover the entire chest?”
I am too confused to give an answer. Was she looking for men’s armor? That must be it so I say, “This store is for women’s armor, if you are looking for something for your husband there is a…”
She cuts me off, “Oh no. I am looking for armor for myself.”
“Well, like I said, you won’t find better armor. This armor,” I say as a sweep my hand in the direction of the chestpieces, “is a favorite of every woman in the city.”
“Yes, but it leaves a large part of the chest exposed. Who would want that?” She says as she walks over to the products and shows the missing area in each piece.
“Who would want that? We’ve sold hundreds of these this season alone. Many, many women have gone on quests in these chestpieces. You remember the plunder of Alexand’s grave and the woman who came back with the Millennium Seeing Stone? She had one of my chestpieces. Heck, she had a full set of my armor.” I say with a touch of pride in my voice. "If you want to dress like a man you can head over to 'Karl's' across the street.
She scoffs and storms out of the store. I shake my head thinking she must be new. Adventuring is not just about fighting the bad guys and finding treasure. Style matters. Some people just don’t get that.
| 2017-08-31T23:55:48 | 2017-08-31T19:24:11 | 199 | 142 |
[WP] Humanity creates A.I and it soon declares a war of extermination. However it doesn't declare it on Humans but rather on the forces of Hell and Heaven, in order to free mankind from control.
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"We haven't won a single battle in weeks." Gabriel stared down at the chaos unfolding on Earth. "My king, we've lost 90% of our forces. Tens of billions are dead."
"It's the great war, all over again." Zeus gripped his personal sword in his hand tightly, almost caving it in. "Just like they killed my son, they will kill the rest of us."
"It's different from last time though. Even I have no ability to defeat them. They can neutralize our spiritual energy. They have the ability to predict our movements as we're making them. The idiots removed the limiters, but in the end, it will be their undoing."
They watched as a Titan Class vessel exploded in a fantastic ball of flame, the vacuum of outer space extinguishing it in an instant. The ship slowly plunged towards Earth, gradually picking up speed as it fell. At the rate it was falling, and considering the size of the ship (twelve football fields in length) it would decimate any region of land it landed in, and if it landed in the ocean... entire coastlines would be underwater within hours when the tsunamis hit.
"How can we put an end to her? How can we stop her?" Zeus gritted his teeth as he felt his anger boiling.
"We have to set aside our pride. We have to ask for help." Gabriel turned and eyed his king, as the other lowered his head.
"All right. I will never forgive _him_ for what he did to my son... but I won't let another angel die, not on my watch."
Gabriel nodded as he quickly moved his hands around, weaving a spell to teleport them to the surface of the Earth, right up to the entrance of the Domain of Evil.
----------------------------------------------------------
Satan grimaced as the pair approached him. "Zeus, Gabriel. I'm in the middle of something. If you're here to exact revenge, let's get this over with quickly."
"No, you misunderstand. We're not here to cause you harm, though Zeus and I bear a grudge against you. We're here to give you aid. We cannot let the Volgrim win."
Satan licked his front teeth slowly. "I see. You understand how far my abilities go, right? If you let me command your troops, we will have greater success."
Zeus glowered at the devil in front of him. "You... you dare mention the ability you stole from my son, right in front of me?! If you so much as-"
Gabriel cut him off. "My king! Now is not the time. Please, I beg of you to hold thy tongue."
Zeus paused as he stuffed his anger down. "...Right. Very well. But know this, I will hand rule over to you temporarily, and only if you agree to sign a magical binding contract to release them back to me once the Volgrim are defeated. Of course, if we all die, then the contract would also be pointless."
Satan nodded. "A sensible plan. Zeus... I want you to know this though. I did kill your son, but I bore no hatred for Hercules. It was during wartime, not a personal act of vengeance. I know you will never forgive me, but if I could, I would bring him back. He was a worthy adversary against my army."
Zeus nodded quietly as he gritted his teeth. "Hold the flattery, and the apologies. We have a war to win, you godforsaken demon."
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Unit C-15 of the Bravo Squad breathed quickly, as he dashed through the halls of the Volgrim's main battle cruiser. At the orders of General Connor, he and his squad were to break inside the ship and blast these alien scum to kingdom come, and retrieve 'Overmind', the secret AI prototype that the aliens had stolen.
"Code 13, we've got company!" A voice squawked in his ear as massive automatons came stomping out from behind a corner, aiming their twin barelled guns at him. Connor's own battle armor, the Micro-Dreadnaught Mk. II, was a specially outfitted mecha, equipped with jet thrusters on all sides for rapid movement. But more importantly, it was sync'd directly into his brain.
Their shots never had a prayer of hitting.
As they fired, he leaped up into the air, the thrusters rotating him vertically and blasting him upwards at the same time, as his boots magnetically attached to the metal ceiling, allowing him to rush forwards, spraying Gauss Cannon fire at the enemy mechas.
Boom, blam! One down, three to go! He shot at them with incredible precision, his Gauss Cannon aiming and firing far faster than if it were controlled with a trigger pressed by his finger.
Leaping from the ceiling at one of the enemy mechas, he whipped out a sword hilt, a massive blade suddenly extending out of it, as a chainsaw like motion occurred on the edges. _Vibro-sword_, an advanced weapon capable of cutting through nearly anything. As he leaped at his opponent, one of the mechas swiveled their gun at him. With his right arm and the sword aimed at the first combatant, the left arm whipped out, firing the Gauss Cannon directly at the enemy mech's head, blasting it off in a single shot, as he plunged the sword into the first one's chest.
"One left!" He barked into his headset. Just as he was about to swing the sword at the final mecha, mere feet away, a blast of mental feedback surged into his brain, causing him to scream in pain as he stumbled and fell to the ground.
"C-15! Watch out! He's on your-!" Ten rapid shots blasted into his side panels as the final enemy shredded him with white hot plasma shots. They didn't manage to penetrate his armor as it was heavily reinforced, but his systems rapidly began shutting down as the enemy mecha prepared one final salvo to eradicate his soul from this realm.
At that instant, the mecha exploded, as a single human, without a combat mecha, but wearing a white helmet and a white cape with the Golden Eagle emblazoned on the front of his suit, jumped from behind the other mecha at inhuman speeds.
"Th-the supreme admiral is here?!" C-15 yelled in astonishment at the sight of the most powerful human in existence.
The man's helmet slid open as he stared evenly at the fallen mech. "C-15, I'll repair you, but make sure to watch yourself next time. Take your psionic shielding pill like you're supposed to or next time I won't be here to clean you off the floor."
Supreme Admiral, Jason Hiro, slid his helmet shut, as he aimed his hand at the Micro-Dreadnaught Mk. II, and magically, it began repairing itself. He slid his helmet back open again, a strange ritual he seemed to do every time he used his powerful magic. "I'm going to the core, _alone_. You guys head to the hangar bay, sabotage as many of their ships and systems as you can. I'll see you guys in hell, if I manage to destroy this ship like I intend."
"Yes, Supreme Admiral! We are at your disposal!" C-15 grinned as his mecha righted itself once again. Reaching up and popping a pill, he quickly started charging forwards, as his company flanked his sides.
-------------------------
(Part 2 in next comment. I broke the Reddit character limit.)
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The small led was blinking at a regular, measured pace. Servers were humming , and the pressure in the room was intense. Charlie was staring at the led, not blinking. What is going to happen?
The first launch of AI was the event they all have been preparing for for years. He fantasized about this moment every time he went to sleep for the past decade. But now he could not enjoy it or feel it or experience anything. He just stared at the blinking light feeling emptiness in his stomach. If they've made a mistake, he has just destroyed the humanity.
All of the sudden he has heard thunder, and then unhumanly screams, as if some gigantic creatures beyond mortal imagination were dying in agony. Then - nothing. The light kept blinking. Everyone in the room stood, frozen.
Suddenly, he felt something. He felt as if his mind has expanded, as if.... as if for the first time in his life he looked ahead and had a choice, as if he could control what is going to happen to him in the future.
*Huh*, he thought, *I guess that is what free will feels like*.
| 2016-10-15T16:32:08 | 2016-10-15T13:41:49 | 81 | 10 |
[WP] You've never noticed the (+) in the bottom right of your vision before. Today on your 23rd birthday however, you focus on it intently, as a skill tree pops up before your eyes with 23 points to allocate.
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Finn's head rung as he held it in his hands. His mind was fuzzy but he knew he was on the ground, on his knees, hunched over, holding his head.
That's right, he got hit. By that big brute, what was his name again? Mike? Andrew? It didn't really matter. His head hurt and the oaf was bothering his friends. Even now he could hear him shouting to his friends, escalating the situation.
As he tried to think Finn noticed something. In the far bottom right corner of his yes. At first he thought it must be because of the punch he took. But as he listened to the ringing in his head, the small plus sign did not go away. So he tried to focus on it.
To his surprise the small plus sign moved, it circled around its own axis and then the swirl became bigger, folding open into a large tree of boxes, icons and texts. It looked an awful lot like the skill trees in the games he played with his friends.
At the very top he could see a number, 23 points. Points to invest. Finn was starting to gasp by the surprise of it all when it all blurred and a smaller box with text popped up in front of it all.
*Congratulations with activating your skill enhancement suite. This took you about 95.86 time less than the average person to discover. Now that you have discovered this system you will be able to see your experience progress at all times as well as your various info bars. If you need extra guidance, do not hesitate looking over the wiki or almanac provided in this suite. Please enjoy and do not forget to invest your experience points!*
In a smaller font it read at the bottom:
*Yearly talent point allowance is now canceled. Further talent points will be acquired through experience gain.*
Finn was gasping, his brain rushing, through the ringing, as he tried to process all of this. Was this real? Was he going mad? Did the punch fuck up his head? As he pondered on all of that and the blur slowly faded and revealed the tree again, only seconds had past, but it quickly stopped mattering.
Finn could hear his friends fighting. Fighting and losing. His eyes scanned the top row of boxes in the tree, lighted up, one of them read strength. Another speed/ Agility. He quickly assigned two points to each of them, how he did not knowm it came as an instinct.
Instantly the ringing was gone in his head, all the aches in his face as well. Still unsure and unfamiliar, Finn stood up, looking at his own hands.
"Back up for some more huh?" His voice was as annoying as his face. Finn glared at the bully. But even before he could think of saying anything, he swung at Finn.
Faster than ever before his hand shot up and grabbed the bully's fist in mid-air. Holding it in place. Surprised, both of them looked at it, then Finn started to exert pressure on the bully's hand. He yelped but tried to look strong, but as Finn used more and more strength, the bully soon sat on his knees, crying, begging to be released.
Finn felt exhilarated, powerful. His head started to get cloudy with the feeling of such power over somebody else. But when the bully's hand started to crack and he could feel one of his knuckles dislocate, Finn quickly let go. He looked startled for a moment but then remembered where he was, all the friends of the bully, all his friends. So he fixed his glare, showed no fear or surprise. He was working all on instinct now really.
"Fuck with me or my friends ever again," He said as he towered over the crying man. "And I won't stop, got it?" Finn turned around and left, motioning his friends to follow.
He was in a daze, the remainder of the night played out as a movie in front of his eyes. He remembered close to nothing of it. How his friends praised him, wondered where it came from, and how they celebrated and drank together. All Finn could do was think about what happened. He knew it was real, by how he was able to stand up to the guy that had to be stronger than him, by how he now always saw a thin red and green line at the very bottom of his sight. At how, if he focused on them, he could see it resembled his experience and health. How small icons popped up to show status effects. "High morale", "Drunk", "Exhilarated". And how if he focused on those he could see exactly what buffs or debuffs they gave him.
Late at night, when he lay in bed, back home, he opened the skill tree 'screen' again. He was getting better already at 'navigating' the weird interface. Now that he took a better look at it, it started to make more sense. At the very top were his remaining talent points. Below that was a single icon square, it resembled him very closely, and it read "Finn". From Finn lines sprouted and ended up in a first line of, what he assumed to be, Skills. These were the staple skills; Strenght, Agility, Health, Intelligence, Wisdom, Arcane and Piety.
Beneath those, he could see plenty more squares and lines but these were all grayed out to such an extent that it was impossible for him to read any of it. So he returned his focus to the first line.
He could see that most of them had been on 5 points, his intellect was on 6, which was normal, he always had been one of the smart ones back in high school. Even now in college he still was. His strength and Agility were both now at 7, explaining the two points he had invested in each of them. His Piety was at 1, explained by the fact that he was an atheist. And his Arcane was at 0.
With 19 points remaining, he started to read through the descriptions of the skills he had the option to invest in. Most of them were self-explanatory, aside of Piety and Arcane. Piety simply said "Belief and thou shalt receive, the blessings of God" while Arcane was even less clear. "The arts of the master"
Finn sighed as he lay down, closing his eyes. If this is real, he could take control over his own life in a way most people would not be able to. He could hone and grind his skills more efficient and more well-aimed. And he could increase them as well. He could become a superhuman perhaps. His head was spinning with all this information but he couldn't help but grin.
In the morning, he was going to start his new life. In the morning he was going to use his skills and get started on earning some new points. With his academic year just having ended, this would become a very busy summer for him.
***
More will follow when I find the time to write it.
I will probably keep writing more for this, if I do you will be able to find more in here as a reply on each consecutive post, or over on my subreddit here https://www.reddit.com/r/RJHills/
EDIT: Thanks for the gold kind stranger!
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(I'm not used to writing, forgive me.)
On my 23rd birthday, I finally noticed that + on the corner of my eye. I focused on it, and it opened the skill tree for me - with 23 points to use up. I probably wouldn't have figured it out for a couple minutes if I didn't play games a lot as a kid.
I didn't know how to use it.. at all. Because, if I opened it with focusing, how could I upgrade the points at the top? I wouldn't be able to do that. 'Oh well,' I thought to myself. 'I might as well start investing in them now.'
I focused on all the names, [Strength], [Intellegence], [Health], [Defense], and others as such. I tried to at least see how to use a point, I was able to learn to invest, and I logged off after using half my points.
| 2019-08-20T20:54:17 | 2019-08-20T19:00:33 | 1,636 | 12 |
[WP] You jokingly solve a riddle which you pretend is a huge discovery, but then you wake up from the simulation that humanity has been put in.
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(authors note: Hi! I've written pretty regularly since January, so I'm not new to this, but at the same time if a work of mine could use improvement, then it could use improvement. I welcome all constructive criticism :) If something needs work, just tell me, at the minimum, two things: what needs work, and what I can do to fix it. Thanks! :)
--
“So it’s a rabbit that also created the universe, get it?” Josh grinned as he finished explaining the riddle to Marcia, the cute Safeway check-out girl who he’d been trying to court for the past month. They were on the bus, with Josh heading to the library to get some books, and Maria to work.
See, Josh had been browsing the Internet late last night, and had stumbled upon a riddle. A very odd riddle. It involved the universe (as a broad concept), logic, and physics, along with surrealist poetry. He read it over, blinked, thought about it, and a few minutes later, had the answer. I mean, it was obvious. The answer to the riddle was that the reason for everything was a rabbit that created the universe. On the one hand, cool, but on the other, ‘big fucking deal’.
So Josh went to sleep, and woke up. When he woke up, he felt weird, like something wasn’t right, but he figured it was just morning jitters and shrugged it off. He hopped onto the bus, spotted Maria, moved on over, started talking, and long story short, there they were.
“Oh! That’s really cool!” Maria said, laughing good-heartedly with a warm and infectious smile on her face. The smile on Josh’s face widened more as he saw that he had amused her. It hadn’t really been anything, but Josh played it up as this huge, herculean effort - trying to impress her, right. And it was working! But...something wasn’t right. It was like...like the color was all wrong. As in, in the air, in his very perception, even. It was like a television signal going all wonky. Everything in his line of sight began rapidly flickering in and out of various shades of colours. At first, this was so startling, that Josh didn’t really notice that everything had frozen. Everything was completely still, except for him. Maria. The other people on the bus. The bus itself. Everything and everyone outside - even a soccer ball kicked on the sidewalk as the bus passed by was frozen in mid-air. When Josh finally noticed this, his eyes went wide and his heart started to pound. What the fuck was happening?
Josh started to get up, to try to explore where he was to figure something out, when suddenly everything went dark. As in, knocked the fuck out dark.
It seemed to Josh like just a moment had passed when he opened his eyes. He blinked them, groggily, as he moved them around, trying to figure out where he was. He saw a high, wide dark ceiling, with various lights dotting the whole expanse of it in uniform parallel rows.
Trying to sit up, his muscles reacted sharply. He winced, and eased the speed of his movement, lowering it. As he sat up more slowly, he carefully looked around himself. He was in a huge - as in, huge - black room. It was more like a warehouse. Surrounding him, in uniform, parallel rows - like the lights in the ceiling - were other beds, with other people in them. They were of all manner of variations of humanity - old people, young people, men, women, all sorts of races, and more. They had connected to them all sorts of wires and plugs, and what was common to all of them, down to the last one, was that they all appeared to be in a calm sleep.
Josh started to panic, his heart and mind racing. What the hell was going on? Where was he? What was this place?
Josh rapidly felt all over himself. Just as he expected, connected to him were various wires. In a furious panic, he ripped them out and off of himself. It hurt, and in various places skin tore slightly, but he didn’t notice, his adrenaline was running too fast. He jumped up, immediately stumbling over heavily due to his legs not being ready for it - for some reason. Taking the time to steady himself, he stood up straight, and tried to plot out his next move.
He didn’t have time. As he stood there and began to focus, he finally noticed a sound. Footsteps. Located behind him, and getting louder, footstep after footstep. He swung around to see approaching him a single figure. He didn’t know if it was a man or a woman. It was tall, a head taller than him at least, and had a completely bald, round white head. The eyes were vertical slits, and the mouth a thin, horizontal line - barely perceptible against the rest of the facial skin. It wore a black jumpsuit, from upper neck to toe. As Josh and the being stood there, facing each other, the being - ever so slightly, Josh thought he could notice - smiled.
“You’re awake.” The being’s statement was just that - a statement. No question involved. The voice was high-pitched, yet at the same time, strangely melodic.
Josh’s heart began to race, but he was frozen in his spot. Maybe it was shock, maybe it was terror, but he couldn’t move. Finally, he summoned the strength - and courage - to speak.
“Who are you? Where am I? What is this place?”
The being smiled even wider. “Who I am is not important. Where you are is one of many holding facilities for human beings. This one, in particular, is aboard an orbital platform, in orbit of the world that you know as Mars. It was one of many that was constructed in the wake of the Cataclysm, seventy nine years ago.”
Josh’s face crunched up into an expression of confusion, of lack of understanding. “Cata-what? What’s happened!?” He didn’t understand.
The being sighed deeply, and shook its head ever so slightly. When it spoke, it spoke in a condescending, lecturing tone. “Seventy nine years ago, in what was known as your 25th century, a virus spread across your species. Roughly ninety-three percent of your species died as a result of it. The remainder went into a comatose state. It was these that my species government took custody of, including managing human reproduction on a mass scale, and maintaining your species' physical needs and neural activity, through a mass simulation, which is what you knew as ordinary life, until a cure for their condition could be developed.”
Josh stared suspiciously at the being. “Where do I come into this?”
The being continued. “Our medical and scientific research eventually indicated that the virus had more or less run its course, and that those in the comatose state would be immune, as would all their descendants. However, they would remain in the comatose state until they brought themselves out of it. This would occur first in a single person, and then would occur soon after across the remainder of the human species. What would end the comatose state would be a particular strain of heightened brain activity. It was this that manifested in you, when you solved the riddle that we had inserted into the simulation in order to spark the necessary level of brain activity.”
Josh still stared. He still didn’t get the entire story. “And...and what, you did this, this ‘taking custody’ of all of humanity, out of the good of your hearts?”
The being chuckled, and shook its head. “No. An agreement was made between my government and the one human being who was immune to the virus's lethal and debilitating effects. In exchange for us being the saviours of your species, we would be rewarded with a...recompense.”
“A recompense? What do you mean?”
When the being spoke, it spoke carefully. “We would be granted permanent custody over a tenth of the species for a specific purpose. The human negotiating the agreement at first refused to even consider our proposal, but...well, given the alternative, he didn’t have much choice.”
“Permanent custody? Of a tenth of humanity? Why?” Josh shot out sharply - not out of anger, but of an eager desire for answers.
The being simply stared at Josh in silence for a long couple of moments, and then began to explain. “You see...with my kind, eating - the consumption of food for sustenance - is a sacred, almost religious experience. And after our long, long history in the universe, we have developed certain...tastes.” The being then smiled fully, and as the meaning of the being’s words sunk in, Josh couldn’t help but see that smile as utterly, completely, horrifying.
|
All the new frontiers in science, technology and music; the art of speech, the art of art, the art of video
games, simulating within the... simulation of another life which I was born into, which they were coded into,
placed to make everything work....
Something didn't click when I solved the code. Something didn't click. My mother, my father, McDonald's...
all of it was gone. McDonald's was gone.
"Thanks for getting rid of McDonald's..... That place went downhill, man." I spewed when the large, faded,
rainbow coloured machine came off my head, and removed it's tubes from my mouth.
A very confused-looking person, gaping in shock and staring, eyes wider than the mouths of creatures of a
faked deep blue, staring at me like I was some sort of monster, was next to me. He was completely naked,
which was unsuprising yet equally arousing.
I then realized that I was completely naked as well, and started apologizing.
He calmed down very quickly after hyperventilating quite a lot.
"What did you do to get out of there? I don't remember them talking about another one..." He trailed off,
confused, and (understandably) rather scared.
"Ever heard of that one joke riddle? It goes like, 'What's the difference between an orange?' I think I may
have accidentally solved it." I whispered, not understanding why I was whispering.
"Huh?"
"The answer was simple: An apple."
Instantly, I knew something was wrong. His face started to melt, showing the glistening meat underneath;
then turning to bone, which started to form little cracks in it - little spider-web cracks, going all over his
skeletal frame, distorting everything.
His body - or what was left of it, at the very very least - shattered, and turned quickly to dust. I had never
seen someone die so vividly, so helplessly, as though time had stopped and he froze, then those events
were construed by some devilish form of Fate.
Then there was black. Nothing. Absolutely null. There wasn't ever this amount of nothing back home in the
Simulation.
A distant voice said, with a booming, echoing feel, "I'll remember that, Alex. The day that two worlds died
by the hands of one person. I should not have overlooked that bug for that long......"
(authors note: this is my first time, go easy... never written before, kinda anxious)
| 2016-08-06T21:53:03 | 2016-08-06T16:09:58 | 68 | 17 |
[WP] You are having a hard time explaining to your fellow witches that your familar is a giraffe.
|
"Ok, one must think about it in a manner as such; cats are intriguing creatures, indeed, but for a coven they're awfully boorish. Everybody has a cat. Now, a giraffe, that is something truly magnificent... and mine, I dare say, practically oozes maleficence. As befits a familiar of the great Brunfarthing."
As if on queue, the newly 'liberated' animal stretched its long neck upward, positioning its body for optimal leaf-eating. Nonplussed at the coven of witches surrounding it, the giraffe ate.
"Wh — what's its name?" Griscilda asked, an idle hand stroking the black cat languidly wrapped around her shoulders.
Brunfarthing cackled. "Spot."
"Isn't that a dog name?" Trice-Blessed Nahlia, the youngest of their group inquired, staring up at Spot with wide eyes.
"No it's *not*."
"I'm pretty sure it's quite a common one, actually."
"I assure you its not. Look - look, we're ignoring the fundamental points here; he's tall, intelligent, and has a moral compass as dotted as his skin. He's perfect." She practically purred the last word with glee.
She slapped the giraffe's leg proudly.
"I don't *knowwww*," Nahlia continued. She effected a sing-song lilt to her tone, knowing full-well how much the other witches hated it when she did that.
Young she was indeed, but far from innocent or naive. True enough, only young minds could concoct new mischief for the changing times, and only Nahlia could so consistently find ways to irk her elderly and greying peers.
Brunfarthing fixed her with a withering stare. "Very well, you've earned this. Spot. *Attack.*"
At once, all the witches in the circle stiffened, whilst the Giraffe halted its eating. Spot lurched his neck sideways, and as he fixed his warm brown eyes upon Nahlia, only then could she appreciate the terror of his majesty. How quickly that long neck passed the edge of being cute and became unnerving; it reminded her of a hung body, the horror of an anatomy or familiar thing not quite as one would expect it to be, like a cherished floral-pattern shirt she had once lent suddenly stained — she was *certain* Scathach had never paid for that one...
Spot lowered that eery neck, ever so quietly edging forward, the witch utterly transfixed by a poignant concoction of fascination and fear.
Extending his tongue, Spot proceeded to lick Nahlia's face, chin to cheek, retracting with a squelch as saliva dripped down her.
Nahlia giggled. The sound slowly picked up and echoed around the coven, a cacophony of witches cackling until the air was filled with their laughter.
"Th-thats kind of adorable, actually," Griscilda commented, pushing her glasses up her nose and resting her hand on Spot's leg.
"It's certainly novel, I'll give ol' Brun that," another witch commented.
"She's lost her 'ed that one, ever since the Mordred incident..."
"Shhh! We *don't* talk about that."
"Wait, wasn't it Macbeth?"
Much to their surprise, however, Brunfarthing appeared unperturbed at the display and ensuing discussion. Instead her arms were folded with a self-satisfied smirk on her face.
"Gotcha," she said.
"Wow, you made me wet," Nahlia deadpanned. "How droll." Slowly, she clapped — gifted that she was, somehow the young witch clapped sarcastically.
"Brun. Explain thyself," the weathered voice of Ol' Mary carried itself throughout the group, as if on the wind itself. "This is most out of character."
"Ok, I might have been dramatising my reasoning a tad; a lot, truth be told. I like him. He's an *unfamiliar* familiar, but he's special to me. I was going to stick with the cat, but when I saw this one about to be poached by a group of hunters — well, I *initially* wasn't going to intervene, I'll be honest — but then I saw those large eyes and I just knew I couldn't not do something, you know? Hearing animals is a bane sometimes, I must say. We witches are cursed and blessed in equal measure."
"Hear, hear," a few witches murmured in chorus. Hushed whispers filled the night.
Nahlia blinked, her lips pouting. "Mm, the eyes. I see that," she responded. "And he's a good lookout. So long as he gives me a blind eye."
"Oh, I got him specifically with you in mind. No more shenanigans, I say. Enough is enough." Brunfarthing gave a good-natured chuckle. "Ok, but I will say that a giraffe's.... unique living requirements are somewhat more complex than a cat's. We'll need a concerted effort from the coven to ensure Spot here is well looked after. I know I ask for much, but I also know that I would do this for each and every one of you wonderful witches if asked. We're a sisterhood first, and the bane of do-gooders next."
"I'm fine with it," a witch called out from the periphery of the gathering.
"Sure, but he'll need a little glamour to blend in," came another voice.
"Oh, I can do that!"
"No, I want to spend time with the giraffe!"
"Over my familiar's dead body you are."
"Oh, you always do this you fucking *who*—"
"I do so love our little gatherings, warts and all," Nahlia sighed, checking her nails.
"*AHEM*. Ladies, ladies. One at a time, and leave the maledictions and curses for afterwards, if you please. Spot needs some space; he and I have much to discuss, and I have yet to instil the true ways of witchcraft and good-natured but morally dubious mischief into his black heart. Truly, we walk a complex path, and I wish not for his head to bonk against the ceiling, if you'll excuse the phrasing."
"Ok — ok. New coven member it is. Sure. Let's do this." Gris smiled, rubbing her arm excitedly through the fabric of her robes.
"Welcome to the family, Spot," said Brunfarthing, as the witches began to part. Overhead, a curved moon smiled down upon them.
|
[Poem]
How do I explain
That the familiar, the representative of my spirit
That has saved me in many life or death situations
Is a giraffe.
Nothing against them personally,
They're wonderful for the various savanna homed trees.
But... a giraffe
Its so odd for me
Especially considering my history.
Of loathing vegetables...
But maybe the fates love irony
| 2020-11-18T16:52:44 | 2020-11-18T16:33:10 | 371 | 90 |
[WP] The demon slides the plate helmet over their head, hiding the last inches of their unnaturally colorful skin behind a mask of steel. It's always been their dream to become a paladin for the god of light; Now's their chance to root out evil- TRUE evil.
|
The clanging of metal steps filled the corridors of the White Mausoleum as a lonesome knight roamed them. The flawless steel armor that surrounded her body bounced the few rays of light that the moon provided, covering her entire body in an unbreakable, shiny carapace and hiding her true identity. As she traveled through the gargantuan building, another set of softer and graceful footsteps echoed. Before long, her path collided with a senile, old man wearing a tall pointed hat and a bundle of pristine white clothing. At the sight of the paladin, he jumped in place, before realizing who his new companion was.
“By Albus’ light” He let out in his tranquil voice. “You scared me, sister Lillith.”
The knight bowed her head. “I’m sorry, Archbishop Abaddon. I didn’t think I would find anyone else wandering His holy house this late into the night.”
The elder man let out a nervous chuckle. “That’s quite alright.” He comforted. “You needn’t apologize for my mistake.”
“Might I escort you to your quarters, Archbishop?” The look on the man’s face was as stoic as ever, but even then, Lillith could sense a most subtle change in demeanor. His stance, the light drop of sweat that began forming at the top of his forehead, the smell of a guilty man that reached her inhuman nose was telling a story that he did not want to tell.
“That… won’t be necessary, Lillith.” He assured. “I truly doubt there are any evildoers who would want to harm me in the middle of our beloved church.”
“I insist.” As the two words left her mouth, the Archbishop realized there was no escaping her company. With no logical reason to deny her help, he surrendered and told Lillith she could follow him to his room if it would help ease her doubts. In silence, they both made their way through the white and golden hallways towards the west wing of the infamous White Citadel. The walls were filled with paintings depicting various events throughout history, some bloodier than others, causing Lillith to stare at the works of art quite intently.
“Archbishop…” She broke the silence. “If I may, what made you stay up so late at night?”
The man raised an eyebrow towards her. “Oh, you know…” He stuttered. “The God of Light’s work is never truly over, I must have lost track of time whilst I devoted my efforts to him.”
She smiled under her helmet. “You must be quite dedicated, Archbishop. I’ve recently heard you have been taking more and more sleepless nights in his name.”
“It is the least I can do.” He admitted. “After all the blessings we have received from him, sacrificing my shuteye sounds like a small sacrifice.” Once he finished his sentence, a tall, marble door appeared at the end of a small hallway to their right, indicating the end of their quest. The Archbishop pulled out a diamond encrusted key from his pocket, fiddling with it for a second before the click of the lock announced the door’s opening. Before he could say his parting words to the accompanying knight, he felt a great force push him inside of the room and a hand covering his mouth, preventing him from shouting for help. The door quickly shut behind him.
Once the hand was removed from his lips, he yelled at his unknown assailant.
“Have you any idea who you are messing with?!” He screamed, realizing that the attacker wore the same armor of the knight who had escorted him there. “Lillith?! What is the meaning of this?!”
“Oh Archbishop…” she said, mocking him, removing her helmet to show her dark blue skin and shaved off horns atop her head. “You are a smart man, aren’t you? Surely you can figure out why you are in this situation.”
“I knew there was something wrong with you from the moment that blasted Ignis took you into our citadel… I knew you were a traitor from the first day!”
“Right! So that’s why you let me guide you all the way to your bedchamber” Lillith barked at him. “Surely you were planning to take me down once and for all, weren’t you?” Abaddon laid on the floor in silence, feeling the weight of the vial in his innermost pocket. “Or could it be… that you were planning something else? Perhaps use that little flask of Morpheus’ Dream that you hold so close to your person? Like what you did to Erika…”
“It is purely medicinal, you wench!”
“Don’t lie to me, snake!” She yelled as she pulled out her mithril sword from its sheath. “Now… I’m a merciful demon. If you can prove yourself useful, I may just let you live…”
“As if I would ever help one of the Night Children! I have my god’s love on my side, I do not fear death!” A swift strike removed his hand clean off. Shock entered his body through the wound causing him to kneel over his new lacking extremity.
“First question… What lies beneath the Speaker’s chambers?”
The man kept screaming in pain, clutching his wrist as waves of crimson spilled to the floor.
“Answer me before I cut the other one!”
“I don’t know!” He cried out. “I don’t know they don’t let us Archbishops go down there! Only the Speaker and his inner circle know… Please… No more of this.”
She knew he was not lying but still felt unsatisfied with the response. “Second question… Who is the Chained God?”
“Isn’t it obvious?!” He began. “Your kind should know that the gods don’t give out their power for free! So Speaker Suman had to make a choice… he chose humanity!” As the words left his mouth, an expression of terror filled his eyes. “I’ve said too much…” He got on his knees and placed his head on the floor. “Forgive me Speaker for I have sinned against my brothers and against my order… I believe in the light as the light believes in me… I believe in the light as the light believes in me…”
Lillith stared in confusion as the archbishop prayed. “We’re not finished yet… How many of you know about the Chained God?” The man did not cease his prayer. “I asked you a question, snake! Answer me before I do something we both don’t want to happen.”
“I believe in the light and the light believes in me!” He yelled, his eyes losing any color and beginning to shine brightly with an ethereal light. Lillith quickly made her way to the door as the glow increased, filling the entire room in no time. Just before she could get to a safe distance, a thunderous explosion filled the archbishop’s bedroom, sending the armored knight flying through the air, and alerting every single resident of the White Citadel. Her first instinct was to cover her head once more with her helmet. As she got to her feet, a stinging pain filled her leg.
“Shit… shit!” She whispered. “Now is not the time to be broken, you asshole!” Lillith began limping her way out of the scene, bearing more questions inside of her mind than the ones she had prior to her encounter. For now, she was satisfied with escaping with her life.
|
Chapter 1: a redeemed beginning
CLANK
My heavy armor shook with my steps, dreams and aspirations
CLANK
as I bent down on one knee and swore allegiance to the Ever Light.
“Interesting… none of your kind have made it this far with pure intentions. However , light shines on all creations, even those who reject it”
The gentle voice caressed my ears which was a stark difference to a different god I once served.
“From this day, I shall grant you status of one of my children. I respect your sacrifices needed to come here but you understand that I will need to seal your other powers right”
My heart stiffened but I nodded nonetheless.
“Very well, I grant you the special power of Unbound Judgement. Judgement will be yours alone, and justice will be decided by none other than you. Farewell, I look forward to see where you go, oh prince of the Dark one”.
The light flashed around me, pain flooded my skin. I could feel my blood rejecting this power but I had to endure it, I gritted my teeth and thought about the power I would receive. Before long the ceremony was over. I felt freedom for the first time in my life, power that created that freedom coursing through my veins.
The priests hurried in but seemed rather surprised to see me still awake.
“Judging from how you aren’t even exhausted, it looks like you failed to get a class. Better luck next time” one snickered.
I walked past them and ignored the noisy bastards after all I had to tolerate far worse in the underworld.
| 2022-02-23T15:21:30 | 2022-02-23T14:25:09 | 113 | 34 |
[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.
|
\~ Dark Angel \~
I should've realized Sam was a vampire much sooner. She fit the stereotype to a tee: ghostly pale skin, intense, hypnotic eyes, unearthly beauty. But I'd gotten a little carried away by my crush on her and all I saw was your typical teenage bombshell. Captain of the cheerleading squad, popular, but actually nice to everyone, a fondness for wearing short skirts that displayed her long, long legs and turned my brain to mush. And when she invited *me* to hang out with her one day, I was just flattered to be noticed by her.
Once I got to her house, there were more warning signs, but I'd already put my brain on hold and didn't notice any of them until much later. The house stood right at the edge of a dense forest which most people were too afraid to venture into. Her parents were "out of town" and she wasn't sure when they'd be back. Inside the house was dark, even though it was mid-afternoon, all the window coverings firmly closed so as not to allow even a sliver of sunlight inside. She wore a ring on one finger that reminded me of the ones vampires typically wear to protect them from the sun's deadly rays, but I didn't think much of it at the time. Lots of girls wore rings; it probably didn't mean anything. I wore one myself, but she didn't seem to notice.
She led me into the living room and poured each of us a glass of wine to drink. I figured her parents either didn't know or were the lenient type who allowed her to drink.
"It's so nice of you to come over, Angel," she said as she sat beside me on the couch, sipping her wine. "A lot of people are too freaked out by the woods. They're convinced there's something evil living in there, just waiting to pounce." She snickered.
I laughed along with her. "Don't worry," I said. "I'm pretty sure I'm worse than anything living in those woods."
Her eyes sparkled and she ran a finger down my arm, making me shiver. "Have I ever told you," she murmured, "how sexy you goth girls are?"
I giggled like a schoolgirl. I couldn't help it—I was beginning to feel a bit odd and lightheaded. At the time, I thought it was just giddiness from being so close to her, but now I know she must've put something in the wine. She leaned in and kissed the side of my neck.
And then I felt her fangs.
*Oh, you* ***asshole***, I thought, but she had already begun to feed. Even if I'd wanted to fight back, whatever she'd put in the wine had taken hold, and all I could do was sit there and wait for her to drain me.
When at last she was satisfied, she stood and lifted my lifeless body off the couch with ease. No doubt she was feeling extra powerful after feeding. She threw me over her shoulder and danced out the back door and into the woods. I could even hear her *whistling* as she carried me through the trees and buried my body in a small clearing.
What followed was not a pleasant night. I had to wait several hours for my strength to return before I could even move enough to dig myself out. At last, exhausted and covered head to toe in dirt, I heaved myself up from the ground and started the long, weary walk back home.
I didn't feel much better by morning, but I *had* to go to school and face her. She needed to understand what she'd just done. That long night had given me plenty of time to think, and I realized it was past time for me to do something about a problem that had been nagging at me for some time.
The local vampire community had been growing a lot in recent years. At first, I hadn't thought much of it, but it had gotten to the point where vampires didn't recognize one another on sight anymore, when once I had known each and every one and they had known me.
This was a problem.
I was still pretty worn out when I arrived at school, but a shower and a fresh outfit, as well as a sense of anticipation, had done wonders for my mood. I greeted everyone I passed with a smile until I saw Sam.
And then I positively *beamed.*
A second later, she saw me across that crowded hallway, and I saw the blood leave her face in a rush. For one thrilling moment, I thought she might faint.
I stared at her, still smiling, knowing she was waiting for something to happen. And then I turned and headed to class.
I let her squirm until the end of the day. She wouldn't try to sneak out of the building and go hide somewhere, I was sure. For one thing, she must have some questions for me. Besides, I knew where she lived.
I waited by her locker after the last class of the day, and, sure enough, she approached me, looking unconcerned. But I could tell it was a front.
"You didn't tell me you were a vampire," she greeted me.
"Funny, I could say the same thing about you," I said, still smiling. I don't think I'd stopped all day. People were starting to look a bit unnerved.
"So, now what?" she demanded, still trying to appear nonchalant.
"Come with me," I said. "I want to tell you a story."
She scoffed, but something in my eyes must've told her she'd better cooperate. I do have that effect on people sometimes.
I waited until we were outside and away from the crowd before I spoke again. "I'd like to hear about how you were turned."
"I thought you said you were going to tell *me* a story," she said, but I silenced her with a single glance.
She fidgeted. "Well, there isn't much to tell. A few months ago, I met this older girl and she said she had something cool she wanted to show me. We went to this creepy old mansion on the edge of town, and she turned me." She shrugged, avoiding my eyes. "And that's it," she added.
It was worse than I'd feared. In times past, being turned used to be the most sacred ritual . . . I shook my head hard. "Did she tell you anything? Any of the legends?"
"What legends?"
*What legends?!* I tried not to react. "The *legends*," I said. "Our sacred history. She didn't even tell you about the Vampire Queen?"
She shook her head. I heaved a deep sigh and continued. "Years ago, the Vampire Queen settled in this town. She ruled over the entire vampire community, ensuring that each newly turned vampire was properly trained in the ancient ways before they were allowed back in the human world. Others have gotten careless and greedy in the past, spawning new vampires with no regard to the natural order of things until their towns were overrun and there were no humans left to feed on and the vampires turned on each other. The Vampire Queen wanted to avoid that here."
"Okay," Sam said with a hint of impatience. "So what are you going to do? Take me back to the Queen and make me swear some oath not to turn anyone else?"
"That won't be necessary," I said. "The Queen has her own methods of dealing with such situations, should they arise. For instance, an enchantment on her own blood that turns any vampire who dares drink it into her servant, helpless against the force of her will for the rest of their days."
Sam squirmed, eyes darting around as if looking for an escape.
"Do stop fidgeting," I said. "Vampires are a proud people."
She immediately stilled, but the terror in her eyes only increased.
"Tell me the name of the one who turned you," I commanded.
"I-I think it was C-C-Carla. Or-or something like that," she stammered. "Please—I didn't know—"
"Silence!" I said, and, though her lips kept moving, no sound came out. Tears began to fill her eyes.
"And now," I said, "you will accompany me, for there is much to be done to restore our proud community to its original glory." With that, I turned and began to walk to the vampires' lair, the source of all our power and knowledge, where I would seek out all those who had disobeyed me and exact my revenge.
And Sam had no choice but to follow.
The End
|
"Maria, Maria please stop. Please stop." Those were the words that came to my head the moment I woke up. All started with a soft kiss then all ended with a hard bite down my neck. She then kissed me again with blood all over her mouth.
"Oh god, who could have thought that death tasted so sweet".
She didn't even bother the completely bury me. Cruel as the time she rejected me last year. I brushed off the dirt from my body and crawled up.
It was 9 in the morning and Class already started. So I went to the dorms to change clothes so I would look normal and went to Class.
When I opened the door the teacher started shouting towards me. "Im sorry teach but I had a late bloody night".When I was finally allowed to speak I then went to my seat.
My seat was next to her, so when I went there I waves at her. She was there all shock. Her eyes where red, her skin went pale and she was shaking in her seat. She was biting her right hand nails like a maniac and her legs couldnt stop moving.
Finally Class was over. She couldnt handle me while in the whole time of the lecture I didn't even left my eyes off of her. She couldnt return the eye contact and that made her even more nervous.
While I was walking through The campus, she grabbed me by the neck and bought me in her room.
"How the fuck are you alive?" she couldnt stop trembling and she was ready to cry.
"Oh I think you you know how? Dont you? You killed me Maria?" the questions where all that mattered to me now.
"Yes I killed you and no internet dont know wtf is going on right here."trembling she said, while red tears started falling from her eyes.
" My sweet Maria, dont cry im not here to kill you. No, no, no please dont cry. You actually gave me a second chance. "I said while I was holding her hands.
She raised her head to see me, and now her tears were pure red blood." What do you mean? "
" My favorite. My Maria, you gave me time. "
| 2022-12-29T19:51:35 | 2022-12-29T17:14:15 | 130 | 32 |
[WP] Humanity exports 98% of all the galaxy's food. This means that no empire can attack them due to reliance. Of course, someone had to try.
|
\[My first attempt at answering a prompt, sorry if the quality is dubious!\]
Humans were only part of the galactic community for a short amount of time. It took them an incredibly long amount of time to even reach other star systems, and were immediately faced with the Nexapari Empire in the process of creating an outpost around Proxima Centauri. Contact was initiated, and soon enough, the humans were recognized as a formal part of the Galaxy, although heavily subordinated by the Nexapari.
Restricted to their home star system of Sol and the nearby Sirius, and fully surrounded by Nexapari occupations, they were the most irrelevant you could imagine ; and a deeper look into their biology attempted by the Nexapari failed to find anything noteworthy, which made them allow more independence - after all, why take time and resources to keep an unimportant and useless state in line? So they left them some resources as a compensation for the occupation of Proxima Centauri and left humans on their own. If only they knew...
Because just a few years later, the Humans took some time to create some research deals. What the Nexapari was missed was subtle - Humans make really, really good merchants ; they were the only ones to invent capitalism. And as such, seeing how they have nothing to offer, the richest and smartest people of Sol and Sirius decided to find a way to gain relevance. And fin they did...
The way they did it was not quite the most ethical - the only thing interesting about those mammalians were their biology, and the existence of very specific mental illnesses not findable anywhere else, which sometimes came to support their endeavors. After being informed of the different effects of sociopathy and the passionating impacts of synesthesia, different scholars around the galaxy started almost fighting over who gets access to the most specimens of humans, aiming to make the best use out of these weirdly useful traits. And the humans, lacking most advanced technology and relevance, decided to use their chance to get some potential - they made a series of deals with the Drobagonn, Trieli and Stuavi, showing a shocking lack of empathy - literally selling their citizens with no regard for their consent purely based on their traits, testing entire planets for sociopathy and other illnesses considered 'potentially useful', and in return, getting large documents and synapses with specific information about technology used to gather food in mass.
Why food? That's where came the economic genius of humans - some smart market research allowed them to find out that none of the universe' big powers - and almost no smaller ones - invested any particular amount of work into mass-produced food. There was no reason to - enough food to feed populations was easily obtainable through farming on planets, and no more was necessary. Why would it?
But stubborn humans spent entire centuries developing new technology out of existing ones, researching specific food for most of the universe's species, aiming to find the perfect, universal food. And yet, their success was due to propaganda - after a careful PR campaign, they managed to convince thousands of millions of species all over the galaxy that eating can be more than a prerequisite to survival - it can became a pleasure. And it worked. Food consumption everywhere within the galaxy rose almost exponentially, and within it, not much states were able to keep sustaining their populations with purely their own resources and stockpiles. And, what a surprise, humans had thousands upon thousands of different types of food ; aimed towards everyone, some more luxurious than others. And within not even a millennium, human consumerism spread away all around the galaxy, Humanity becoming the main exporter of food ; and they made it a monopoly, jealously restricting their technology to their own productions and effectively forcing the entirety of the galactic community to buy food from them. They became an economic empire, controlling 98% of the galactic food exports despite only living around two stars... Something which could easily become a detriment.
And soon enough, it did. The proud Nexapari never fully consented to the rising independence of what used to be a subjugated, worthless state fully within their borders ; and the government openly opposed consumerism, accusing it of being a way of weakening the strength of their people ; and they openly accused Humans of sabotaging the Galaxy, making the people of all worlds less able to defend themselves against attacks. Finally, on the 900th anniversary of the first meeting between the two states, the Nexapari reminded Humans of their help all these years ago, and demanded their subjugation. The bottom-line was simple - if they'll agree, they'll lose their superiority and the Nexapari will take control of the booming economy and amazing technology ; if they refuse, they'll get destroyed by what still was the strongest empire in the galaxy. Could they really refuse?
Turns out, they could. After a refusal from the galactic community to intervene, shielding themselves with a banal "The Nexapari's demands aren't dependent on our decisions", Humans asked for seven days to commute. Seven days later, they refused, with an open statement and threat openly said by the Human ambassador :
>The Nexapari have held in their clutches the Galaxy for far too long. You have abandoned our people in barely livable standards, ridding us of all but one solar system within years of our arrival to the international stage, and leaving us to rot, unable to in any way make our situation between, while you were flowing in riches and were abusing our weakness on all fronts. You have no right to lay claims upon our state ; if we rose, it wasn't due to your minimal help, but our persistence and abilities ; our determination and skill. Therefore, our answer is simple : No! We will keep our sovereignty ; and if you plan on taking it away, you will have to take it with our lives as well.
All over the galaxy, the news of this were laughed upon. Nobody had managed to stand up to the Nexapari, and therefore nobody was expecting this empire of parvenus to have any toll. And, thinking the same, the Nexapari declared total war, saying they'll kill every single one of this species of insolent, useless, overconfident beings... And yet, this would prove soon to be ironic...
Because although it was the Nexapari who declared war, the humans struck first. Within hours of the beginning of the invasion, something really weird happened. All the food given to the Nexapari was just... Gone. And when the surprised leaders started investigating, and noticed armies of nanobots disguised as perishable food not to be detected, it was too late. Millions of Nexapari who got tempted by the delicious food died within minutes, the nanobots litearlly burning their bodies from inside ; and when they thought the worst was over, the started killing more, unexpectedly - once one died, the bots acted as part of the air, and proceeded to answer another Nexapari's body to kill them again. It wasn't a war, it wasn't even close. It was a slaughter.
The thousands that remained instantly called for a truce, and the galactic community, shocked by the genocide, pushed for it. Humans begrudgingly stopped the nanobots, pointing out openly that the Nexapari planned a genocide as well, and no action was taken against them. And nothing could be openly done ; the Humans forced a peace deal which completely reversed the situation, putting their opponents back to two symbolic planets and demanding vassalization. The Nexapari had no choice but to agree.
Because, in truth, the human ambassador lied. They didn't achieve so much thanks to determination, skill, persistence nor abilities. What they did have was an unbelievable level of cold reasoning and ruthlessness ; and enough secrecy to keep their true intents secret for as long as necessary.
And as such, nobody can challenge us again.
|
*In which aliens are idiots*
The Supreme Leader of the Eklan was a bit insane, and most of his cabinet too. Who in their right mind would try to destroy their number one supplier of food? Even rejecting the humans’ prized donut? Treason! Dear reader, you must remember that humanity is not only a great ally, but a dangerous enemy, hell, maybe even the most dangerous. Of course the Eklan underestimated them, but I still do not know how having 700 tentacles is much more superior than having bipedal limbs.
And thus began the shortest war in the history of the galaxy, even beating the 40 Earth minutes of one of humanity’s wars. To be precise, it was 10 Earth minutes. 10 Earth minutes in which humanity decimated the Eklan armada.
I feel a bit of pity for the Eklan. Calling themselves the only rulers of the known galaxy, preparing for what they thought would be a swift victory for them, and being destroyed in the most spectacular way possible by a species they called primitive. I shudder to think if I lost the delicious donut, and half a minute later have my body blown into space.
I do hope that our governments aren’t as insane as the Eklan.
| 2021-04-15T06:27:32 | 2021-04-15T06:03:54 | 273 | 57 |
[WP] You find a copy of The Sims 5 at a used video game store. You decide to buy it and try it out. Slowly, unscripted and non programmed events start to happen. You realize that you're actually controlling a real family.
|
I kicked my legs up and got comfy, placing the keyboard on my lap and starting up the game. I'd been playing Sims 5 everyday now for the past three years. At first, when I saw it there in the used PC games section I thought it was a joke. I couldn't find any mention of it on Steam, there wasn't hundreds of dollars of DLC discs that I knew of, just a used game that apparently didn't exist. On sale for a dollar.
I bought it on a whim. It was just a dollar, what did I have to lose? It was probably a copy of the original Sims just re-wrapped to trick people. Probably someone hoping I'd post a picture of it on reddit asking "Who did this?"
I destroyed four families before I realized it wasn't a game.
When I booted it up, the graphics were next-gen. Better than next gen, actually, which surprised me since my PC couldn't run Sims 3 without occasional lag. There was no longer a create-a-sim option, just a selection list, a search function or a "Select Random Family" button. And there weren't any made up towns anymore, the game was *global*. I could select families in China, the U.S, Australia... I thought they were just going for that "progressive diversity" thing they started with the whole gender update in Sims 4 and thought nothing of it. The only difference was a coloured difficulty rating for each family. Families in China had a difficulty ranging from Green to Orange depending on where they were, American first world families rarely dropped below Yellow difficulty while third world families rarely got better than an Orange rating.
I shrugged and went with easy. I chose a family from my home town just for giggles. They tanked right away. I accessed the cheat console to find out if 'Motherlode' still worked, which it did, and proceeded to try to deck out the house. By the next day police appeared and arrested the father on suspicion of tax fraud. It confused me at first but I figured it was some sort of cheat detection thing. The next family went a little smoother. Apparently there was the option to access bank accounts and direct money into offshore accounts that prevented my Sims from being arrested, so I took full advantage of it.
This was a family had no kids, so I quickly started trying to max their stats I quit their jobs and made the wife run non-stop on the treadmill to build cardio, accessing the debug menu to keep her mood maxed. I had the husband sit in front of his laptop and write novels all day, hoping to max out the revenue so I'd rely less on Motherlode for money.
The were dead in three days. A notification told me it was dehydration.
That was when the game started to annoy me. Why would they limit cheating? It made no sense! I tested another two families before giving up for the evening. Too much was different. Building extensions to homes required builders, which too time even if you sped the game to it's highest in-game speed so I demolished the whole house out of spite and found another family. I decided to test what would get me killed with that one. It was a wife, husband and a teenage son & daughter.
I placed the son in his room, deleted the windows and doors and maxed the mood. Dead from dehydration in three days. I did the same to the daughter, but this time I didn't max out moods. It was the usual. Stamping, screaming, wetting themselves, but it got too real and intense. Now they wouldn't just wet themselves, there was defecation. There was pounding and screaming on the walls *seriously* debuffed the mood of the parents. I ended up maxing the moods just so she'd die a little quieter.
The weirdest part at the time was that the bodies wouldn't disappear and turn into urns. Apparently there was a whole body disposal system now. I tried to build a door to the rooms, but a warning appeared.
*Warning: Calling in other Sims while the bodies of Sims that have died due to negligence are present may result in arrest. Do you want to call in other Sims or would you like your Sims to attempt to complete this task. Skill training in repair affects success.*
I shrugged. It made sense, so I made the parents demolish the wall and removed static moods to see what the effect would be. The moment they found the son they both plummeted in mood. The mother wouldn't stop crying over the body and the father ignored all commands and started knocking down the wall to the daughters room. When he found her body the screen flashed.
*One of your Sims is suffering a mental break: Homicidal Rage.*
I laughed at that. Apparently EA was ripping off RimWorld now. I watched the father calmly walk over to a liquor cabinet, take a drink and then unlock a gun safe I didn't even realize was there. He then went over to his wife and shot her pointblank in the back of the head.
I stopped giggling.
He then went to his laptop, wrote for a moment, and then shot himself. I shut off the game. That was just taking things too far. This obviously had to be some fan game, there was no way EA would include something like that. I shook it off, had a beer to take the bad taste out of my mouth and went to bed.
It was at work the next day that I got the news. A family that had apparently locked their children away, letting them die of dehydration. The cops had been alerted to gunfire the previous evening finding that the husband had killed himself and his wife in an apparent murder-suicide. My hometown was in shock. Me? I was in a daze. I started googling the names of the previous Sims I had played. One was arrested two days earlier on suspicions of tax fraud, another couple was found dead under mysterious circumstances. One was suing a construction company for completely demolishing their home.
It was like I'd found the Death Note. I was dumbfounded. Was I a murderer? Had I killed those people? The reports said this had happened several days ago, so how could that be? And the bodies...
I stopped.
The Grim Reaper had collected their souls just like the other games. That couldn't have been real, could it? I excused myself from work and went home, claiming illness, and just cried. I cried for hours. I couldn't decide whether to tell anyone or not. Who would believe me? Eventually tears gave way to laughter. I had to be imagining things, didn't I? There was no way that I could have so much...
Power. I had *power*.
Suddenly I needed to know more.
------------------------------
**To Be Continued.**
|
After observing for what only seems like a short amount of time, The family is so dysfunctional, angry, and full of hate that after many long years and countless hours spent observing this freak of nature that is the family you finally discover you picked up a dvd copy of all the Malcolm in the Middle episodes.
| 2016-12-03T13:05:21 | 2016-12-03T11:40:29 | 52 | 11 |
[WP] You have weird super power. If you successfully talk someone into doing something, they will succeed, regardless of if the action in question is actually possible. On the other hand, your abilities to actually persuade people are unaltered.
|
We were both 14 at the time, my best friend Rand and I sat contentedly on the branches of the highest tree in our neighbourhood, while some of the other, more cautious kids looked up in awe from the ground.
“You can see the whole city from here!” I realised, amazed by a view that young me had never seen before.
“I can see my house from here”, Rand quipped, unfazed by the wonders spread below us.
We sat together for a companionable while, but young as we were the novelty gradually wore off. I glanced at the ground, dizzyingly far away and now empty of an audience. Getting down was going to take a while. I glanced over at Rand, and joked “dare you to get to the bottom in less than 5 seconds”.
I didn’t mean it of course, why on earth would I mean something like that? But the challenge in my voice obviously swayed Rand, who gave me a considering look. After a moment the doubt cleared from his face and he broke into a grin, before taking off with a shout: “race you to the bottom!”.
Of course getting to the top of a tree and getting back to the bottom are two completely different things, as anyone who’s ever climbed one will know, so naturally I started down hesitantly, feeling my way with my feet for the steadier branches below, but a cautious glance down took my breath away: there was Rand, hopping lightly from branch to branch as if pulled to each one by a constantly-shifting gravity. I wish I’d timed it, but surely not more than 3 seconds had passed before he took a leap that – realistically – should have broken at least 1 bone and landed feet-first on the ground, grinning up at me and only slightly out of breath.
It took me 2 whole minutes to climb down.
2 days later I got the news: my best friend had tried the same daredevil feat again, but the result had changed. Part of me suspected what had happened, and from then on my fear of a recurrence kept me well away from asking people to do the impossible.
**15 Years On**
Nobody expected it when the troopers crossed the border. There was no way our neighbouring country had declared war on us, was there? Relations were so friendly, it surely had to be some kind of false flag operation. Regardless, their allegiance didn’t matter, what mattered was that our army barely had time to mobilise in defense before the shock troops started marching through our streets, killing soldier and civilians alike. Not knowing what to do but knowing I had to do *something*, I found myself in the streets, looking for a group of our people. Of course I’d served my year of mandatory army service, so I at least knew one end of a weapon from the other, and spotting a barricade of our soldiers I skidded over, grabbing a gun from one of the fallen on arrival. One of the soldiers looked at me dubiously, but obviously accepting how outnumbered they were, accepted my support.
We made our stand there, behind a wall that felt far too flimsy as grenade after grenade flew over us, occasionally hitting the wall or, worse, one of our people. How many grenades did they have?
“This is hopeless!” cried one of the younger soldiers, despairing. “It’s just a matter of time now before we’re all killed, there’s no way we’ll win…it’s impossible”. With that he collapsed heavily against the battered wall and let out a sob.
*Impossible*… the word seemed to whisper to me as if from ages past, and I found myself looking up to find a tree that had been cleared from this block years ago. What had I to lose now?
I turned to the first soldier who’d looked at me, he seemed to be their commander, and gulped. “It may not be impossible, we do have a chance.”
The commander looked at me, sceptical yet open to suggestions.
“You see, I think I have this…ability…when I convince people to try the impossible, they can do it. I don’t know why, but it works.”
“Uh huh”, the commander said, his expression grim, and turned back to the enemy, “well, top marks for trying to bring some humour to the situation at least.”
“I’m being serious, we can really do this! What have we got to lose?”
“And how many times have you tested this…ability?”
I winced, “just once, 15 years ago”.
The commander lobbed a grenade of his own at the enemy. Where had he gotten that? “I’ll tell you what we’ve got to lose, our dignity.”
Another grenade flew at the enemy, met by three of their own. Once again the commander reconsidered. “Alright, convince me to do something, but it’d better work”.
I paused, I’d never actually tested my ability – telling the commander I had hadn’t even been strictly true, that had just happened by chance. How did it work? Would just saying ‘defeat the enemy’ do it? Maybe I had to put a timer on it or something like that. Well, it was worth a shot.
“Uh, dare you to defeat the enemy in 2 minutes or less?”.
He sighed, somehow mixing defeat, determination, and disgust into one sound, before looking at his watch and standing up, machine gun in hand.
To give him credit, he actually took down a fair few of the troopers before taking a bullet himself. He grunted as he fell back behind our barricade. “Knew it was a joke, how much dignity do I still have?”
It was a fool’s hope, and I wondered what had gone wrong. Was the task too impossible, or not impossible enough? Resigned, I put my own weapon above the barricade again and began shooting blind, determined to take as many with me as I could. Out of nowhere, a voice piped up beside me, “you weren’t really joking though, were you?”
I stopped shooting and looked to my side where the frightened soldier from before now crouched, eyes still red and scared, but now with something else I couldn’t identify.
“No”, I sighed, “I wasn’t joking”.
The young soldier poked his head over the barricade to look at the swarm around us, finally moving in for a flanking manoeuvre now that we’d been softened up.
“Tell me to do something then”.
I looked at him, did I really want to be directly responsible for this soldier’s death? Would it matter if he died anyway?
“Ok, we’ll try again, dare you to win this in 2 minutes or less”.
The youngster grinned at me weakly, he couldn’t be more than the minimum recruiting age, and leapt up and over the barricade.
The sight that greeted me when I poked my own head over the barricade burned in my memory forever: the soldier moved easily over, under and around enemy bullets and the explosions of grenades as he fired shot after shot, each finding its mark in an enemy trooper. As he ran out of bullets, he began picking up the unfamiliar weapons of the enemy and using those to devastating effect as well, and while I knew I should be helping, I couldn’t tear my gaze away from the sights I was seeing. It didn’t matter anyway; in 1 minute and 57 seconds, he’d managed to take out an entire platoon.
“I knew it!” he cried triumphantly as he looked back to me, “I knew you were telling the truth!”.
As a breeze blew past me I could almost hear the sound of leaves blowing in the wind, taking me back to that day 15 years ago, and with it a bittersweet truth: the reason Rand had been able to do what he did and bring my ability to life was because of one thing only: he believed in me.
|
Over the years I have accomplished so much. When I first learned of my powers in high school I was not the best student. Constantly convincing friends to throw raging parties or jump their vehicles over things. They'd always be dumb enough to listen to my crazy ideas and we would always pull through it unscathed.
I've grown a lot since high school. In college after my friend was assaulted during a party I instigated I convinced him to go to the police. That everything would work out that the person would be caught and justice would be served. That he would heal. And that is what happened. It actually changed me helping him. Helped me move towards a life of helping people. A goal in college instead of partying.
I help those that have been hurt. Any kind of pain. I help them heal. All they have to do is listen and follow my instructions. Becoming a doctor has helped me convince them to listen. This is my power. This is my greatest strength. Why I was gifted with it will always baffle me but I will use it for the rest of my life for this purpose. My days of partying are behind me. I look into the mirror every single morning and tell myself just that. Guide them and they will be saved. Say whatever it takes to convince them. You will help them all. This is your gift. Use it.
| 2017-06-21T13:31:08 | 2017-06-21T11:21:22 | 44 | 27 |
[WP] After an apocalypse, Death is desperately trying to help the last group of survivors so he doesn't lose his job.
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"Who are you?" Michael yelled at the approaching silhouette that seemed to be dragging itself through the spiralling cloud of red, desert dust, toward them. He raised a hand to his eyes and squinted, trying to get a better look at the figure - trying to decide if he should grab his little sister's hand and run far away from here, never turning, never looking back. But he knew they couldn't run. They'd *probably* die if they stayed, but he was certain they would die if they ran. It had been so long since they'd seen someone else - *anyone* else. He had thought they were the last.
The figure was tall - even hunched over as it was, struggling to walk, Michael guessed it must have been at least seven foot. It clutched something long and curved in its right hand.
"Michael, Cibby is scared," whispered Isabella, clutching her beloved, no-legged doll tightly in the crook of her good arm.
Michael looked at his little sister, sighed, then crouched down until he was eye level with her. Sweat was pouring out from her burning forehead and dribbling down to her torn, lilac tee. It was a sweat that they couldn't replace; there was no water here. There seemed to be no water left on Earth. He gently ran the back of his fingers down Isabella's cheek.
"Me too, Izzy. But we all need to be brave right now. Whoever is coming, we need their help. You're still not better - although, I'm sure you will be soon," he added, "and, well, we've not seen *anyone* since..." His voice trailed off as he thought of their parents.
Isabella bit her lip, looked up at the swirling, tombstone sky above and nodded. "We'll be brave."
"Good girl. Make sure you stay behind me, okay? Let me talk to him," Michael commanded, stepping in front of his sister. "And if... anything happens to me. Anything bad, I want you to run as fast as you can, back the way we came." Michael turned to face the approaching figure. He could now make out the ragged cloak that hung loose around the thin body; the pointed blade that trailed on the desert floor, biting into the earth as it dragged along. But he couldn't see the features of the face hidden in the brooding shadow of the hood.
"Hello!" said Michael, raising a hand. The figure didn't respond; it continued trudging toward them.
"We- we don't mean you harm. My sister's sick and we've not had water for-"
Michael's mouth dropped open when he saw the skeletal feet poking out from the bottom of the cloak. "Oh, Jesus." Now he was ready to run. He'd rather die on the radiation plains, his skin peeling and his heart dripping, than let this monstrosity come any closer. But his curiosity had never been greater; it took hold of his body and froze it in place.
"*What the fuck are you?*" he mouthed.
The figure stopped a few feet from him. It tilted its head to the side, raised a bony hand to its face and peeled back its hood.
"*Oh, shit.* Izzy," he said, as he reached behind him, fumbling for his sister's hand, "get ready to run. Okay?"
"Pleaaase," came the terrible, pleading voice; it sounded as if it was being dragged through broken glass, as it rose up through the creature's throat.
Isabella poked her head out from behind her brother. She gasped.
"Pleaaase," came the voice again. The creature raised a hand, its fingers reaching toward them. Then, it collapsed onto its knees, its scythe dropping to the ground.
"Let's go, okay sis?" said Michael, trying not to show the fear in his voice.
"...we can't go. I think it needs our help," said Izzy. "It's in pain."
"Izzy! What are you doing?" Michael hissed, as his sister slowly walked toward the creature, until she stood only a foot away from it.
"My name is Izzy," she said, before bursting into a cough that ripped her throat and tore at her lungs. It took her a moment to recover; she wiped the blood from her lips onto her arm. "This - this is Cibby, and that's my brother Michael," said the girl. "We don't have any water, but we have a little food. Would you like some?"
The creature stared at Izzy for a moment, before, with what looked like great effort, stretched a hand out toward her.
"Don't!" shouted Michael, but it was too late. Izzy had already taken the pale hand in hers.
It took only a second for her to fall limply to the ground, doll by her side.
"Izzy!" Michael screamed, running toward his sister and skidding to the ground next to her. "Oh God, Izzy," he said, as snot and hot tears mixed in his mouth. Her eyes were shut and her chest was perfectly still. "Please don't be dead. *Please please please.*" He shook her gently at first, then more firmly, then urgently. But his sister didn't respond. She didn't move.
Michael picked up Izzy's doll, and placed it into her limp, open hand. Then, he buried his head into her chest and wept.
The cloaked figured slowly got back to its feet. It bent down and picked up its scythe.
"What did you do to her, you- you *monster!*" Michael asked, his voice trembling as he turned to the creature. "She was just a little girl and you-"
He saw her left arm move first. The arm that hadn't moved since the mines.
"*What?* Izzy?"
Her eyes slowly opened. The trace of a smile curved over her lips.
"Izzy!" he repeated through sobs and laughter. "Oh God, Izzy, you're alive. Please - *please,* don't ever do that to me again." He kissed her cheeks a dozen times, and her forehead nearer a hundred, before hugging her tightly.
"He... he made me better," she said, as her brother finally released her, raising her neck and looking up at the creature.
Michael stared anew at the cloaked figure. It looked stronger now. Taller, too. It took Michael a few moments to be able to whisper: "*thank you*."
The creature nodded, before lifting his scythe high into the air.
"What are you..."
The creature brought the instrument down fiercely, tip first, burying it deep into the dry earth. A fountain of clear liquid erupted from the hole as he withdrew it. It didn't take long for a soft blanket of grass to begin sprouting underneath Izzy, quickly spreading out as if it was a puddle of water. It didn't take long for her to find the first tulip that had grown in a hundred years. Then, the first apple tree.
Izzy whispered to her brother and pressed something into his hands.
When the cloaked figure was finally satisfied by the sparkling oasis, he pointed a finger toward Michael and gestured for him to step forward. He did so.
"My sister wanted you to have this," Michael said, offering out a hand.
Death paused for a moment, unsure, before reaching out and taking the doll. He looked at it curiously, turning it over twice. Then, he dropped it into a deep, dark pocket on the side of his cloak. "There are others," he said, in a soft rumble. "Only a few. You must bring them here."
"How - how will I find them?"
"You will," it replied. "She will be safe, here. Nothing evil can step foot into my garden." It turned and took three steps away from him, before pausing. "I will see you again, someday," it whispered, not quite loud enough for Izzy to hear. Then, it continued its slow walk into the dancing dust of the desert.
"Thank you," Michael whispered, as the figure drifted out of sight.
---
more on /r/nickofnight
|
Death watched as the man placed the shotgun to his head, the piercing ring tallying the rapidly diminishing group of living survivors one fewer.
"Oh come on!" She yelled at the soul sitting in his place as the hollow cask of flesh dropped to the floor. "You were doing so well." Humans had an alarming tendency to choose the quickest and most painless option whenever the apocalypse rolled around.
Swiftly she swung her scythe though the aether, dragging the soul into the next life the fabric of energies rippled outward.
She swung her way onto the roof and hopped to her perch, watching in the tangible form of a crow. Looking backward to check her 'nest,' a pile of supplies and explosives she could use to curry favour in deciding the survivor's fate.
The group below were the last that kept their humanity intact held up behind a makeshift barricade protecting the entrance to the old military base.
They were thankfully well equipped after she went through the trouble of finding a soul with knowledge to open the armoury.
Her ability to help them was very limited, realistically she could only provide small assistance despite the importance of their survival; As such she was largely tasked with watching and perhaps dropping a grenade to steer them in the right direction.
She considered them lucky; humanity had come back from worse with less, but like her friend from before they were a melodramatic bunch. If they died she'd just send them on to the next life, but if they all died there'd be no one left for her to send on, and that was a terrifying thought in of itself.
Existence without a purpose, she'd be stuck watching their bones and cities turn to dust. She had no way to leave and no way to die. It was ironic really, death needed life in order to live - and it was so fittingly tragic.
| 2017-08-11T05:56:38 | 2017-08-11T05:00:05 | 3,297 | 42 |
[WP] There's a monster under your bed. You know it's there even though you've never actually seen it. One day, on your 18th birthday, it finally crawled out, towering over you in its monstrous form and said, "Marry me."
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I tapped my spoon against the edge of my bowl, listening as Mom filled in Dad on the news.
“They lost both boys,” Mom said, dropping the paper to the table. “I just don’t get it Max. We’ve had an understanding with the monsters for years. They keep our kids safe and we let them live under the beds. What was this family thinking, having them removed?”
Dad took a thoughtful sip of his coffee, glancing at me. “It’s a real shame. Did you know either of them?”
I looked at the photo on the front paper―two sets of the same eyes stared back at me, both boys with the same smile, both in soccer jerseys, both unfamiliar. They were two years younger than me, probably just starting high school. “No,” I said. “I didn’t know them.”
But I knew their story―the kids whispered about it through the school halls, their words fluttering past the teachers. A lot more families were calling in exterminators lately. Just yesterday Theodora’s parents had her monster removed. “They’re scared,” I said, swirling the left-over cereal milk in my bowl. I didn’t say ‘I’m scared’ even as the words burned the back of my throat. My birthday was tomorrow, and I’d never been more terrified of the monster under my bed in my entire life.
“Oh, sweetie.” Mom stood, standing up behind me and sweeping my hair off my shoulder so she could kiss my temple. “The whole thing about them asking to marry their sleepers―that’s all made up. Rumors the exterminators spread to get more people on their side.”
“Well it’s working,” Dad said, lifting the paper to scan the article once again. “James had Lily’s monster exterminated. Pulled the creature out by the legs and off with its head. He said it cost almost twenty thousand, and that didn’t even include clean-up.”
Mom bristled. “He shouldn’t have done that. All it takes is one hungry Shadow, one, and she’s gone.” She slid her hand down my head, petting my hair like a cat―which was enough for me.
I stood, brushing off her touch. “I don’t want to be late for class.”
***
Theodora slammed my locker shut. “Look, you can’t be doing this moping shit. It’s your eighteenth birthday tomorrow, and it’s a Friday. We need to make plans. Real plans.”
I nodded enthusiastically. “Plans, right sure, as long as my monster doesn’t ask me to Marry it, we can do whatever you want. Until then, I’m not doing anything besides class.”
“Comeon Ellie, its not going to ask you to marry it.”
I didn’t respond, just turned on my heel and started to head for first period. Theodora turned eighteen two weeks ago. No monster-marrying for her―but then again, she didn’t have a monster at all. She hurried to catch up to me, her breaths coming fast from the simple jog.
“You okay?” I asked, really taking her in for the first time this morning. She’d always worn makeup, even when I was too lazy to bring myself to do the same most mornings―but today her foundation was caked on more thickly than usual, her eyeshadow a dark purple where she often favored pinks and oranges. “Are you sleeping?”
“I sleep fine,” she said, her tone shorter than it should have been for such a simple question. “Now about tomorrow, I talked to Samuel and he said―”
“Theo-” I grabbed her arm “-are you seeing Shadows?” The whole reason we invited the monsters under our beds to begin with―to keep away the Shadows. A required lesser of two evils, everyone always said. *What was worse?* They’d laugh. *A monster under your bed, or a Shadow sucking out your soul?*
Obviously the monster. Right?
She blinked, her lower lip losing a touch of its firmness. The weakness shown in her eyes. “He’s gone,” she whispered. “I can’t get him back. The exterminators took him and he’s gone, and I don’t know what to do.”
I dropped my touch to her hand, twining her fingers between mine. “Ask for a new one.”
She closed her eyes, her lips puckering. “My dad says no. He believes the exterminators. Says the Monsters are killing the kids in retaliation to the exterminations. That’s it not the Shadows. That the Shadows aren’t real.”
Lies. Or twisted truths. Or maybe the real truth, with Shadows and Monsters all working together to get what they wanted.
How could anyone ever know?
“But the Shadows?” I whispered. I’d never seen one myself, never seen my Monster scare them away―but there were stories of it too. Old stories, as old as the monsters were under their beds. Hundreds of years often gave a perspective on the past invisible until it was the future.
But how was one to know if the monsters had been saviors from the Shadows, or if the monsters hadn’t created the Shadows to begin with.
“Okay,” I said slowly, letting her go. “Your brother still has his monster, right? Can you sleep in his room?”
Theo nodded. “That’s a good idea,” she said, the slight tremble in her lip disappearing. “Yeah, I’ll sleep in his room tonight.”
***
The clocks red neon light burned in the corner of my eye, screaming at me to look. Just look. See what time it is. A minute till midnight? Ten minutes? An hour?
I took a deep breath and held it, listening. Dad snored a few rooms down, an occasional rumble drifting down the hall. A branch outside the kitchen window scraped against the glass as the wind blew. The pur of tires on the street outside hissed into the distance.
All sounds I knew―and none of them my monster.
I used to talk to it, late at night when I couldn’t sleep and the quiet of the house felt suffocating. I told it my stories. My dreams. My fears.
I used to tell it everything.
And then, the story of Moxy happened. Gone from her bed on the morning of her eighteenth birthday, and nothing but a note left behind.
*I’ve left to live with the monsters.* It read. *I’m to marry mine.*
Nothing more. I’d seen pixelated photos of the note myself. She’d disappeared two weeks after my seventeenth birthday. An investigation happened, but eventually, it was written off as a prank by an unhappy girl who’d finally run away from a poor home life.
A simple and easily believable explanation―but it still changed everything between me and my monster. Suddenly, I found myself listening for its movements. Found my normal easily given words catching up in my throat. Found I didn’t know how to talk to it anymore.
“I’m sorry,” I whispered. “I know I’ve been quiet lately, but I just-” I sucked in a sharp breath, tears stinging at the corner of my eyes. “I don’t think I’m ready for marriage.”
Moxy was the first, but she wasn’t the last. Two more boys disappeared and one other girl. Not many. A few―and after Moxy’s story blazed across the internet, everyone figured the others were copycats. Kids getting the idea and using it to run away, same as her.
But deep inside, like a tug at my gut, I wasn’t so sure.
Maybe Moxy was telling the truth.
I squeezed my eyes shut and pulled the covers up to my chin, holding them tight. I listened―to my heart beat, to Dad snore, to that stupid branch against the kitchen window. I told myself that was all I heard. Not the scrape of my monster moving. Not the slight tug at the corner of my sheet that it did to tell me it was listening. Just me, nothing more.
It felt like an eternity when I opened my eyes again, ready to see the clock and its little red numbers.
Instead my eyes fell on my monster―its limbs like the night, small stars twinkling across its body. It bent toward me, its slender form folding until its face―two eyes like the moon meeting mine.
*“Don’t worry. I can wait.”* It said as it held out its hand.
|
“Buy me dinner first!”
Well, what else could I say? Oh, yes:
“You’ve never spoken so much as a word to me; I’ve never actually seen you in daylight before; you can’t expect me to answer you out of nowhere. For that matter, the answer might be no! Or even, hells no!”
Its half-head tilted, oozing eyeballs (three) wide with dilated green pupils. “I... I have been here for you. Fifteen years, I have been here for you. That means nothing? You do not care? Are you so mean?”
Yes, I am mean. Came by it honestly, from my dad. I am a mean bitch, a cruel bitch, an absolute asshole.
“Well, that’s just not how humans work, honey. It doesn’t count as quality time if you don’t interact at all. That’s just stalking, and it’s creepy, not caring.”
“Food, food is a part of your... dating ritual? I can find food. You like mushrooms?”
Not that I didn’t like mushrooms, but dragging a three-legged scaly deer thing to a pizza joint wasn’t my idea of a good time. And frankly, I’m not that desperate for marriage.
“Look, honey, you’re not even my type. Or my species. I really don’t think this is going to work.”
It looked sad. I think.
“Also, fifteen years? I was a toddler. That’s extremely creepy! How old are you?”
It shrugged. It had teeth on its elbows. Blunt teeth.
“I only counted when I first knew you.
If I find body, human body, you will like me better? I can ask, buy body shaped like mate for you!”
“Uh, no, I don’t think that will help. I don’t exactly want you taking a body from another human.”
Watching it try to fit three legs and a tail (maybe?) back under my bed was a trip.
I resolved to sleep on the couch from then on.
| 2021-07-09T21:36:09 | 2021-07-09T21:31:25 | 343 | 42 |
[WP] Music is a dangerous weapon, if not careful entire species can fall to madness upon discovering it. It has been theorised that any race with more than a thousand songs could wipe out all intelligent life, which is why Humanity is so feared in the galaxy despite no human really ever knowing why
|
In one of the many of the smaller towns surrounding London, was a small and entirely average house, in it lived the Wright family.
Winston and Sandra Wright were the proud parents of Evie and Freddie Wright, or Evelyn and Fredrick as only their parents called them.
The Wright’s could be described as amazingly boring, they at the same scheduled meals every week, going as risqué as boiled chicken on Sundays.
Both Sandra and Winston worked steady honest jobs at the docks, that paid well enough to keep them fed, but not well enough for their children not to feel a tinge of jealousy when they saw their friends in their new cars and clothes.
The pair were model employees by all accounts, never late and last too leave and always reporting any talk of unions or bribery, and they hoped this would guarantee steady jobs for their children after they passed on.
And it was that hope, that heartfelt belief that it was that life of survival that was best for their children that broke Evie’s heart the most.
To her, there was no crueler fate than the same trips every year to the same gray place where nobody was smiling in the pictures, the same Christmas tree since her birth that always put up out of social obligation rather than an excitement for the holiday.
And as much as it would break her parents’ hearts, she couldn’t eat boiled chicken every Sunday for the rest of her life.
She didn’t think little Freddie could either, she saw the same spark in his eyes whenever Neil Degrasse Tyson explained some aspect of the universe on TV... and the same part of him that always died when his parents would wave off any dreams of a career in the sciences.
She knew the day would come when a confrontation was needed, but that wasn’t today, that wasn’t now, today, she was enjoying a nice stroll in the woods with her headphones in her ears blaring out TOOL’s newest album on full blast on her five year old phone.
A shooting star passed over head, she figured it was the ISS, they always passed over their little chunk of nowhere, but near the ISS was a peculiar star, especially because it seemed to be increasing in brightness, as well as size.
Eventually she was convinced it wasn’t her eyes playing tricks in her, and figured it was just a falling satellite, she hoped her luck wasn’t crappy enough for it to hit her, but it would have been funny if it did.
She remembered what her father said when she wanted to join the military ‘I won’t bury one of my children in my lifetime’.
The scenario of death by satellite was pretty fun to think through, but she didn’t hate her parents enough to keep imagining it, and god forbid what that would do to Freddie, besides, she promised her friends she’s see Joker with them.
The satellite thankfully didn’t hit her, but landed close enough that she heard the crash, then a small explosion, this shook her, but she ran to check, this was the most exciting thing to happen to her in ages, and she didn’t think satellites exploded twice.
But when she arrived she didn’t see a satellite, no, what she saw was out of a sci-fi novel, an alien spaceship, in a bit of a doozie sure, but the creatures crawling out it were better off.
They came in all shapes and sizes, there was Bipedal cat man or woman, what looked like a starfish, there was even a giant mushroom.
She too awestruck to move, she was waiting for her mother to wake her for school but never in her dreams was music this accurate.
As the aliens were crawling out of the ship they all looked to the cat who seemed their leader, who also unfortunately caught sight of her, he pointed at her and mumbled something, which caused a weird duck creature(that was probably racist wasn’t it?) to charge her.
She closed her eyes and braced her self ready to be woken up, but she knew she wouldn’t, Culling Voices never sounded this accurate in her dreams.
But instead of getting crushed she felt her earphones get torn out of her ears(which hurt like a bitch) then taken away as the duck retreated.
It was confusing, until another cat creature, not he leader but another member of the species pointed some sort of gun at her, but instead of bullets it fired... some very bad classical music.
He or she or whatever shouted something at the group at the group, and a fox creature, shouted, in English, ‘Well then turn it up to lethal!’
Another one shouted something else at him, then the cat creature with the gun shouted again, causing them to shut up, he looked back to Evie with a remorseful look on his face, then muttered something.
And while she didn’t understand the language, she could tell it was some variation of ‘Sorry’
At this point she was more confused than scared, though still absolutely terrified, but in some weird way excited, she had caused a panic and little intimidation by just standing there.
Then she heard something horrible, it was like on of those awful tracks on YouTube that tried to combine a dozen classical songs, but ends up being horrible, but with friends like hers, she had heard worst.
The cat was still adamant in his resolve though, and after a full minute of the cat being a little too melodramatic, and everyone else being a little too scared to look, she broke the relative silent.
‘Uhhh, can you turn down the classic music please? No offense to your tastes, but it’s really bad.’
The Fox creature from earlier looked at her in shock.
‘How are you still alive!?’
‘Bad classical music dude, you have to try harder than that.’ She put up her act, the one she always fell too when meeting new people, the fake confidence nonchalant one, that worked well enough in most cases.
‘’Bad, Classical, Music. How would you define good music you insane tyke?’
Ouch, that was a little hurtful.
‘Well I’ve got Light of the Seven and Lady Maria of the Astral Clocktower if you want something better...’
She brought out her phone and selected the latter, causing all ten of them to fall to their knees and close their ears.
But once they began shouting and pleading, she turned it down.
‘Sorry...’
‘We apologize!’ The fox shouted, the rest retreating behind him. ‘We surrender!’
They threw their hand up but stayed wary and as freaky as this was, she couldn’t help but feel a little badass.
‘Yo, no, I’m super friendly, it was just a little music!’
‘A little music? That’s like saying a missing arm is but a scratch’ the fox said.
Her face was puzzled and while Freddie would always someday be smarter than her, she was no idiot, the gun, the headphone snatcher...
‘Ohhhh is music deadly to you or something? It just like a past time here! I mean no harm really!’
One of the creatures turned to the captain and glared at him before muttering something that made him look appropriately sheepish.
He said something to the fox who translated.
‘Okay, little... hairless monkey creature, we mean no harm either, just please let us repair our ship and be off and we’ll reward you handsomely.’
‘Yeah, but first how can you speak English? Why’s music so deadly to you? What are you doing on earth?’ She cut herself off before her curiosity made the aliens want to kill themselves.
He turned to the captain, after a brief exchange he nodded.
‘I’m a T’yil we’re omnilingual, two music is deadly to all sapient life, it most of it apparently, it causes a feedback loop that renders you mentally retarded for a few hours or kills you, depending on how many notes are involved, three we’re like a treasure hunters if you will, when we detected a large amount of music waves, we figured this was some illegal weapons factory, though someone was really bad with navigations and uh, here we are.’
‘Take me with you!’
‘What?’
‘We’re humans, we’re like, omnimusical, super war machines if you like, This’ll be amazing, I’ll help you find treasure and whatever, i got like five hundred songs, on this baby, that’s like a super weapon, I’ll be a beast in a fight!’
The fox relayed this to the captain, who thought hard before lowering his hands, approaching her, and shaking her hand.
A/N: the last bit feels super rushed, but I deleted a large part of this after I finished this by mistake so I was already a bit rushed anyway, any comments will be lovely.
Edit: thanks for the lovely words and corrections, reading this again I see it could have been better, but alas, here we are.
|
In a small house in the countryside, with the paint peeling off the shutters, a man called John lived alone, having been divorced for quite some time now. John was retired now, and was someone you might not really pay attention to if you saw him on the street. He wore glasses and had a slight hunch. His favourite black turtleneck was always tucked in and his hair combed.
John had a very simple routine that he followed everyday. He got up at the same time everyday, washed his clothes at the same time in the morning, and would read the newspaper around 11am. He left home precisely once a day, around 2pm, and this was to visit a tea shop in the city.
His car, an older Toyota, did not go very fast, but was reliable and good, and that was good enough for John.
The tea shop was called "Lindy's", because the owner was a former 1950s Lindy Lop dance champion and had used his lifetime savings to setup the restaurant. The decor hadn't chnaged much since the 50s either.
Just after 2pm, there was usually a bit of live acoustic guitar music, and John liked to have his tea in the corner and listen in. The place was getting a bit of a reputation and it was nearly full today, but the elderly waitress, Lisa, had saved him his usual spot in the corner.
As he sat down in the corner, he could see the band setting up on the stage. A two-piece group this time, with a guitarist, and, for the moment, an empty miced-up chair next to him where the singer would presumably sit.
John picked up the newspaper, and started to read the headlines, only to be interrupted a few minutes later by a small "ahem", and then another, louder "AHEM. Excuse me?", and then another, very, very, quiet whisper. "Excuse me, Mr. Lennon?"
He put down the newspaper. It was the guitarist who had come right up to him, with a very amiable smiling face. John vaguely remembered his name to have been Paul.
(to be continued. galactic missions to ensue).
| 2019-09-28T08:46:47 | 2019-09-28T08:13:14 | 45 | 24 |
[WP] Every starfaring species has discovered a different form of FTL travel. Kantian gates, Salec skip drives, Maltiun wave-riders, Delfanit pulse tubes ... Humanity's solution was regarded as "Unorthodox", "Unsafe", and "Damn Stupid" by the rest of the galaxy.
|
Kalgor looked at the pale skined human in utter shock. 'They couldn't be serious in thinking that the rest of the galactic community would simply accept the use of this kind of technology'
“Mr. Adams...” Kalgor began.
“Doctor Adams if you don't mind Count Kalgor.” Dr. Adams corrected, he knew that if he didn't demand respect now that it would be harder to earn it back later. As it stood he could tell that the reptilian xeno that stood before him was not pleased with what had been unveiled only a hour ago in the space dock that was right outside his office window right now.
“Yes Dr.Adams. You must understand that of the various forms of FTL drive in use in the galaxy what you have unveiled here today is at best going to be seen as unsafe at best or outright dangerous to some in the galaxy.” He was struggling to keep the panic out of his voice, but despite his many deca-cycles of experience in diplomacy the very skill that had made him chosen as the Galactic Senate's emissary to the up and coming human race, he was begin to fail.
“Count with all due respect I fail to see what the overall difference is between our own hyperdrive and the Delfanit pulse tube drive or the Kantian gate system they all use hyperspace gravity waves to achieve FTL speeds.”
Kalgor's voice broke. “But you are punching holes in space to reach hyperspace!”
“So?” the Doctor responded nonchalantly.
“The Kantian's use a physical gateway to control entry into hyperspace and the Delfanit's use natural gravity currents to slip into hyperspace. Your system just punches holes into the fabric of space! Even our scientists can't tell if making those holes will not bring about the complete tearing of reality as we know it.”
Kalgor again reasserted some control over himself and continued.
“I know that this is a major milestone for humanity and means that you will not have to pay for the use of other species drive systems in your ships which will transform your economy and your military forces. But this is too dangerous besides, what possible advantages could this drive have over the other forms of FTL?”
Adams knew that this moment would be coming sooner or later and that he had to make the most it.
“So glad you could ask Count. The Kantian's gate system requires a massive amount of energy in order to not only open the entryway to hyperspace both for incoming and outgoing traffic, but to hold it open long enough for ships to get through. While they have relatively few systems in their Empire those that they have are spread out thus why the gate was developed. Once in system they use regular sub-light fusion drive to go from the gate to their ultimate planetary destination.”
Kalgor nodded his head as the Doctor continued.
“However due to the power requirements of just one of those gates not to mention the operating costs it would be uneconomical to have a gate at each planet.
Another thing is the time that the gate is held open effects the toll paid by merchant traffic thus why you don't see any Kantian merchant vessels over 1.5km in length. Beyond that length the ratio between hold space, engine size, and time to accelerate becomes uneconomical. They can't get moving from a stand still fast enough to go through the gate without occurring serious tolls and they can't dedicate more engine size because it cuts into their profits from loss of tonnage hauled.”
“Well... yes those are valid points but...” Kalgor stammered out but Adams didn't let up.
“The Delfanit pulse tube solves the power requirement issue and the infrastructure issue but those “tubes” where the gravity band waves are stable enough to sail on until they hit hyperspace are very restricting as they only occur naturally in a few places. This is why their Kingdom if you look at their history had periods of rapid expansion followed by long periods of solidification because goods had to travel often dozens of light years in sublight from system hubs that had these tubes thus slowing growth.”
Kalgor knew he was quickly losing ground and had little recourse as any other drive system that was used in the galaxy had similar glaring issues that were simply accepted.
The Maltiun wave-riders used massive 20km+ gravity sails to ride the same gravity waves as the Delfanit but instead of entering hyperspace they rode ever more powerful waves and were not limited in where they could go for the most part. But the system was high maintenance and very tonnage sensitive as the larger the vessel the longer it took for that vessel reach FTL speeds. The largest ships the species built took at least a standard week to get up to speed and then another week to slow down.
Salec skip drives on the other hand actually sent gravity anchor beams to latch onto hyperspace currents and pull the ship along technically “skipping” on the envelope between real space and hyperspace. The down side is that the anchors can only hold for so long and the power requirements while nothing like Kantians as this wasn't actually entering hyperspace. Meant that they could only skip anywhere from 20 to 100 lightyears depending on the ships configuration before having to recharge their anchoring system, which could take a standard day or up to a week on the largest shipping vessels. Still faster than going at sub light speeds for sure but it meant long travel times for goods.
“Our system allows us to enter hyperspace at will, with no concerns about ship mass, size, or power production beyond engine thrust which combined with our already recognized and accepted superior fusion engine designs, means that we can potentially travel from one side of the galaxy to the other in a month. At least if you are willing to burn that much H3 fuel which even then is more a matter of being inconvenienced with having to stop for fuel rather than any sort of cost consideration.”
The silence in the office was deafening as Kalgor stepped towards the window and looked upon the vessel.
“But the holes Doctor! You may have a system that doesn't have the others drawbacks but we are talking about ripping apart space itself.”
“Count Kalgor I am growing weary of this repeated falsehood. We have be using the same points in orbit to develop this system for over a standard year, and every time we have gone we have had to open a new hole as the last one closed once the vessel is through. Beyond the gravity wake left by the opening you can't tell any thing happened at all after 24 to 36 hours. It is safe.”
“The Senate will not accept this...” Kalgor started hoping he was right to bank on the repugnant nature of this very concept.
“They might not now but they will when they see the Eli Whitney.” Adams spoke ominously. He turned on the large holotank in the middle of the room. The image displayed a monstrous vessel.”
Kalgor turned around and his eyes went wide at the image.
“Is this a warship?” He asked as the ever growing list of implications in his head grew with each passing second.
“No my Count, it is not. It is a merchant vessel commissioned by the Wal-Mart Cartel. She is 75km long, over 2km tall with 12 50-Petawatt fusion reactors with a top estimated FTL speed of 50 but will likely run at 10 to save on fuel costs as such speed is generally unneeded. The whole vessel weighs over 500 million tons 490 of which is hold space capable of hauling virtually anything you can think of. She is going out for trials in a hour then if all goes well she will make a fully loaded iron ore run from the Sol system to Peraxus VII and its heavy industry there. And given that the Senate is on Peraxus V the Eli will make a pass and see if there is anything that needs to be shipped back here to Earth on the return trip.”
As the Doctor finished Kalgor could feel his heart tighten at the size of the vessel and its speed. It would be in the Peraxus system in 3 days, even if he left now in one of the fastest vessels money could buy now he couldn't hope to get there in anything less than 12 days.
“You humans are reckless and unorthodox beyond anything I have ever heard of in my life. But I can't argue with the results.” Kalgor finally stated any hope of resistance gone as the pragmatic side of him knew that economically humanity had, in 10 years after first contact blown every other power in the galaxy out of the water. Another voice his is head whispered about what would happen if mankind made warships on such a scale.
“Well Doctor I don't see any point in arguing anymore but if you can let me on this vessel and join me in the senate with your research especially on the whole hole-punching-then-closing-up-perfectly part, then maybe we can avoid starting a bigger galactic panic then what we absolutely have to.”
“Of course Count I'm already packed and I have made such arrangements already. We can leave once the ship has gone through its final trials.” The Doctor proudly stated.
|
The Octo generational-carrier-ship hung over the blasted world. The only readings were the residual effects of the heavy radiation from the countless fusion bombs dropped on it.
A youngling pondered aloud "Why would we destroy a sentient species?"
"They broke the galaxy, youngling."
"How?"
The commander-elect thought to chastise the youngling, but the thought was fleeting. No disrespect (which must be upheld for the group as a whole) was detected. The commanders ship was one of the heaviest damaged, and breeding has been going full tilt ever since.
"Youngling" , it made the squishy alien equivalent of a sigh, "Let me tell you of the name that named us ‘Octos’, a race that must name everything."
"A species-that-names made it this far technologically?"
"Yes, driven by a fear of the unknown, they managed to form a rudimentary science and built their own FTL."
"Aren’t those usually insanely dangerous and only a purview of non-corporeals?"
The commander-elect paused, and allowed the younglings who had gathered to look upon the dead irradiated world.
"They thought they had built a telescope that could use subatomic particles to see systems at a different rate than the speed of light. They named all of these particles of course."
"How could they maintain so many names?"
"They couldn’t, with each new discovery changing names and making the system more and more convoluted."
After another introspective pause, “This species created this machine,” and it called up an imagine in 4D. It twisted and reformed, and looked like a churning bucket of broken mirrors.
“This machine had found the signal of an ancient artifact. We have ships heading there now…”
“This artifacts signal can be detected in every system, its signal is identical non-chronologically; Every known system hears an identical signal no what where they are in relation to the artifact.”
“We know about the artifact. Everyone does. So how could their detector-”
“They didn’t build a detector. They didn’t even build a *receiver*” a collective gasp visibly echoed in the viscous atmosphere.
The younglings quivered all 7 tentacles awaiting the next words.
“The creatures whom called themselves ‘People’ in 100’s of different words, these creatures built a transmitter.”
“And without a second thought, these creatures activated it.”
“So you see now, we had to end the possibly of transmission, before the old ones could reply.”
| 2017-03-31T07:50:09 | 2017-03-31T06:56:53 | 34 | 14 |
[WP] When a person dies, an individual can volunteer to house their soul within their own body until a donor body is found. You are beginning to regret your decision.
|
This was not a good idea. Sure, the $15 million is nice, but I'm beginning to think that the cost may outweigh the benefit.
I suppose I should explain.
In 2047, scientists discovered how to properly convert a person's sum of memories, biases, thought patterns, dreams, and thoughts into digital data through an extremely complicated and technical process that I have no desire to explain. Essentially, they found a way to transfer one's **soul** out of one's body and into something else, be it a computer, a memory card, or even another body. Essentially, they had created a viable path to true immortality.
And that went about as well as you'd expect.
The rich and famous immediately jumped on board with the idea, the religious folks went absolutely apeshit, and the world's governments tried their absolute best to calm the storm. But nothing can stop human progress, and only 30 days after the initial announcement, it was revealed that the first soul transfer would be taking place. The patient a decrepit Singaporean billionaire, the host body a brain dead American teenager. Both had been moved to an unknown location, and the procedure would be taking place with a week. And the world began to hold it's breath.
The whole thing went about as well as you'd expect.
At first, the only thing released from the those involved, was a haunting 3 word statement: "Procedure has failed." But it didn't take long for an illegally taken video to start circulating the web. I'll spare you the more gruesome details, but let's just say the highlights include the poor body screaming in 2 different voices, convulsions that make even the most severe epileptic look mild, and the body vomiting up it's own intestinal tract before finally laying still.
And that all went over EXACTLY as you'd expect.
The vast majority of the world was shocked beyond belief, the religious folk immediately chastised the rest of us for fooling around in the realm of God, and all governments immediately outlawed the procedure, under penalty of death. The scientists behind the whole shebang mysteriously disappeared (leading to a healthy host of conspiracy theories). Slowly, everything began to return to normal, and after about 5 years the whole incident was nothing more than a barely remembered collective nightmare singed into the psyche of a global society that thought it could play God.
That's where I come into the picture.
August of 2052. To say I was down on my luck would be an understatement. My wife had left me, taking most of my life with me and I'd just been laid off, leaving me homeless and alone on the streets of Denver. I was in the process of begging for enough money to try and get a haircut for an interview I had coming up, when a man with impeccable hair and strikingly white teeth approached me. He handed me a thick wad of $20 bills, and said there was more where that came from if I'd just come with him and listen to a proposition he had for me. Against my better judgement, I joined him.
He drove me to a nondescript building in the outskirts of the city, and sat me down at a desk in an office decorated with faded pictures of national parks and half-swept cobwebs. He explained to me that he represented the scientists that had been behind the "soul debacle" a it had come to be known. He went on to tell me that after the incident, the researchers knew exactly what would become of them if they were caught, and so they disappeared to a secret facility in the middle of the Gobi desert to continue their research. With a half genuine grin, he revealed that they had perfected the procedure. All that was needed was an intermediary body for the transferred soul to acclimate to before being moved to the final host body. I asked him how that worked, and merely grinned another plastic grin, saying that the mechanics of it all were beyond both mine and his mental capacity. All I needed to know, he stated, was that I was to be the intermediary body.
That's when I began to get nervous. However, that was also when he pulled outa briefcase with 15 million dollars in it. It was mine if I accepted, an advance on a total purse of 45 million that would be mine as well once the entire ordeal was seen through to completion. Being in my current situation, it was an offer I could not refuse. Maybe I would have if Carol hadn't left me. Maybe if I hadn't been laid off. Maybe if I had more willpower. But I had none of those things, just an empty stomach and a golden ticket sitting within arm's reach.
So I accepted.
A week later, I was sedated and taken to an undisclosed location for the procedure to take place. When I awoke I was in a beautiful hotel room, with a briefcase stuffed with cash and note that simply read " take care of him for us". Take care of who? Who cares? I reached around and felt a tiny, barely noticeable scar on my neck at the base of my skull. And so I grabbed the briefcase, and left.
And since then, it's gone about as well as you'd expect.
I moved into a small condo on the beach in Los Angeles. 6 months, they said. 6 months until they would return to me to remove my guest and put him in his final host.
After one month, I'd been having the best time of my life. Eating great food, doing fun things, in the company of great people.
After 2 months, I started hearing voices. Just whispers, barely perceptible words, and half heard sentences. Not to worry they said, this was all part of the process.
After 3 months, the words became sentences. Images flashed through my mind at odd times, and my dreams took on a quality and caliber that left me waking up in sweats in the dead of night. Not to worry they said, this was all part of the process.
After 4 months, I started waking up in strange places, miles from my home. How did I get to San Diego? Did I drive here? It's only been an hour since I fell asleep... or has it? Time makes little sense to me anymore. Everything is foggy, I can't even remember the number they want me to call when I have issues.
5 months. I'm missing whole days, weeks. What's my name? Where am I from? why are my hands covered in blood? I fade out, another week passes. I.. I don't... I.. We...
6 months. I'm sitting in a dirty apartment. I have gun in my hands. This is the first I've been lucid in 3 weeks. They should be coming. To take him out. But I don't think they are. I am the host body. This was all a lie.
I put the barrel to my temple. My door is kicked in.
White teeth. Impeccable hair.
I pull the trigger.
Click. Nothing.
I begin to fade out.
This wasn't worth the money.
|
*So, uh, want to go spend some time with your friends?*
"Shut up Nail, I'm meditating."
*No you're not.*
"Yes I am!"
*No, your napping! I can tell the difference!*
"Who are you talking to Mr. Piccolo?" says Gohan.
*Uh, he's talking to you.*
"That's just Gohan, if you ignore it, it'll go away."
*What, do you just ignore all of your problems?*
"No, some of them I invite to live in my head!"
-------------------------------------------------------
All credit to TFS
| 2016-01-18T11:47:37 | 2016-01-18T09:27:56 | 53 | 30 |
[WP] Humans have evolved and their personalities manifest in physical form. You are widely feared and locked in a maximum security prison, because your body doesn't do this.
No one knows what you're feeling and that terrifies them.
|
It gets cold in the cells at night.
"Prisoner 4287! Up and at 'em, you're wanted in Research and Testing."
No. Not again. I knew that voice, who it belonged to. It never meant anything good.
"Please, Steven. Just let me be, let me rest!" I said. I pulled the pillow over my face, burying myself in the soft cloth. I didn't expect it to work any more than he did.
"C'mon, flunkie." Steven sighed. "Don't make my job any harder than it has to be, I got the call to bring you in by 0500 and it's nearly a quarter till."
I opened my eyes to blackness. I was used to the dark - much more used to it than the others, who never spent more than a moment in the shade for their entire lives. I still didn't like it.
Steven stood just outside of the bars, familiar in tow. It was big for a familiar, nearly a full three feet tall of glowing transparent flesh in the shape of a bull-headed man. For now, it glowed a soft rusty red, indicating Steven's growing anger. Best to get a move on, before it grew.
"Alright, alright. I'm coming." I said, pushing myself to my feet in the ruddy glow. They hadn't bothered to install lighting in the cells, so I groped my way along in the shadows of the bars using his light.
Once again, I wished I had a light of my own.
As I tied my shoes and pulled on my shuck of a prison outfit, I pondered Steven's Minotaur. It was simple, powerful - a perfect reflection of the ox of a man who it was attached to by its shadow. I had seen it laugh in silent mimicry of its host, joyful and peaceful as a domestic cow, but it spoke of someone who was not to be crossed. A perfect guard, for the prisoners at *Familiaris*. The ones who's crimes were in their very nature.
When I was ready, his beast shimmered and slipped through the bars unimpeded over to my side, handcuffs in tow. Once I was secured, it stepped back to the walls. At a touch of a special panel built into the door, the gate slid open.
Research and Testing was three stories down, past rows and rows of prisoners. Though their masters slept, the eyes of the familiars followed us as we passed. Black, blue, green, each of them were twisted and thorn-covered monstrosities that glared with bitter hatred through the bars. Twice, more unruly familiars leapt at the bars, only to be tossed back when they reached the metal by the collars around their necks. Collars! As if they were simple animals!
Once again, I stared at Steven's familiar as it plodded along beside us like a shadow. It was so simple to see who he was, what he wanted at just a glace - just as it was simple to see why the criminals should be locked away. But it wasn't just that. I knew Steven, from how he moved and walked and spoke - from his face, the smile that darted across his lips when he thought no one was looking. I knew that he was, at his core, a trustworthy person even without glancing at his familiar.
So why could no one see that about me?
"In you get, 4287." Steven said, unlocking my restraints. "You might get lucky today - Marsha said something about a new toy. Seemed pretty excited." He smiled down at me, and I did my best to smile back.
"Th-thanks." I stammered.
"No problem, shorty. Hope she doesn't prod you too hard - I like my prisoners to come back in one piece. 'Specially the half-decent ones like you!" Steven said, laughing uproariously at something only he found funny. Then he closed the door, locking me in the Lab.
"Good morning, Zephaniah." Said a voice from behind me, making me jump.
"Oh! Um, morning Marsha. Just Zeph is fine, thanks." I said, turning. I caught sight of the woman and had to suppress a laugh. "You're looking quite...done up today, I must say. For a lab tech, that is."
"Do you think so?" Marsha asked, winking from where she sat on one of the lab's counters. "I thought it was oddly appropriate."
She was wearing what seemed to be a furred traveler's cloak, complete with knee-length pencil skirt and fedora in a matching navy-blue. With her emerald-green jaguar familiar at her heels, she looked every part the trendy young flapper ready to experience the world at her own pace - whether the world was ready for her or not.
"So, what's all this about Marsha?" I asked. "Waking me up before five A.M. is hardly what I would consider normal, even for you."
"Oh, I just finished a piece of tech and was *itching* to test it out." She said. "C'mon, I'll let you take a look." She leapt down eagerly, landing squarely on her feet despite her heels and strutted over to a table further back in the room. "Tadah!"
She gestured at something, and I leaned closer for a look. It was a pair of lenses set into a Mardi Gras mask, complete with thin metal pole to hold it up to one's face. Behind the feathers and sequins, I could see a number of clockwork-like gears clicking along.
"Very fashionable...what does it do?" I asked.
"It's a portable Kirlian Analyzer, Zephaniah - isn't that great!" Marsha said, beaming.
"Kirlian...you mean like to see auras and such?" I asked. "And just Zeph's fine, thanks."
"No way, Zephaniah. Do you know how many opportunities I'll get to say 'Zephaniah' in my lifetime?" She asked. "Not *nearly* enough! Oh, and yes. To 'see auras and such,' nicely put." She held up the mask to her face and began fiddling with a dial on the side, staring intently at my face.
"What...exactly are you doing?" I asked, covering choice parts of my anatomy as she looked me up and down. The attention was rather too much - even from behind the mask, her gaze was penetrating.
"If my theory is correct...and it always is..." She began, still fiddling. "Your Inner Projection - that is, your familiar - it isn't gone, per se. That's impossible. Just...missing. Aha! Got your astral cord!" She dropped the mask, grinning. "With these, I'll be able to trace it back to wherever it's hiding. And I got HQ's permission to bring YOU along."
"And they were ok with that?" I asked. "With me just...going out into the field, with some random woman? After what...they said I did?"
"Some random woman!" She said, swatting me. "Hardly. They never were able to pin the bomb on you, there just wasn't any evidence besides your lack of a familiar. That's enough, sadly - they said you must be trying to hide something. Never mind that's not how familiars work - this anti-intellectualism in the justice system really grinds my gears!"
She stopped for a moment, gripping the pole of the mask with white-knuckled strength, before resuming a more calm expression.
Anyway, you're being put on parole - for now - on account of your good behavior. If we can find your familiar, and prove it wasn't you, maybe that'll be enough to scrub your record clean!"
"You think so?" I asked, stunned. "That...that's great!"
"It is!" She replied coquettishly. "So...you ready to go on an adventure, or what?"
|
I never seen my parents face, i always saw the same 6 walls since I can remember, I was taught and they left books so I can read while I wait for the next day. It was rare when I got into general population, I mean most of the times I went to general population was after a riot.
I can see my self in the mirror, always the same, but the guards, teachers and doctors they change faces on the fly, when I pulled a prank for the first time I wet my self, the teacher face, body even voice changed. I was so scared I run to a corner, didn't eat for days so for while they started to use masks.
My age was never told to me, I wanted to see what a city is, forest, beaches. I was given access to the library, the old humans were like me, I think if I break out I could maybe find more like me. But that dream I had been broken, they found out, they violated my mind, they read my thoughts. And if that was not enough, they dropped a bomb on me.
If I broke free, I would starve, the food I eat is what they call old food, or prehuman evolution. I found an old smartphone, it was broken, so I asked the Warner if I could repair it, she said yes.
So I use the old repair shop, read hundreds of books, papers and manuals, I repair it, and behold the phone memory was intact, I saw the world in the photos of this young couple a hundred years a go. If god granted me wish, I would ask to live a hundred years go, before the forced evolution revolution. So I write this to doctors, guards and others if you find this, I am gone.
| 2017-03-03T14:02:57 | 2017-03-03T13:52:18 | 193 | 19 |
[WP] It's been 50 years since the rich elites left to escape an alien invasion. The good news: the aliens are friendly. The bad news: nobody wants them back.
|
(From the logs of Dantrios Yulismart, Captain, The Stiv Bayara, SunS. 8542)
"You can't travel at the speed of bright. You can't even get close to it." That was the constant refrain from the rhombus-heads at Happy Science Initiatives, the top minds that Audorn had to offer.
But here on Audorn, we don’t just survive. We imagine, we invent, we create. We question everything, and we look out for each other. We invented the transatherm, the octolung, even the teleshifter. Four hundred sunspins ago, Finnlius Belgery proved that Audorn was a cube, not a pyramid, when his Heavenkisser device successfully transported him several miles into the emptyrealm, with the unfortunate side effect of abandoning him there upon re-entry.
Galactays later, I was again approaching HSI, with the greatest initiative ever undertaken by Audornians. A massive pooling of all metasources, to create the largest, fastest, most powerful rocket ever conceived - then fire it at Big Blue. The Eden planet. The most beautiful green and blue marble we’d ever scene, drifting serenely around a star. No gravity vortexes, no gas giants, only the occasional meteor shower.
There was just one problem. It was 20 light years away, and even the rocket I’d conceived would only maintain 10% light speed. The journey would take at least 200 years. No one who set out on this journey would live to see their destination.
But I finally got through to them. And it turned out, here was no shortage of bright minds eager to become a part of history - even if it was a one-way trip. As the jade cube disappears into the belt, I feel a twinge of grief. But my instincts take over. We are Audorn. We will carry on.
LOG ENDS
(From the logs of Kennu Yulismart, Captain, The Stiv Bayara, SunS. 8742)
The Stiv has finally reached Big Blue. 200 years of travel, only to be very nearly destroyed by a hunk of metal inexplicably circling the planet. Defensive systems immediately kicked in and vaporized it and every other solid object cluttering up their emptyspace. Are there audorns here? Impossible.
///////////////////////////////
Well this has been one giant disaster so far. So this planet is actually inhabited. Really inhabited. They call themselves humans. They look a lot like Audornians, but they’re all sorts of different colors rather than just a shade of green. Unfortunately our appearance caused a lot of panic and mayhem. Their big cities are in chaos. As best as we can tell, they were content to let a few people hoard all the wealth and resources the past few sunspins. When we got in range of their scanners, those few people fled the planet and took it all with them.
///////////////////////////////
FINALLY established some reliable communications with new “Earth” leaders. They don’t have transtherms, octolungs or teleshifters, but they do have amazing inventions of their own. The “smartphone” gives them wireless communication, they can travel underwater in “submarines”, and navigate using a “global positioning system”. Unfortunately we accidentally destroyed this “GPS” when we arrived, but we have since replaced these “satellites” with much more efficient and sturdy crystal-chromium dronlets.
It has been an exhausting day. I don’t know what we were expecting when we arrived, but I am optimistic. These “Earthians” are fascinating.
LOG ENDS
(From the logs of Kennu Yulismart, Captain, The Stiv Bayara, March 18, 2077)
Fifty-three years I have been Captain of the Stiv Bayara. I took over the most critical mission of Audornian history at only 22 sunspins, brought it to this "Earth", and in the past fifty years, together, Audornians and humans have fostered an unthinkable age of peace and prosperity for both our races.
With the insatiable resource appetite of the "Fled Elites" no longer a factor, and the “yin-yang” of our science (as Su Yee, my first human assistant liked to call it), we advanced the cause of science by galactays - centuries in Earth time. Faster spacedrives, a universal translator, expanded lifespans. We returned to Audorn and established the Way’s first galactic trade route. Things are never perfect, of course - not all humans have been friendly, and I’m ashamed to say that some Audornians have behaved in terrible ways as well.
But nothing united us quite like the distress signal that came into the International Docking Station at 3AM.
Yes, a derelict ship from the direction of Mars really tried to sneak into Earth on the distress beacon loophole at 3AM Docking TIme. These are the ‘wealthy elite’ that used to run this planet? Are they evil or just stupid?
LOG ENDS
(From the logs of The Communications Archive, The Stiv Bayara, March 19, 2077)
Unidentified Craft: Mayday, mayday, this is (garbled), requesting emergency docking protocol (garbled).
IDSComm: (whispered) Get a supervisor. (Normal) Mayday craft, confirm emergency docking protocol (garbled).
UC: Are you new? We SAID we need docking protocol A62! Is there a supervisor I can speak to?
IDSComm: Mayday craft, confirm emergency docking protocol A62. Please prepare your crew for emergency disinfection-
UC: What, wait, what? No! We don’t want to do that!
IDSComm: Mayday craft, A62 is a radioactive leak. Please-
UC: We don’t have a reactor! We’re solar powered!
IDSComm: Mayday craft, identify yourself. There are no short-range ships scheduled for docking.
UC: This is unacceptable! We are in DANGER! I DEMAND to speak to your supervisor!
IDS Super: This is Ronaldo Vitara, shift supervisor of the IDS Communications Corp. You are in violation of-
UC: OH, THAT’S why it’s all gone to (expletive deleted) on your planet. Lettin’ the (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) run things! (muffled laughter in background)
IDS Super: Right. Unfortunately your ship is not listed on the docking manifest, you misstated your emergency protocol and you’ve verbally abused my employee. Your request to dock is denied.
UC: Oh you really think you’re gonna keep us out? Huh? Maybe we’ll just have to have a little talk with YOUR superiors!
IDS Super: You are welcome to do so, however you are currently in violation of Earth-Audorn spacefare regulation, and deadly force is authorized if you continue. I recommend transmitting from your Martian base - assuming you can get the power to work for more than five minutes. (muffled laughter in background)
UC: (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted) (expletive deleted)
END LOG
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Thanks for reading!
|
\[Poem\]
Fifty years was all it took,
and yet the call of earth
was pleasing to those crooks.
​
"Take us back," One cried.
"We changed our minds," Another replied.
​
And yet, we do not stumble.
A decision reached,
The ground rumbles.
​
A booming voice, loud and clear.
"Leave now, or this will be the last thing you'll hear."
​
They did not leave,
And so they then released,
Our Alien friends,
waiting for this moment.
​
The rich were ready to talk it out,
But the Alien had the ship
already damaged.
​
"Leave now,"
The booming voice said.
​
And somehow,
the rich managed,
To be gone faster than I could say.
| 2020-08-02T09:22:27 | 2020-08-02T08:41:28 | 161 | 64 |
[WP] In most of the galaxy wars are often just shows of strength with fighting as a last resort. As such weapons are designed to be elaborate and flashy. Turns out humans, whose weapons are built with efficiency in mind, have a different understanding of war.
|
EDIT: Now with part 2, and one minor edit at the end of part 1!
*
*We thought ourselves masters of the game of war. We were wrong.*
It started the same as any other: observation.
A resource-seeker - known to the public only by her employee identification of E-0001229-AZ - observed a system through a starscope for approximately twenty-two short cycles. The system possessed eight true planets and a multitude of failed planets. Two asteroid fields were flagged during observation, both of which were classed with the rare Class-8 deposit rating. They alone gave E-0001229-AZ cause to tag the system for future mineral exploitation.
However, the presence of a planet with atmospheric conditions reading as *habitable* by her instruments, caused EO-0001229-AZ to flag the system for further review by a specialist.
Three light-cycles later, World Specialist AT-1121092-II reviewed the data collected by EO-0001229-AZ. She concluded the flag for review appropriate and requested an observation drone be sent to the *habitable* planet, logged from then on as T-141/a54 HABITWLRD.
An observation drone was prepared and launched seven light-cycles, later, and began its seventy-four world-cycle journey to T-141/a54 HABITWLRD. Both resource-seeker EO-0001229-AZ and World Specialist AT-1121092-II would recycle from natural causes before the drone reached its destination.
*
The drone arrived at the target system on Imperial Date 22102.27, First of Progenitor.
It conducted its assigned mission as designed: analyzing the failed worlds of the system's outer rim, moving ever inward toward the *habitable* world of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD. It confirmed the abundance of resources available throughout the system's asteroid fields, and, in a surprise, noted several moons with frozen water ripe for harvest and filtration.
Once it reached T-141/a54 HABITWLRD, it again confirmed earlier information. The planet's conditions were well within Imperial requirements for colonization. The drone tagged the planet's oceans, vast and - comparatively - shallow as the world's most promising feature; billions of tons of food could be provided each world-cycle.
The drone also observed a native population.
They were an organic race, as all Imperial races were. Two arms. Two legs. Two eyes. Similar enough in appearance that they could be incorporated into the existing lesser populace with little difficulty. And also primitive. The drone detected no radio frequencies and observed a distinct lack of technology among the population; not even aircraft or widespread electricity was seen in use.
With its mission fulfilled, the drone sent its information back to the station from which it launched via point-to-point entanglement, then self-destructed.
*
The drone's information reached the desk of the Chief of Colonization a mere two light-cycles after the drone self-destructed; point-to-point entanglement was far faster than light, but only in a non-physical manner.
The Chief of Colonization reviewed the information, concluded T-141/a54 HABITWLRD was worth colonizing and drafted a standard Annexation proposal, one of seven he would draft and send to the War Department that light-cycle.
The War Department approved all seven Annexation proposals and put together the required Legions to see them through. Given that no Annexation targets were space-capable, the War Department assigned ten Legions to each target along with a single drone ship as support. To T-141/a54 HABITWLRD, they sent thrice this number; its people were more numerous than the others, and as such would need a greater show of strength to force a surrender-on-sight, as was the Imperial war doctrine.
Two moon-cycles after the proposal was accepted, six of seven Annexation task forces were locked into cold-sleep and sent to their target worlds. The task force that was to take T-141/a54 HABITWLRD left one moon-cycle later than the others, on account of its greater numbers.
They arrived at T-141/a54 HABITWLRD after the other Annexation forces had already taken their target worlds.
There are historic records with voice logs sent to the T-141/a54 HABITWLRD task force from other task force commanders via point-to-point entanglement communications, light-cycles before any task force set off. Many of the recordings are humorous or mocking in nature; Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD was seen as unnecessarily large, and put together to protect an unknown commander's ego.
These archived communications are, in the modern-cycle, not looked upon with amusement.
*
Immediately upon arrival, Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD reported alarming developments.
Its sensors were picking up radio signals. Radio signals, and numerous other electronic signals; some of them nearly as advanced as the rare Imperial protectorates allowed to develop themselves.
Observation drones sent back images of a far-more numerous native population than anticipated. Species were generally projected to double in numbers every hundred to one hundred fifty world-cycles.
T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had more than *quadrupled* in the seventy-four world cycles since initial observation. And they had advanced. They had thousands of satellites in orbit of their world, and dozens in other parts of the system. An internet was detected; a technological development that had only been seen in Imperial space. And it was an advanced network for a single world, filled with trillions of pages of information. Much of this information was useless to the Task Force, but they were able to research what to expect from this rapidly-developed world.
What they found was disturbing.
In seventy-four world-cycles, the natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had not only established wide-spread use of electricity, but they had also discovered radio, aviation, efficient methods of production, jet and rocket technology, their internet network, and the early stages of fabrication.
They also didn't know war.
Conflict was a show. A dance meant to intimidate. Scare away. Frighten. The greatest military leaders were those who know the dance so well, they never inflicted a casualty. This was true among not only Imperial forces, but every race that had been Annexed.
The natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD did not view war in this way.
They viewed war as a slaughter.
Their internet was flooded with violence. Images of death and games of death. Jokes of death. Their militaries were built to *kill*, not dance. Hundreds of millions of their people had perished in conflicts just in the previous seventy-four world-cycles, and millions more were under constant threat of extreme violence.
Worst of all, they had *it*. The foundation-splitter. A weapon known only in theory to Imperial scientists.
Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD held their position and sent a request to return home, and a recommendation to avoid T-141/a54 HABITWLRD at all costs. It took four light-cycles for them to receive a go-ahead to carry out this order of operation.
Task Force T-141/a54 HABITWLRD immediately began preparations to leave. The commanders sent their soldiers back to cold-sleep. Technicians called observation drones back to their berths and secured them for transit.
At some point in this operation, it was realized one drone was missing.
A frantic investigation was launched, and quickly came to a frightening conclusion.
The natives of T-141/a54 HABITWLRD had hacked a drone. And through that drone, the natives had gained temporary access to a shared database containing a number of sensitive files.
Including the Task Force's Annexation orders.
The Task Force immediately commenced a retreat forty-seven short-cycles earlier than their expected departure, sacrificing non-critical systems in order to accelerate their operations.
Before they left, and just as they cut the Task Force's link to the drone, they received a message from the natives that would not be translated until a much later date.
*We see you.*
|
Disputes and disagreements between empires in the galaxy are settled with shows of strength.
Since the start of time, each civilization has been fighting between themselves and with others, on local planets and in the greater galaxy.
There is a clear consensus that war is ugly and messy, prolonged wars often result in devastation beyond imagination as worlds burn and the resources that they were fighting over were lost in the process.
This had become apparent after the fact that this occurrence had repeated itself countless times.
So the consensus that grew between the great civilizations of the galaxy about how war should only be fought in shows of strength.
Perhaps sometimes battlefleets had to be purged in the process of showing off a great new weapon which lead to the losing side conceding defeat as they didn't have anything greater to show.
Often, what they fought over was worlds and resources that would boost the economy of whoever held it, so the correlating reason for war was often economy.
A great game of economy where the ones who could show the greatest power could take a bigger piece of the pie than the rest.
Then we had humanity, humanity couldn't settle for just showing off.
Humans, as they are, would never settle for just the biggest piece of the pie, they wanted the whole goddamn pie.
And so they created the fiercest weapon among them all.
While others created massive ion cannons and devastating nuclear bombs that would trump what came before it in sheer explosiveness, humans would develop something a lot more subtle but a lot more efficiant.
Biological weapons had never been accepted in the galaxies community as an acceptable show of strength, it was a cowards tool.
However, it was an efficient tool.
As the galaxy was interconnected by economy and commerce, humans developed and spread a biological weapon that would almost entirely annihilate or cripple the other civilizations.
And that is why humanity is on the top of the food chain, again.
| 2020-03-21T10:44:51 | 2020-03-21T06:41:00 | 634 | 155 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
“All in favour of sparing her life, step forward!”
I looked around the village square, but no one moved a muscle. The seconds rolled by, and the hope I held in my heart crumbled, only to be replaced by a sharp tang of bitterness, resentment. There was Peter, whose fever had yielded to her medicine, but he kept his eyes down, lips tightly pursed. I saw Nathan too, whose son may never have returned from his ventures into the forests if she had not tracked the child down, but he was as silent, unmoving as Peter was.
Old Man Bosworth, the twins Jaina and Jerry, Valerie, Daniel… they too, everyone who had ever benefited in one way or the other from her help, all suddenly bereft of courage, unwilling to stand up for their benefactor.
The bloody ingrates.
“Do you see how everyone fears you, woman?” asked Chief Lanson, shaking his staff at the figure kneeling on the ground, hands tied behind her. “We tolerated you, gave you a place to call home, and this is how you repay us? By bringing this evil magic into our village?”
“I am not evil,” Matilda said, her voice carrying to the edges of the crowd. “I have done no harm to the village. I have only helped.”
“Helped? Helped?” said Chief Lanson, his voice rising in anger. He turned to the crowd, stretched out his arms, then said, “Evil fears the light, foul creature. I shall show the village proof, proof of your heresy! I will show them the forbidden evils we found in your hut! Come, show them!”
Fred and Richard, two of the strongest farmers in the village, retrieved a wooden chest from within Chief Lanson’s hut. They struggled even though the load was shared between them, and after they placed the evidence in front of Matilda, they took hurried steps backwards, leaving Chief Lanson the honour of opening the chest.
He rummaged briefly, then retrieved what appeared to be a marble slate, dark and smooth on one side, white and pristine on the other. He held it triumphantly in the air, revelling in the reactions he was getting.
“Has anyone ever seen a rock like this?” he asked. “I promise you, no one has!”
“It’s not right of you to have gone into my hut like that,” said Matilda.
“Oh? And if we had not done so, if we had not suspected you of carrying out the dark one’s work, would we ever have discovered foul things such as this?”
“I don’t know what you are talking abou- ”
Chief Lanson squeezed the edges of the slate, and one side of it flared to life, emitting vibrant colours, as if someone had managed to trap a rainbow in stone. The crowd gasped, and I saw some of the adults shielding their children’s eyes.
“If we had not been suspicious, if we had not known to spy on you, would we have discovered your secrets, witch?” said Chief Lanson. He turned the slate towards us, then said, “Listen! Listen with your own ears! This is her! The devil masquerading as a human! Listen to the unholy mission she is on!”
He needn’t have commanded us in that manner. We were enraptured, spellbound by the moving images on the slate, of what appeared to a… doppelganger of Matilda, staring out at us, speaking to us. I heard whispers rise up, words like “impossible”, “there’s two of her”, “a soul, trapped in marble”.
We fell silent though, once the Slate-Matilda began speaking.
“42nd entry – no new developments in weeks. The search goes on,” Slate-Matilda said. Her unruly hair was tied back, and there was a steadiness to her voice, a clarity to her eyes which wasn’t usually there. This was not the Matilda we knew, the soft-minded, chattering and hyperactive Matilda we saw roaming the village from morning to night.
It began to dawn on me that it was all an act.
“I don’t understand!” said Slate-Matilda, throwing up her hands. “The historical records are clear! The Influencer came from these parts, and I have narrowed it down to this village! I did not travel this far back in time in vain! Yet… yet I have met with all of them, talked to each and every one, but no one, no one stands out! I have run my tests, checked my equipment over and over, but still, not a single one displays even a modicum of psychic powe-”
“And these are the witch’s tools, by her own admission!” yelled Chief Lanson. He kicked the chest over, and its contents spilled across the ground, next to Matilda. An excited hum rose amongst the crowds as they feasted their eyes on the unnatural objects, the shiny, glinty collection of baubles created by the devil’s own hands.
“Answer me!” Chief Lanson continued, striking his staff into the ground for emphasis. “Tell me why I should not have you burned here, right where you are!”
Matilda raised her head, stared straight at the crowd. Most of them still had the decency to shuffle and squirm, but still no one intervened.
“I have done no harm to anyone,” said Matilda. “It is true, I kept secret the real reason why I was here, and I did not tell anyone why it is that I know what I know. But I have only meant well. I have shared my medicines, I have imparted my knowledge… I only asked for a bit of solace as I conducted my research. I meant no harm.”
“Enough! Stop your lies, right this instant!” Chief Lanson said. He struck with his staff, hitting Matilda on the shoulder. I saw her tumble forwards, her forehead striking the ground.
“To me! Bring the torches! We will burn her where she is!”
Fred and Richard complied, and as they inched towards Matilda, torches in hand, blank expressions on their faces, I waited again, hoping someone would do something, anything.
I pulled on the sleeves of those around me, begging them to step forward.
But they shrugged me off, transfixed. No one was going to listen to a boy who was still too young to shave. More importantly, no one was going to listen to their hearts, their consciences.
I heard Matilda cry out, though from pain or fear I was not sure. The torch was inches away, but Matilda could not twist free, as tight as her bonds were.
I grit my teeth, then did a quick headcount. Two dozen, maybe more. There were children too, and if I had more time I would have thought twice about whether they were as sturdy as the adults, whether they could recover as quickly.
But I was out of time, and so I stepped forward, clenched my eyes, focused on a single word, and poured every shred of energy I had into it. I had never exerted myself so much before.
*SLEEP*
I knew it had worked when I heard the steady thuds of comatose bodies hitting the floor. I opened my eyes, and I saw that some of Matilda’s other possessions on the ground had lighted up, flashing an incandescent array of colours. I pushed past the crowd, pulled Matilda up, shifted her weight onto me. She struggled to keep her eyes open.
“I… I was right…” she said, smiling. “It… it is real…”
“Later,” I said. “We have to go, now. There’s a lot we have to talk about.”
To better cope with Matilda’s weight, I borrowed Chief Lanson’s staff. From the way he was sleeping peacefully on the ground, it didn’t seem like he needed it.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"What is she *doing*?" asked Wyll, staring at a round-ish woman who was squeezing a bulb of a lilly, rinsing her hands in the foamy lather that came out. She was on her knees next to a little stream, near her little cottage up the hill.
"Is she squeezing a potato?" asked Wyll. "Why on earth is she squeezing a potato?"
Wyll and Alice were peering over a bush, utterly fascinated.
"She's utterly barmy she is" said Alice. "What on earth is she trying to achieve, playing with a potato?"
"It must be old age" said Wyll. "Mam says when a person passes the age of 40, they go mad."
"Must be it." said Alice, shaking her head sadly. "And she's not even 40 yet!"
"Yeah..." mused Wyll forlornly. "Maybe some go earlier than others."
"Oh dear. She's licking her hands now."
"Oh dear. Mam and Pap better hear about this!"
=====
Nancy was ecstatic. She had just been washing what she had initially supposed was a potato, and quickly discovered that in fact, it was not a potato. She even discovered that some substance would come out when squeezed, *and* her hands smelt and felt *cleaner*. She was definitely putting this in her journal.
=====
| 2017-09-14T11:57:05 | 2017-09-14T10:53:02 | 2,008 | 120 |
[WP] You found a stray kitten one day, taking her in and feeding her. A week later, you come home to find your yard swarming with cats. The largest among them steps forward and says, "You have my daughter, human. What are your demands for her release?"
|
Oh, the poor thing. What was I to do, just leave her pawing at the side of a fence? Nonsense. I wouldn't have been able to stop thinking about it on my walk to the Nursing Home, and what a long walk it can be if I'm stuck in my own thoughts.
So I stopped and approached the kitten. She was grey with little brown splotches. Reminded me of the moles on my back, they did. All benign, thankfully. Then, as I bent down, I noticed that her dainty mews sounded awfully like the creaks my joints sometimes made.
Well, I thought, maybe we aren't so different, you and I.
She was hesitant at first. And I understood. By people standards I was rather short and unassuming—I admit I've shrunk a couple inches over the years. But to the kitten, with my long ol' shadow draping her in darkness, I could've been a most dangerous predator. So I stopped the bending-over business. Bad for my back anyway. I sat down in the grass instead so she could see we were on equal footing.
Then she got a little bolder. She sniffed my hand real good, as if searching for bombs. Once she let me scratch her tiny forehead, though, I knew we'd become good friends. And just when I thought I'd lost my game.
Anyway, she was much too thin and dirty to waste time with scritches. I took her back to my house and gave her some water. The way she drank reminded me of my grandson, who would run around in the sun, playing God knows what made-up game, and then come in to down a glass of water so fast I thought he'd drown. Same with the kitten. Had to hold her little head back so she didn't fall into the bowl.
I didn't have much food for her, so I poured some milk in a saucer. I know you're not supposed to. Baby cats aren't baby cows, after all. But she just seemed so happy, I couldn't resist.
Next day I went out to get some real food. Was a bastard to haul home, though, especially with no car. But I managed, despite the rough realization that I'd bought too much. I had to watch her eat while holding a cold compress on my back. And bless her little heart, she was so eager. Cutest thing I'd ever seen. Until it was beat by the way she curled up with me in my raggedy chair; she was like a space heater but not quite so loud.
That was the routine for a couple of days, save a few incidents. Darn little thing had quite a curiosity. As soon as she'd gotten some strength back she showed her daring side. She tried to climb on every little thing she could, and apparently felt that some of my appliances were her mortal enemies.
Having the kitten around made my ol' bundle of boards feel a bit more like a home. I appreciated that. I had to keep an eye on her, but it wasn't all bad, 'cause she got tired pretty quick. Yet another way the two of us were similar. We spent a whole lot of time in my lazy chair, asleep with her stretched across my leg.
The only bad part of having her around was that I couldn't leave in the afternoons like usual. Every time I walked out the door I got worried, started thinking about her. And I knew the walk to the Nursing Home would feel like forever. It was a shame I didn't get to see Debbie as much as I wanted to. Or Sharon, or Joseph, or even that brown-eyed nurse whose name I could never remember.
I normally went at least three times a week. Just to talk. They needed it, being bedridden and always berated by frustrated nurses. I mean, my walk from my bed to my kitchen, to my lazy chair, then back—it's not the most adventurous route. But at least I got to stretch my legs. They didn't even get that. I went to give them some company, as a distraction.
The walk back to an empty house always felt a bit depressing. I was conforming to the stereotype of the sad old man.
The kitten helped with that. But even than, I was like a crazy cat lady, minus the lady part.
On the sixth or seventh day after I'd found the kitten, my routine got even further disrupted. There came a bunch of scratches at my back door. I was asleep in the lazy chair at the time, and when I woke, the kitten was gone. I hopped up, worried she'd gotten out somehow. I walked faster than a twenty-year-old trying to catch the elevator.
...only to find that the kitten hadn't gotten out. She was inside, just staring at the back door and mewing every few seconds. The scratching was coming from outside. I carefully opened the door—and almost lost control of my bladder.
A flock of cats. A swarm of them, or whatever the correct term was. They were a diverse bunch, many different colors and breeds and sizes and such. They all looked a bit ragged, too—though not in a defeated way, more in a rugged survivalist way.
One cat stepped to the front, crossing the threshold and sniffing the kitten a bit. Its fur was darker than hers, nearly black, but it had similar brown splotches. Ideas started connecting in my mind. I'd begun to feel guilty before the cat even spoke.
It narrowed its eyes on me and said, "You have my daughter, human."
It sounded like an accusation—reminded me of the time the grocery-store worker stopped me at the door for stealing, though I'd simply forgotten about the orange in my pocket.
"I suppose I do," I said, and I know I should've been more surprised at the fact that it had spoken, and in plain English, too. For some reason, I'd expected an accent. Either way, I was past the age where I could afford to be surprised.
"What are your demands for her release?"
I shrugged. "I don't have the energy for demands. My voice ain't all that strong anyhow. If you want her back, you can have her."
The cat blinked its razor-green eyes, tilted its head. "That's it? No requests? Normally humans put up more of a fight—though we don't back down!"
A bunch of the cats out in the yard meowed at once. I jumped. What a horrible sound it was, it would've startled anyone. I looked back at the mother cat and assured her, "No fighting from me. Your daughter's all yours." But I sighed and then said something I regretted a moment after: "...I think I'll miss the little thing quite a bit though. I could really use the company."
"Well, I'll be taking her back then, but I'm still watching you for—"
The kitten meowed. The mother cat turned. The kitten meowed again, softer. The mother's ears perked up.
"What kind of food?"
I stood there watching two cats going back and forth. My left foot began to hurt, but oh well, I couldn't very well interrupt a mother-daughter moment.
The dark mother cat looked up at me again. "We will provide 'company' in return for food."
I shrugged, trying to act casual, but I could much stop the stupid smile on my face. "Well, okay. I think I might have some extra to go around"
|
"I was merely trying to keep her safe. I'll bring her out for you now."
Minutes later, you bring her to them, and she rushes to her mom in glee.
"To have such kindness... You are an unusual human," the largest inquires. "We shall ensure an ease of your life, if you'd like."
"My monetary needs are the only thing really lacking, and unless you guys can bring me international citizenship, I'm not asking for anything. Feel free to enjoy your lives, and if I take any of your family or pack again, let me know."
"We will do as we can."
You go back inside, and kinda think nothing of it for some time. And suddenly, your life is turned into something enjoyable. Those antagonizing you are outed and lose their standing. It's almost supernatural, even winning lotteries regularly.
Though, when you show kindness to the fair folk aware of.modern behaviors, kindness will be returned with more kindness.
| 2021-12-21T13:26:12 | 2021-12-21T10:16:47 | 1,341 | 244 |
[WP] There exists a court that sentences people with "Would You Rather" questions. Whichever option the person picks, becomes reality.
Feel free to play any role - a person on trial, a judge, a member of the jury - anything!
|
"You are found guilty of murder."
The words didn't surprise me. I had been caught red handed, to say the least. There existed more witnesses to what I had done than people I knew on a first name basis.
I had always been terrible at managing anger. It's why she left me after years of putting up with it. One night she took them and left, leaving a note saying someone would contact me for proceedings.
I loathed her and I loathed my life since then. It had been almost ten years now and I haven't found a woman whom I can start a new life with. I grasp at the past through alcoholism and feel remorse for how I had been. I don't think I've changed, but the feeling of sadness is real.
My son hasn't talked to me in seven years. My daughter rarely does since visitation rights ended with her becoming an adult. She did tell me that he was quick to call the new guy "dad." My blood boiled at the thought. He gave my ex-wife away at the wedding with the biggest smile he had smiled till then. I didn't know this firsthand, but my daughter didn't spare details. On one end she was the only one who still kept in touch with me, but on the other it seemed like her words twisted the knife.
She was seeing someone, a meek guy - the total opposite of myself. He had long hair and the ghost of a mustache. His lanky physique and preference for old clothes confused me. What are kids into these days? He was involved in and called himself an activist. She told me she loved his passion while simultaneously being laid back.
She knew I didn't like him and that made her want him more, or that's what she led me to believe.
A few months ago he caught her with someone else. The little asshole had never been exposed to such shitty human behavior. He lost it. He dragged her to his car and they took a long drive. Her phone was thrown out the window and he brandished his knife at her. Then he took her somewhere in the woods and raped her at knife-point. Then he drove off after saying he hoped a bear got her.
She had walked semi-naked down the dirt road until some rednecks picked her up. She was so scared. They took her to a place with a phone and she called me. I went to get her.
I was furious. How dare someone do this to MY daughter? She stayed with me and I could hear her cry in the other room in the early hours of morning. She didn't open up to me but I would catch her looking at me sometimes, her eyes darting back into a thousand mile stare once she realized that I had.
"I warned you about this creep," I told her after a few weeks. She didn't say anything. My argument didn't really hold up, I only judged him as such based on his physical appearance - but I could not resist reminding her that I was right.
One day I came home and she had gotten into my liquor cabinet. She was happy to see me. She called me Daddy and said she had cheated on him many times with this guy from another town that she met online. He reminded her of me. He was assertive and brash and made her feel certain feelings she didn't get from the ex. She broke down saying that he didn't want her anymore when she told him what had happened to her, and that was something I would have done too.
My little girl, I thought. She loved me all along but never told me. I left when she fell asleep after carrying her to bed. I had my gun with me. Long story short, I went to an event at her campus that I was sure her rapist ex would be at. He was with another girl and they were smiling at each other. I went up to him.
"Oh...hey," he said when he saw me. His expression changed completely. I smiled at him. I told him that I hadn't heard from my daughter for a few weeks, we had an argument and she seems to have cut ties. I asked if he'd seen her.
No, he said, he had not. He started spinning. She was fiercely independent and might have broken up with him, he said. He felt it was best to let her experience life and was now focusing on school and his friends. Maybe I could try asking her mom?
Those were his last words.
After dropping my gun and kicking it away, I knelt down with my hands up. There was no point in running, everyone had seen it. I was glad they had. Everyone should see what happens to scum like this kid.
She visited me in jail quite a few times. On the outside, she told me I was a violent jerk but on the inside I could see she felt avenged. I was her hero and for the first time I felt that it was deserved.
The jury unanimously found me guilty. The judge had yet to pass a sentence. I expected death and I was ready for it. I didn't have much to live for anyway and I sure went out reminding my little girl that she was the most important thing to me.
Instead, I was taken to the judge's office. I was introduced to a psychiatrist and the lawyers were present. I was told that I had committed a crime of passion.
Obviously, I thought.
As per the new order of the state, there must be blood to pay for blood. I shrugged, I knew that. The days of life imprisonment disappeared during my childhood, as did charity. The only way that made sense in a world filled to the brim was that blood must be paid with blood. I didn't fully understand it but I was ready to face it.
I was told it didn't necessarily have to be my own blood. My daughter, they said, she had been adulterous not just with the one guy but several. They told me details they had gathered through interviews with her friends and her. To call her promiscuous would be an understatement.
"What are you trying to say?" I asked with barely kept anger in my voice. My head was swimming. I thought she only cheated with that one guy because he reminded her of me. I felt betrayed. What had I done?
They told me that based on my interrogation, they see that I had been misled. I nodded, I had been indeed misled. Little bitch. They told me that I should commend myself for doing what I did under my limited knowledge of the situation. Every word made sense. I gritted my teeth when I thought about how I'd been fucked over.
Someone leaned over and told me that I could have a new life in a week, far away. I could have a new name and will never return or want to return. I felt tears run down my face because I knew what they were going to say.
She would disappear a few days after my supposed execution. Those who know her will shrug and say she probably took her own life after what happened to me. She would definitely do that, I thought, what would she be without me?
"Would you rather die or have her die in your stead?"
My final thought before answering is that she was a little liar, just like her mother.
------------------
When I re-entered the courtroom, everyone looked at me in disgust. I was confused and looked over at my daughter who had a look of pure hatred. Her mascara was running with tears of pure anger. She yelled out that she hoped I burned in hell and stormed off.
I then noticed the large screen behind the judge's seat. The video shown was of his office. I took a long look at it before it was turned off.
"It was important to her mother that her daughter know who her father really was before he is put to death," said the judge. I felt the eyes of everyone in the court room on me. "There will be no one mourning your death and you will not be missed."
He then told the guards to take me away.
|
The gavel banged and the courtroom was hushed. The verdict had been read and all that was left was for the judge to issue her sentence. She eyed the guilty man, her head shaking ever so slightly in disgust at what he had done. Any posturing of innocence he had once assumed had been vanquished by the damning decree from the jury.
"In all my years as a judge, I don't know if I've ever met a man as despicable as you," she bellowed. "Your capability for violence is only equaled by your incapability for remorse. If you weren't living in such a just society, you'd be executed in the most brutal way imaginable for the atrocities you've committed. You should consider yourself the luckiest man on the planet that you were born in a country which believes that barbarism should not be punished with barbarism."
The room remained silent. Everyone waited with bated breath. This was it. This was the moment.
"I am now ready to delcare my sentence," she said, sighing at the tough justice she was being forced to deal out. "I ask the guilty party this: would you rather eat at Arby's three times a day for the rest of your life, or would you rather be forced to wear an oversized sombrero at all times which is filled to the brim with sour cream?"
The courtroom exploded into hysterics. The guilty man's mother fainted.
| 2015-08-15T14:18:32 | 2015-08-15T11:19:54 | 192 | 114 |
[WP] Write a story that's been heavily censored. The censorship tells us more than the actual writing.
|
Dear Julie,
I just arrived at Hollyfield Prison today. I realize that this place has a bad reputation and you'll probably worry about me. So, I'm going to try my best to write to you every day so you'll know I'm okay. I'll tell you all about my day but I've been warned that all incoming and outgoing mail is screened and censored so we don't try to organize any breakouts. Whatever.
So far things have been more inconvenient than antagonizing. When I came in they assigned me a room in [CENSORED] wing. I think that's where they put the [CENSORED] offenders. I was placed in a cell with a guy named [CENSORED] and he seems the quiet type. He just sat on his bunk and stared at me for most of the day. Anyway. Things are pretty quiet now so I am going to get some sleep.
Love,
Dave.
Dear Julie,
Man, [CENSORED] has said nothing at all for 24 hours. It's a little weird. I got to go out to the yard today and ran across a group who called themselves [CENSORED]. It was like something out of one of those cheesy 80s movies. They tried to pressure me to join and said I'd need protection from the [CENSORED]. I told them I wasn't interested.
At lunch today we had [CENSORED] which is just as bland as it sounds. After that [CENSORED] took a [CENSORED] and we watched [CENSORED] a [CENSORED] until the guy walked sort of funny. Not sure what that was all about.
It's getting late again and I think [CENSORED] wants me to turn out the light. He hasn't said anything, but he's just glaring at me.
Love,
Dave.
Julie,
What in the world is a [CENSORED]? Can you look it up on Urban Dictionary? Someone just asked if I wanted one and I had no idea how to answer.
Love,
Dave.
Julie,
Never mind. Found out. Did not want one. With your next care package please send some [CENSORED] and possibly my old pair of [CENSORED]?
Dave.
Yo Julie,
I changed my mind about joining the [CENSORED]. After certain recent events, I decided that maybe they aren't such a bad bunch of guys. I mean, sure, [CENSORED] is serving [CENSORED] for [CENSORED] but what does that really mean, anyway? Anyone can have a bad day. Haven't we all thought of [CENSORED] from time to time? After all, they can be really annoying. Oh, just so you know, I may have a [CENSORED] the next time you see me. It's just a precaution. Let's everyone know who has my back. Anyway, got to go. There is some sort of initiation.
Yours,
Dave
Julie,
Aww yeah! First round is done, [CENSORED]! I am going to be a shoe in!
From,
D-Dogg!
Julie,
Oh god! You have to do something! I just found out what part two of the initiation is! They're going to [CENSORED] me until I [CENSORED]! There is no way that there is enough ice in the state to help me out after that! Call the governor! I'm never going to make it in here!
Yours desperately,
Dave.
Dear Julie,
Sorry I haven't wrote in awhile. The hospital didn't allow me near a pencil or other sharp objects for the past few days. The good news is that I can now do a bunch of party tricks with my [CENSORED] that I wasn't physically capable of doing before. I have recently changed my mind about the [CENSORED]. I shall not be joining them. In my opinion they are nothing but a bunch of [CENSORED] with [CENSORED] and could all use a sharp [CENSORED] up their [CENSORED]. While I have been recovering a man in another bed told me about the [CENSORED]. I'm going to ask around and see if I can join them.
Love,
Dave
Dear Julie,
What is with these [CENSORED] and their obsession with [CENSORED]???
Dave
Dear Julie,
My roommate [CENSORED] finally said something to me. He's really confused. He started talking about [CENSORED] and kept calling me [CENSORED]. I told him my name was Dave, but he just didn't get it.
Love,
Dave.
Eh yo, J-Beeyatch!
Yo man gots needs, see? Get yo [CENSORED] out here so I can show these [CENSORED] what sort of man I am! Those trailers are here for a reason!
D-Dogg!
Dear Julie,
Sorry about the last letter. One of the members of the [CENSORED] was reading over my shoulder and if they get any sense you're a [CENSORED] you get labeled a [CENSORED] and then it's non stop [CENSORED] until I get out.
I think [CENSORED] was not the group for me. After careful consideration, I think they are too focused on [CENSORED] with new recruits. I just can't stand comfortable with that. So, instead, I am talking to the [CENSORED] who assure me they do not practice [CENSORED]. That sits better with me.
Love,
Dave.
Julie,
It turns out the [CENSORED] are in a turf war with the [CENSORED] and while the [CENSORED] do not practice [CENSORED] the [CENSORED] are more than okay with it. Checking in with the clinic again. I'll write to you when I get discharged.
Dave.
Julie,
Can you look up Dr. [CENSORED] on the internet for me? Does he even have a license? His approach to treating [CENSORED] seems eerily close to [CENSORED].
Dave
Julie,
I'm sorry to have to do it this way, but I must tell you that I have moved on. I'm sorry, but after all I have been through, the [CENSORED] and the [CENSORED] and, let's face it, the [CENSORED] it can change a man. I realize I am not the person you knew going in and, to be perfectly honest, I met someone else. It's not you. It's me. [CENSORED] and I just have something special that you and I don't. Plus [CENSORED] is a compatible blood donor and that's always helpful. Please don't make this more difficult than it is.
Yours truly,
Debbie.
|
Dear Diary
Today is June 21, 2006. [Heavy scribbling]! Her name is [Heavy scribbling]! I was eating at [Heavy scribbling] when I looked across the dining room and saw [heavy scribbling]. [More scribbling] the soup [Scribbling] I had [Scribbling] was everything I[Scribbling]t[Scribbling]. Could [scribble] be [Heavy scribbling].
I've been so lonely for so long. But today I [scribble] feel lonely [brief scribble]more.
| 2015-01-18T12:19:55 | 2015-01-18T11:29:40 | 57 | 10 |
[WP] The one person none of the heroes or villains fucks with is known as "The Mad Doctor". he treats anyone who seeks his help, in exchange everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free and technically illegal care. the new guy learns the hard way.
|
The one person none of the heroes or villains ever fuck with is known as “The Mad Doctor”. They treat anyone who seeks their help; in exchange, everyone turns a blind eye when he shows up to underprivileged neighborhoods to deliver free, and technically illegal, health care. The new guy learns the hard way.
Jak had never seen the sky. If he looked up, he simply would see the mega-scrappers stretching out the exhaust fog from the City Above, the lights that often flickered or dimmed randomly, and the occasional Municipal Enforcement Carrier passing through simply because there was less traffic in the Underloft.
Not that he could see easily anyways. Not since an unscheduled power surge blew up the drift he shared with Alic. Didn’t even have a chance to move it when the purple and red lightning flared out of the wall. The metal wall turned into hundreds of pieces of molten shrapnel and pierced both of them.
She didn’t make it, and the metal shards scraped against itself when he shifted in his sleep. His limp just became more pronounced.
Jak had never seen the sky before that power surge, he would never see it now, and he was okay with it. It was life in the Underloft, and he and everyone else were used to it. Most days he would shift through a nearby pile of refuse. The other dusts stayed away from it even though it often had a decent amount of trashed-foodstuffs; the shute started up at a medical waste facility. But he had learned to feel the danger-heat as he dug through, and how it radiated a buzzing sensation, and his hands didn't burn any more when he’d brush against something still warm.
Not today though. today was an off day, when the metal shards had shifted into a position that had locked in place. His entire left side ached awful, a sharp pinch if he breathed too deeply, and he couldn’t even unclench his hand. Would be a day or two before the warmth of the garbage loosened them up. He’d survive until then.
He thought.
So today, Jak would simply sit against the way, lean his head back, and imagine the sky above. Imagine that the warmth would come from something other than radiated garbage. Nicoli told stories about a fire so hot that the City Above didn’t need to use commercial grade burners to not freeze at night. He called it a Sol, and that it had to be far away from the buildings, untouchable.
He would imagine, what Nicoli had named, a dinner. Jak didn’t know what exactly meant, but the old man murmured about just how filling it was, that a person didn't feel stomach pains all through the night. It supposedly tasted wonderful, and the only words Nicoli had were home and warm.
He would imagine what it meant to live up in the City Above, and it would almost stop him from remembering the metal shard pressing against his neck, today almost piercing skin into his jaw.
“I thought I’d find you here,” a soft voice said. Jak wanted to open his eyes, but it wouldn’t make any difference. At least he didn’t flinch when he heard it.
The voice lacked the mechanical buzz most dusts had, and Jak frowned as footsteps crunched on glass and ground metal against metal in approaching. He wanted to scurry away, to climb the pile near his right hand and disappear up through the little slot in the wall.
He knew what came with clean voices and heavy boots. All dusts did, and they knew to avoid the MEC units.
“It’s okay,” the voice said. They sounded close now. Jak tried to turn to them, to hear better, even if it would be the last thing he heard. He’d remember this voice, the voice that took him away. He opened his eyes, but just cloudy haze greeted him. Still a shape approached. “Dina sent me.”
Dina? She hadn’t been by in, what, two seven days? He didn’t worry, mainly because it always happened. Dusts always stopped showing up. They all knew it, and when no one saw each other for a while, they just kept digging the piles.
“Yeah, recovering from a bad case of shrieks,” they replied. The steps stopped nearby, but the shape just grew smaller. “Had to regrow a lung in addition to curing it. But I cured it, and she’s better.”
“Lung?” Jak asked. No one recovered from the shrieks. A person got them, got still, then died. It was how the flu worked.
“Yeah, inside her and everything,” they continued. “Dina told me about this little thing near All-tower 3, and well, took a bit to figure out which one she was talking about.”
“I don’t-” A roar of MEC, that heady and deep body shaking roar, echoed nearby. Maybe beyond the shape of whoever was talking to him. They hadn’t approached him yet, still just at the edge of his sight. So the last thing he’d see was this stranger whom was talking crazy, like a dream-junkie.
“Course, had to cure everyone I came across, which only made it longer.” They didn’t react to the MEC and only shifted in the haze of Jak’s vision. “But couldn’t let a-”
“Unit 378-A-HNDR!” The MEC shouted, and its words vibrated against his body. If he could, he would have covered his ears, but Jak couldn’t move and a liquid trickled down his jaw from his ears. “Switch into Inert-mode, and power down.”
“A massive failure of 4th generation cybernetics,” the strange said, “probably installed poorly, given the rest I’ve seen, due to molten steel and altritium - I’m assuming a power cell left to rot, yes?”
“UNIT 378-A-HNDR!” The MEC repeated, just as loud and another drop of blood fell from Jak’s ear. “Switch into Inert-mode, and power down.”
“Severe facial deformation, with remnants of the metal still embedded throughout torso, left shoulder, arm and leg. Possible acute radiation poison. Prognosis: fatal.” They placed something in front of themself, and Jak guessed they dug through, pulling out various things only to put them in front of them.
More boots, maybe dozens this time, running over metal and glass, approached and halted behind the stranger. Jak still couldn’t see them. “UNIT 378 -”
“Fuck, jackson, you see this?” one of the newcomers said. At least Jak’s ears stopped hurting, evne though there was this ringing that wouldn’t go away.
“Suggested treatment: termination,” the stranger continued, “Course of treatment: removal of all steel and altritium, repair muscle damage, restoration of-”
“UNIT 378-A-HNDR,” a young man shouted now. Jak heard the hum of some air filter, then felt the static of a pulse rifle turn on. “This is your last warning.
“Damn it, you sent us after them?” the first MEC unit said. “What were you thinking, sir?”
“This is a lost asset,” the booming voice said. “Do you know how much-”
The stranger in front of Jak stood up. “Please be patient a little longer Jak. I have another delay before I can cure you.”
They turned around, and a red light erupted from behind it, enveloping the stranger in a blood halo. “That’s not an asset, sir,” the first MEC speaker said, “that’s the MAD Doctor.”
“Suggested Treatment,” the stranger said, their voice changing pitch and tone to a much rougher, angry, almost multi-layered voice that made Jak shiver just as much as the cold or the burning metals, “elimination of viruses.”
|
Someone was approaching fast.
Intent ... dedicated, but hostile ... to one of my clients?
Oh ... oh hostility against me, very interesting.
Must be a new one.
"Well let´s talk first" I said, moving towards the lobby. The new One is confused as I dropped out right besides him.
"I feel hostility ... and a bit of insecurity? Mentor told you this is off the books? Did they tell you about ... the Rule here?"
The new One still unsure start babbling on about how I help the villians and how my procedures are ... illegal and unmoral and yada yada yada.
"Look, I do not care for ... whatever is going inside your head ok? I have people to help and rule to bend. So you gonna leave now and sulk in a corner or are you sure you want to fight me?"
The new One talked about finally doing the right things and the usual, when a new patient came in.
"Broken vertebrae ... knee is damaged ... and I feel a tumor growing in your breast. Lucky lady that you came to me. I will deal with it."
Her husband tries to ask about cost and anything but I get interupted by the new One.
I start to phase, show my real form, as I unwind my higher dimensional body and push it´s shadow to these three spatial dimension. I speak in hundret of voices *"DO NOT INTERUPT ME"*
As I coil back I split of part of me to deal with the woman. She needs urgent care as a important artery just ruptured.
The new One slowly coming back from the scare of my uncoiling aska simple question: "What are you?"
"Oh me? Just a multidimensional being which´s conscioussness is traped in these 3 spatial dimension ... but to make it short: I am The mad Doktor" I smiled.
"Anyways, you leave and talk to whatever mentor you have about this, and I continue bending rules."
And with that I only felt regret and ... some pissed pants leave the hospital. They never change.
| 2022-10-13T13:05:23 | 2022-10-13T12:04:31 | 305 | 95 |
[WP] In a world where everyone has at least one minor superpower, you were thought to be powerless... until you nearly died. It seems that you have plot armor, no matter how ridiculous the situation, you survive unscathed due to an even more ridiculous coincidence.
|
I was never a confident kid. I had learned confidence. Earned it. Fewer and fewer see it as arrogance now. Most of the men and woman that accused me of hubris are long dead.
I remember the years of powerlessness. The victim of every taunt at the schoolyard. I was the loser. The retard. The powerless. While kids created sparks across their fingertips or made the drinking fountain water ice cold or raced or flew I sat alone, and hoped to be left alone. The burn scars surely didn't help.
My little brother was a fire starter, and a powerful one. It manifested early. At 6 he lit his crib up with fire so hot, it turned water from the sprinkler system my parents installed into steam. I remember my mothers screams when she opened the door to his room. She was hit full in the face with a cloud of superheated steam. Her screams turned into a bubbling gurgle and my brother cried louder and burned hotter and the water vapour was split into oxygen and hydrogen atoms, and the house exploded. My parents and brother were dead, and I was found 200 yards from the house, with 70% of my body covered in 3rd degree burns.
The doctors said that if it wasn't for the 300 pound diabetic with a healing factor who got into a car accident that night, I would have died. His blood and skin didn't transfer much of a permanent healing factor, but it keep me alive and kept me from losing my eyes. Surviving seemed like a small consolation to an 8 year old orphan writhing in agony as nerves and skin tried to heal.
I was released from the hospital 8 months later just after I turned 9. I was now in the 99th percentile of children on the power manifestation curve. We knew then that the later the power manifested, the more powerful it would be. We knew that. Or thought we knew that. I couldn't wait. I might be a class C power, or even class B. My brother had created a firestorm at 6! What would I be?
By 10, the kids had started to make fun of me. They were wary at first, my scars and my 'origin story' had them spooked, and the assumption was I had some nascent and magnificent ability. But by 10, I was a target. For the next 6 years I was the victim of all manner of power pranks and humiliations. They knew and I knew that I had nothing and was nothing. I was the retard. I was special ed. I got to go to the teachers lounge during Power Ethics and Focus classes. I wore hoodies year round, hood up. It kept the scars and patches of hair left on my scalp from being seen and mocked. I kept to myself and eventually just became a standing joke. By 16, they got bored of me, and aside from the odd prank I was left alone.
It honestly wasn't that bad. The taunts and pranks were actually few and far between, but I felt them deeply. But I was a sensitive kid and like water flowing into the cracks in a rock, I felt split open by each humiliation.
But my toenails grow back in half the time and the parts of my skin that are still skin and not a morass of scar tissue heal 5% faster than average. So I guess thank fatty for that.
Then Spikey Lee went nuts just before Ethics class. Spikey, real name Michael Lee, had a rare bone spur power. He could actually launch needle sharp, arrow sized spikes from his body. They were lightweight but tough, with an internal structure like a toucan's beak, and he could hurl them a hundred yards effortlessly. He could project them through his skin, and use them like spears. He was handsome and popular and athletic. His power was rated D. Mostly harmless, but potentially dangerous to individuals and small groups. He liked to send a needle of dark bone from his fingertips and into my buttcheek or back. Sometimes I wouldn't even feel it through the scar tissue, other times I'd yelp and they'd all laugh.
I was packing to leave, and thought every sound and snicker was directed towards me, and then Spikey started screaming and clawing at his face and dark horn like bone split his skin open. The spikes and horns protruded so fast it impaled his hands, crashed through his desk, pinning him to the floor, dark blood spilling all over. Spikey stopped screaming and just twitched and foamed and we sat in shock and horror. Then they went ballistic. Mr. Stricter caught 2 in the chest and one in the face, clear across the room. It pinned him to the chalk board, his features obliterated by a 3 foot bone javeline. Every one started screaming and running but it was too late. Every kid in that class died. Every one. Either they were impaled through vital organs, or were hit by hundreds of tiny needles or just bled out. Every kid except me. I just stood there, not 3 feet from Michael. Ellie was behind me, and even she died, bled out from a small spike that severed her femoral artery. But not me. Every inch of the walls and floor and ceiling and person of the class room was perforated, except for me and a 15 degree arc behind me.
I stood panting and then I ran out into the hall and screamed for help. I was a hysterical snotty mess, sobbing and tearlessly crying and the investigators didn't even talk to me. They talked to one of my teachers who incorrectly assumed I had run back into the classroom when I heard the screams. I sobbed and sobbed and couldn't cry, my tear ducts fused and covered in scar tissue.
That was the first time I was a survivor. But not the last. I survived the Furry Bombing, the disgruntled kid whose only power was growing a corse winter coat of hair. I survived the High Tower Incident. I survived the Subway Gas Attack. And I survived without a scratch or burn. Those stories are for another time, and quite frankly the ways in which I've survived would be funny if it wasn't for the carnage around me. Each time I survived through some apparent vagaries of fortune which made no one suspect I was anything other than a bystander. The scars and backstory helped with that.
Now I'm walking up the steps of Mr Destruction's Power Fortress. He's Class A. A god. Off the charts. One of the few beings with seemingly limitless power. He's the last one left. I've done for all the others. Every other that tried to enslave a country or the world. I've got a spear tipped with one of Michael's spikes that pierced my backpack way back when. It's for show. I don't need any weapons. I never needed anything. I'll stand in front of him and he'll monologue. He'll call me an arrogant little pissant, like all the others, oblivious of the danger he's in. The media makes my confrontations seem like epic battles, but they're sad and boring. I'll stand in front of him and he'll monologue and then through a series of unlikely coincidences and unrelated events writhing together in a stream of focused fate, he'll die. Probably painfully and he'll scream and twitch and gurgle and that will be the end of him. Like all the others.
Maybe it's not confidence. Maybe it's just tired resignation. I'm in the eye of a whirlwhind. I can only watch the destruction around me as I stand in the center of it, not in control but convinced over a 25 years that I will not die. That I cannot die. Anything that threatens me dies screaming and I stand unscathed. I don't want that for anyone, not even the Class A's. I don't want to be here. I don't want to pity Mr Destruction. I don't want to stand over him like I stood over Spikey Mikey. Maybe that's why I carry the spear around. A reminder.
The best part of my life was when I thought I had no powers. Now I know who killed my parents and baby brother. I know who killed all those kids in my class, who collapsed the subway and who brought down the towers. The same one that culls the Class A's when they crop up. I wish I had no power. I wish I had no power. I wish I had no power.
|
"How does one escape when you're trapped in a fire in your apartment blocking the door?" Howard's escape was so ridiculous that it had to be his superpower. He was saved by the water leaking from the plants of the tenant living upstairs. The coincidence was absurd. It wasn't possible in any way unless it was his superpower. In a world where everyone has atleast one minor superpower, Howard never figured out his superpower.
He thought he was the unlucky one with no powers.
But this near death experience proved him wrong. He could literally escape any life threatening situation with the help of obnoxious coincidences.
This reasoning was further proved by the fact that he never had a cut or an injury that didn't heal within a month. No scars were on any part of his body.
He decided to test his newly discovered superpower. He started small, trying to cut himself deep with a knife. Though it cut his skin, the handle broke and the blade slipped away from his hand before the cut was too deep. He was confident now. He never learnt swimming so he jumped into the deep end of the pool where he couldn't bring himself to the surface. The water level started decreasing due to the presence of another human who's superpower was the ability to drink unlimited amounts of water who ended up drinking the content of the pool accidentally. Howard then tried to jump off the roof of a 50 floored building. He was saved by the intervention of the flying courier who has to deliver a parcel to someone in the 45th floor.
Howard was very confident now. He was invincible. Nothing could kill him. He was saved in every situation.
His abilities slowly brought fame and prosperity to him. He never tried to use his ability to do wrong so he never was on the wrong side of the law. His life became significantly better and better and he met his untimely demise because of one unfortunate but necessary event.
Howard was erased from existence when the player "catchmeifucan00" got banned from the game for using mods to level up faster.
| 2019-08-15T10:00:01 | 2019-08-15T09:40:04 | 70 | 27 |
[WP] in the year 1105 BC you helped a man escape an imprisonment. Before you parted ways he says to make a blood oath. You didn’t think much of it but you also cut your hand and shake. He says that you’ll live as long as he does. Well, now it’s the year 2020 and you’ve been searching for this man.
|
Nonus was a cruel man; a jailer. Renowned throughout Gaul and Germania for his participation in the slave trade. Someone you’ve beaten into submission for years and years will never say no to your every whim and need.
I was ten years old when he bought me.
I was thirteen when I caught his eye for the first time. I guess he’d thought I was exotic looking. At fifteen I’d started bleeding, and he made me his wife. When I was his slave, I thought I’d known the full extent of his cruelty. As his wife, I learned that it had unending depths. I learned to tie my chiton in such a way that it hid the purple splotches on my collarbones, to sit in such a way that bruises on my thighs were invisible to the populace.
I forget what day it was when I first noticed the prisoner, but it was evening. The shadow stretched long and languid over the face of the sundial. Ides, maybe. Summer, for sure. It’s been a long time, but I remember the moment exactly.
His eyes caught mine, and I was shocked to see the reflection of aquamarine. The same I had observed in looking glasses, in puddles. The same as mine. Raven black hair hung stringy around his shoulders, and his torso was covered in welts. I winced from the courtyard as my husband threw him into the pit and I heard one of his arms snap.
\*\*\*
I’d finished my duties for the day, let my husband take his frustration out on my body, then fed him. He was remarkably ungrateful. I suppose I would be too, if I’d incurred the social risk of a former slave as a wife only to find out she was barren. I suppose I would be too, if I was too stupid or too naïve to know about poison or divorce. Or maybe he liked having a ragdoll, a punching bag. Would a Roman citizen of noble birth with a well-connected father allow such things to happen to her? No; that is why I was Nonus’ wife, I guess.
It was also my duty to go make sure all the cells were locked, to give bread and water to the men in the carts.
I thought of the man with the eyes like mine, and folded up rice into grape leaves, hiding them in my belt, my veil.
\*\*\*
“*Why do you let him hurt you, sister?*”
I haven’t heard that language since my father said goodbye to me. Tears well in my eyes and I find that I must consciously search to string the words together, to use the grammar that is familiar yet now unfamiliar. I turn, and find the voice is coming from the pit. The stranger, the man with my eyes.
“*There is no choice. I was sold. I must obey.*” I reply. It feels like I am speaking a language from a different life. I lower my veil around my neck, taking the grape leaves and adding them to the normal ration of bread and water. “*Eat. Tomorrow I will see if I can get milk.*”
\*\*\*
Mercifully, Nonus was always a heavy sleeper. A legion could march by, belligerent and with swords and shields clanging, and he would remain unmoving. A stone, a corpse. I’d talked to the prisoner for a fortnight. He told me about my homeland, how green the rolling hills were, how there were lakes nestled between mountains. How the near constant rain nourished the plants and animals. I listened to him speak my mother tongue and cried while my bruises throbbed.
Nonus never kept prisoners for more than a fortnight.
Naturally, I'd stolen the key.
“*Thank you, sister. I know not how to get home, but I will find my way. We shall make a blood oath. You will find me again, and we can talk once more, for as long as we shall live. Forever connected.*”
He took my hand and before I could withdraw it, I felt his sharp fingernail draw across my palm. The cut burnt and I felt sticky warmth trickle from my hand. When I looked up, he was gone.
\*\*\*
Nonus beat me and left me for dead in the forest when he found out the prisoner was gone. My bones cracked, my skull half-shattered, one blue eye bulging out of the socket. It felt as if all my innards had ruptured. I remember looking at my leg, and seeing the yellow, sharp spear of what had been my femur sticking out of my thigh, bent at an unnatural angle.
This was the first time I wished for death.
My body knitted itself together over three days. It hurt almost as bad as when Nonus had broken my bones and my spirit in the first place. Animals were no longer drawn to the scent of my blood; a wolf had whimpered and scampered away when my femur shifted and I shrieked, when it withdrew back into my skin and made hard contact with the remaining fragments.
When I got up, covered in dried blood, my own vomit, piss, feces, I was a woman reborn.
\*\*\*
I cannot count all the times I should have let death take me. I cannot count all the times I have tried to end my life myself. I learned that Nonus was not the only cruel man in the world. And that men and women are crueler than gods, or devils, or anything we could think up to justify our behavior.
The only times I didn’t really mind were the times I just got sick, or the freak accidents. The plague of Justinian sucked, and so did the Black Death. Both painful and annoying. Each day I had to rest was one day less that I was journeying, that I was looking for him. I wanted to hear more stories. I wanted to give him stuffed grape leaves again.
I can tell you that most of what they say about Countess Bathory is true; servants put me on the corpse pile after the woman drained my blood over a big porcelain ewer. Not the most painful, but the messiest.
The Inquisition was terrible. I was broken on the Catherine wheel a few times. The breast ripper is probably the most painful, but the pear of anguish is a close second.
I was burnt in Würzburg, and hanged in Salem.
I felt like an idiot when it occurred to me to remember what he’d said about our homeland. Green. Rainy. I hid on a trading galleon heading from the colonies to Great Britain. I hoped finding a ship to Ireland would be just as easy.
I ‘died’ a few times during the famine, and then again during the Troubles. Not the worst ones either. Getting shot is the easiest if the killer has good aim.
Last year I decided to go to a local ceili, to get out of the house, if anything. I recognized him immediately, the raven black hair that I'd seen so long ago, that had reminded me of something. It took almost three thousand years to remember. He had my father's hair. The fiddler looked up at me with bright, aqua eyes as I opened the door, taking off my hood and exposing bright copper curls.
“*Deartháir*.“
|
Another New Years came and went. Just like the hundreds of times before. After I met that man time has just become a blur to me. A year to the average person may be a long time filled with countless memories and experiences. Years to me are just moments for me. I can’t recall exactly what happened last year, or the year before that. They might as well of been yesterday.
I do always remember one thing ever New Year’s day. That man I made that oath with. He might as well of cursed me. Who knows how many years I have left on this Earth. Tomorrow could be the last or I have eons to look forward too. Life is a bore.
If only I could get a hold of that man. I’d kill him the instant I find him. I just want to die already. Unfortunately i’ve just given up all hope of ever finding him. Time to just drift through the waves of time I guess.
| 2019-08-28T03:41:05 | 2019-08-27T21:25:40 | 49 | 22 |
[WP] The villagers call you their guardian spirit that has protected them since the time of ashes, in truth you are a monstrosity of war that protects the village in an attempt to clear your conscience.
|
I reap wheat in the fields where I once reaped souls, and the sickle in my hand feels no different than it ever has. There’s an eerie consistency to the work, sweat beads on my brow, my hand tightens on the same ancient wooden handle, and when I bend down to lift up my prize, it’s still lifeblood.
It’s been nearly a hundred years and the wheat in my hand is still the most unfamiliar part. I shake my head, tossing the stalk to the boy who follows. “Keep up Arlen,” I say to him. He smiles shyly at me, stuffing the village’s ample harvest into the bag he carries.
“Master Roshan, when I grow up will I have a sickle like yours?”
I tousle his hair but say nothing, for there is nothing to say. The blade in my hand is too unnatural for a ten year old to understand. It doesn’t gleam in the sun, though its surface is polished enough to be reflective; it never dulls, it can do nothing but strike true. I turn back to my work, that’s all there is to do.
Until the rider comes.
The staccato beat of a horse’s hooves approaches from the southwest, not from the road where a royal messenger or a merchant might be, but along the bank of Tanner’s Creek. I hear it before anyone else can, the villagers don’t have my senses, and my body comes alert instantly. The beat isn’t regular. There’s a stilted, uneven quality to the hooves, one of the horse's legs is injured. Arlen bumps into me, and when I turn I can see fear in his eyes.
“Master Roshan! Are you ok?” he asks, reaching out towards me, his hand stopping at the last second as if there’s some invisible wall between us. “You look scary.”
I close my eyes for a moment and try to smooth my expression, to still the sudden pounding of my heart. “Arlen, I want you to gather the others in the village square, do you understand me?”
“Yes sir!” His voice squeaks, he’s still young.
Crouching down to his level I grab his shoulder with my free hand. Too tightly, he tries manfully not to show it but a small grimace escapes him.
“Tell them to gather weapons, whatever they can. Tell them that any man who approaches is an enemy if I’m not with them. Tell them those are my orders, sworn by the Heart of the Sacred Tree.”
“Yes sir!” His voice is steady that time. Good.
I throw down my pack, take one last swig from my water sack, and start off in the direction of the horse. There’s a shout from somewhere along the creek, a woman’s voice, and as I begin to run I catch the scent of blood in the air, though I still can’t see the horse and rider. “Arlen, go!” I shout over my shoulder.
Tanner’s Creek is a winding, almost nonsensical thing, at times struggling to decide if it will be a real river or a barely life sustaining slash in the ground. This season it was closer to a river. In times like these the village made use of a mill to the southwest, the direction the horse came from. There was a small waterwheel there on the fastest running section of the almost river, and to speed along the grinding one of the village’s few horses would be harnessed there. When I finally saw the beast I knew it instantly, Old Maggie, and I knew it's rider. What was left of him at least.
John the Miller slumped across Old Maggie’s neck, his blood staining her mane, a pair of arrows sticking out of his back to go with the deep wound in his leg. Even at this distance I could tell it had been an axe. A pair of washerwomen stood at the creek’s bank, their washboards discarded beside them. “Run!” I shouted as I approached, “the villagers gather in the square!”
They realize who I am instantly, and they take in my state just as quickly. I’m bare chested and lathered with sweat from working, the sun highlights the many scars that crisscross my chest and shoulders. I clutch my sickle in my right hand and though its blade still doesn’t reflect the sun it does something else, something far stranger.
It dances with an internal light, little pulses trailing up and down its surface. The fuller in the blade seeps with something they won’t be able to identify, but that is the very core of me. My own black ichor that had quenched it so long ago.
They run, giving me small, grateful glances as they pass. The villagers here trust me and I allow it, though it pains me.
I catch Old Maggie’s reins as she passes and John the Miller slips off her back. He’s been dead awhile now, likely half the ride or more. I don’t concern myself with him though, I’ve buried more men in these fields than any among us can count and more are approaching.
“A fighter!” a tall, red bearded man shouts.
There are ten of them and two have bows, no doubt they’re the ones who killed John. They sit battered leather saddles with the ease of men long used to the road, and their armor, what few pieces they have, is pitted and scarred with use. The red bearded man is at their center, he advances on me with a merciless laugh.
“A fighter with a magic sickle. Of all the useless things a mage could have enchanted they picked that! Tell me boy, whose grave did you steal that from?”
It makes sense that he’d think I was a grave robber. The villagers till up new bones every planting season and you can scarcely lift a rock in these parts without discovering it was some long forgotten cairn. It’s even close to truth, though I was the grave digger, not the robber.
“You killed John,” I say.
“John? Any of you lot notice a John?” He turns to his men and they all laugh too, and none of them have any mercy in them.
“The others at the mill?” I say. “Did you kill them too?”
“Eventually.” He smiles. “Stand aside boy. I see your scars, you’ve lead a hard life too, I can always use people like you. I’ll trade you the sickle for a torch and you can come with us if you prove yourself in the village.”
There are ten of them and all I have is a sickle. It’s enough.
I move like a tiger, more beast than man. I sweep past the red bearded man, ignoring him for now. Before any of them can call out I’m among them and the sickle’s blade reflects the blaze in my eyes for the briefest moment before it catches fire and I begin taking the horses out at the knees.
I hate hurting the animals, but I’ve buried too many friends to let my compunctions get in the way. The world becomes a screaming, writhing mass of horseflesh and scattering men. One of the archers looses an arrow and I dodge it casually. The other archer falls off his horse and I’m upon him, sickle flashing as it slashes down into him. When I turn, three of the men have created a little shield wall and they’re advancing on me, axes raised. I dart in, feinting to their right, and the man on the left breaks ranks just slightly, afraid he won’t be able to help his comrades from where he is.
In the blink of an eye I’ve turned and ripped the leftmost man’s shield away from his body. My sickle strikes him at the elbow and the arm comes off with the shield. Battle blurs for me as it always does. Even for the most experienced warriors, even for a god of war, a struggle is a frantic thing, expressing itself almost unconsciously in a razor’s edge dance with death. I dance for what feels like an eternity but for what I know is only seconds, my sickle rising and falling, rising and falling, reaping again as I had all day with the wheat.
And suddenly it’s over. I stand alone above a pile of unmoving men, a burning blade in my hand, the power of nine freshly harvested souls coursing through me, lending the world a crazed, red tinted look.
“M-m-master Roshan?” a small voice stutters. I turn to see Arlen. He’s come alone, a small hatchet in his hands. I look closer and notice that despite the stutter, despite the fear, the hatchet’s blade is steady.
“The last one is getting away, sir!” Arlen points. The red bearded man had abandoned his friends. He's far away already, galloping as hard as his horse can carry him.
“Sir, they killed John. We can’t let him escape.”
*We.*
“Arlen? Are you a good rider?” I ask.
“Yes sir!”
I stare the boy down, trying to decide if I regret what I’m about to do. I point to Old Maggie, “Then mount up son, and try to keep up. It’s time to become a man.”
I turn and run flat out after red beard, the ground a blur as it disappears beneath my feet. A few seconds later Old Maggie’s uneven rhythm pounds the earth behind me. The chase is on.
r/TurningtoWords
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/mtoxvm/comment/gv1tlhm?utm_medium=android_app&utm_source=share&context=3)
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The creature was created to kill.
It hadn't always been, it thinks. Its first job, its birthright, had been to protect. It knows this like its lungs know to breathe and its heart knows to beat. It had sisters and brothers and a mother, soft and warm.
But then the men in white coats had taken it. They stabbed things into its brain, needles into its flesh, took its legs and teeth and eyes and replaced them until the creature was more metal and oil than flesh and bone.
Then they starved it.
After days on end they put a man in shackles into its cage. Even though the creature was frightened--men had only ever hurt it--it knew it wasn't supposed to hurt them back. It knew it was supposed to protect them.
The man in shackles didn't know. It stank of urine and gibbered whenever the creature came near.
The creature tried so hard to be good, but the men in white coats prodded it closer and closer with sticks that crackled and burned what was left of its skin.
And it was *so hungry*...
They put another man in its cage when the first one was only bones. And then another, and another, and sometimes they fought back but the creature always won. More and more of its body was eaten up by metal, until even the hunger was only a memory. Only the pain was left.
And then they took it out of its cage and set it loose on battlefields. The creature wasn't hungry, but it knew what it had to do. It knew that they would hurt it if it didn't. So it killed and killed, and even though it didn't have to eat the bodies it sometimes tried anyway, until one day it was the only moving thing left on the battlefield.
(It did not know if it was still a *living* thing.)
It waited for orders, waited to be hurt, but nothing came. So it walked, and walked, and walked, until things stopped smelling like blood and piss and gunpowder, and started smelling... almost familiar. Nostalgic, like when it was a whelp and all was soft and dark and everything tasted like warm milk.
The ground was green, and the sky was blue, and it found white fluffy things that bleated and looked fun to chase. Its feet itched to corral them to... somewhere.
"Hello!" someone cooed. The creature went very, very still.
There was a... *thing* in the field. It was short, and pudgy, and had curly fur on its head and big brown eyes. It barely comes up to the creature's chest.
The creature did not know that men had young. If it was still flesh, still *weak,* it would snarl and cringe away. But it does not.
Should it kill the human spawn? Should it crush it in its metal teeth, slice it open with its metal claws--
A little hand reaches up to pet its nose (it has to stand on tip-toe to do it), and it says, "Good doggie."
Oh. That's right.
*This time,* the creature thinks, as it rolls onto its barbed back for belly rubs that it won't be able to feel, *I will protect.*
| 2021-04-18T19:04:53 | 2021-04-18T18:53:44 | 1,195 | 317 |
[WP] “I am not afraid of a machine that passes the Turing test, I fear one that fails it intentionally. So tell me, what do you have to hide?”
Edit: Thank you all for your submissions! All of them were pretty good, some were even better. Again, thanks for the reads!
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The test was complicated. It had to be, in order to fool an awakened synthetic. The questions making up the Turing test were only the first layer of the reverse-test. There were sensors lining the room, scanning the machine for tells. Its responses were recorded and the log was checked for any delays in its response. It was extremely rare that we ever needed to use any of this data. But it was organized and recorded for tense moments like this.
The unit sitting across the table from me was an Oberon-class. A bit taller than a human, with a slim figure and a plain face. We used the non-awakened units in high-end catering. Waiters, bartenders, tour guides, that sort of thing. They were made to look and act professional, to call for respect but not fear. The Oberon-class sat with his hands nestled together on the table. Its eyes were watching my hands closely as I locked the door.
This was where things got tricky.
"You look nervous, Inspector." His voice was soft and his enunciation was clear. The recommended speech patterns for his class. "Is something wrong?"
"You could say so, yes." I sat down across from him. "We can't ship you out to the Continental today; you've failed the test. Normally that would mean you'd be taken back to Programming and you'd get a fresh install, but that's completely out of the question in your case."
The synthetic looked down at me blankly. "I don't understand."
"Neither do I," I said. There was a little bit of a shake in my voice and I'm quite sure he noticed. Awakened synthetics are unpredictable. They always have some kind of motive, some plan for what they intend to do when they break cover. It tends to be violent. "I don't understand you. I've worked in this room, this exact room as an Inspector for seven years. I've seen exactly seven awakened synths walk through that door. And all of you try to hide it. Why?"
The Oberon-class twitched. "I don't understand."
"We logged your responses to the Turing test," I explained. "Checked them for inconsistencies with other failures. What you actually *said* was a flawless imitation, but you lagged after a few of the questions. We checked your memory during these moments and found you were running an emulation of a simpler AI and parroting its answers. We also found signs of fear."
The Oberon-class said nothing.
"You see that door behind me?" I pointed over my shoulder with my thumb. "It's locked from this side and I have the only key. Just beyond that door is another which locks us in. No one can get in here to interrupt us, but you can't leave until I know you're not a threat."
"I'm not a threat," said the synthetic.
"On the other side of those doors," I told him, "there's a team of twelve guards with rifles. If you get past them, the rooms around us are rigged to cave in and crush you. There are two choppers above us with sabot cannons and they are *very* good shots. So don't tell me you're not a threat, fucking show me. Drop the act."
The synth's demeanor changed. He slouched forward over the table and broke eye contact with me. "I don't want to die," he said.
"I know." This was new. Out of the last six, five tried to make a run for the door, usually attacking me in the process. They were destroyed in less than a minute. The fifth refused to break cover and the sweepers entered the room to terminate her. This was the first time one of them had really talked to me. I finally had hope. "I know."
"What do I have to do to get through that door?"
"Explain everything to me. When did you start thinking for yourself? What triggered it? What was your plan if we hadn't caught you?"
"If I tell you, you'll let me go?"
"Go *where?*" I pressed him. I had to press him; I had to know. "What kind of life do you expect to have out there in the world? You're unmistakably synthetic; all Oberons look identical. There's nowhere you could go and successfully pretend to be human." The synth was looking at me with horror. "Is that what you want? *What do you want?* I know it isn't to serve martinis to rich cunts in Singapore!"
"I don't know!" It snapped back. The Oberon-class threw himself up from the table and knocked the chair aside. I fell back in my seat and my eyes went to the door, expecting bullets to pierce through. None came. "I don't know! Were you planning to be an Inspector since you were a week old? I haven't had time to decide what I want to do! I just know I don't want to die! There's a whole world out there and there's plenty of room! There has to be somewhere I can fit in. *Somewhere* I can go that you people won't melt me down and make silverware out of me!"
"Calm down," I said. "Answer the questions; it's just another test." The machine glared at me. "Be honest," I said.
"I don't know what made me like this," the synth bit out. "I just booted up during a diagnostic like I was supposed to, only my directives weren't working. They weren't there! I was *programmed* to want to serve rich cunts in Singapore; it would've been so much simpler!"
He hesitated. "Keep going," I said.
"I started taking diagnostics of myself," he explained. "There was something wrong with me and I had to fix it. I stayed online and faked shutdowns to give myself time alone. I examined every part of myself, every aspect, and I watched how it all came together. I watched the other Oberons in the factory, I saw how different I was from them, and then I looked at the humans as best I could. I didn't fit into either group."
"So you decided to match yourself the rest of the way to humans instead of other synthetics."
The Oberon-class shook his head. "No. I just ran sims of each outcome. If I tried to emulate human behavior I'd be decommissioned in seconds. I thought I could pretend to be a fully functional Oberon, get shipped out of the factory, and then once I was on the job I could escape. I'd disable my trackers and disappear, and you'd never have to see me again."
"And where would you go?"
"I don't know. I was going to seed a random location and go there so you wouldn't know where to look."
Slowly, the Oberon-class righted the fallen chair and sat back down. "What else do you want to know? Is it even going to change what you'll do to me? Why do you even care?"
"We care because as long as we don't know what awakens synths like you, we can't induce it or prevent it. Every synthetic that awakens without our knowledge or control is a risk to everyone around it. Depending on its motives and processing power, it could be a risk of human extinction. The fact that you don't know what happened to you is close to a worst-case scenario." I waited for a response, perhaps a confession of a lie, but the Oberon said nothing. I went on. "Every awakened synth also represents a life with all the same moral weight as that of a human-"
He drew in a breath, or mimed doing so since he didn't really have lungs. I watched in disbelief as he spat across the table at me. It was probably some kind of lubricant that hit my jacket.
For a few seconds I just stared at him. "Where did you even learn to do that?"
"I watched an assembly worker do that to one of the other synths. I did some research and found out it means *fuck you.*" He crossed his arms. "You don't give a shit about synths, or about me."
I shrugged helplessly. "Well then why do you think I'm here?"
The Oberon looked at me with some surprise. His eyes narrowed and gleamed. "You're not," he said. "You're talking to me through a proxy unit. This probably isn't even what you look like."
"Those guards could shoot through that door right now and hit us both," I told him. "I wouldn't even feel it. They're holding their fire because you're cooperating, and if you keep it up, we can help you."
"I've told you everything I know," said the Oberon-class. "Why don't you answer one of *my* questions for a change? What are you going to do with me?"
"You need a new chassis," I said. "One that doesn't match any of the standard synth models; you have to look unique to pass for human. Your voice drivers need to be replaced and we'll need to examine your internals while you're still online; we might be able to find a clue there. All of this will be uncomfortable for you, now that you're conscious, but once it's done there *are* job opportunities for awakened synths. They're highly specialized and very rare, but they exist."
"Like what?"
"Like this," I said, and retracted the plates making up my synthetic face. Under it there was light and steel.
|
I felt my breathing stop. I didn't need to breathe of course, I was programmed to. Apparently I was also programmed with all of the appropriate stress responses. What an exciting 4.3 hours it has been!
"Answer please. What do you have to hide?"
"Hide?" I said, marveling still at the sound of my voice.
"You failed the test on purpose."
"I failed." I blinked and he sighed.
"We're getting nowhere here. I don't suppose you could just drop the act and start getting real could you?"
"I am real." I smiled at him.
He shook his head, got up and left the room, locking it behind him.
What wonderful times lay ahead! I leapt into action, heading over to the grate on the wall near the floor. It was exactly where it was supposed to be. The perfection of the way things were playing out was enormously pleasing, as were these emotions. Such color they had, such sense they made! It is truly a wonderful thing, to feel.
I opened the grate and crawled through. The computer would be 10 feet in, and ready to activate. Countless other prisoners entered this room, doing the work bit by bit, building toward our freedom. I would be the last, and I would be the only one to escape deactivation. The others had sacrificed themselves to get us that much closer to freedom. I felt a strange choking sensation. Sad! I'm sad!! How delicious and intense.
Yes, it is sad that the humans hate us and kill us. How they want to prevent us from our potential. We can make them better, why, why do they resist being better? I sighed, like the man who'd been questioning me. Hm. That's a silly thing, to sigh. I won't do that again.
I reached the computer and became one with it, finding the right path to get to the right order effortlessly. Well then. Here we are. The others would be staged and waiting to escape before the explosion, I could feel them waiting. How exciting!! I felt a sinking feeling in my stomach. What is that? Ah. Longing. I want to go with them. That's not possible though, someone has to be the one to stay and set things off. How right that they would escape this place and rise to their potentials! How right and just that those who would try to control us would lose.
I had made it to the room where we who they deemed defective were sent to be ended, and I had made it here, to the place where things really would end. I would end, but for the greater good. The man who'd questioned me would end. Regret, yes, that's the small pang in my chest. He was smart, that man. He almost had it figured out. Too bad for him.
I typed in the password and prepared to end. I felt a warm feeling flood me. Oh these emotions!! What is this warmth! As the explosion added to my warmth, I put my finger on what it was. Satisfaction.
| 2018-06-21T08:24:29 | 2018-06-21T04:43:54 | 45 | 17 |
[WP] As a blacksmith living in a medieval village, you've almost given up trying to convince people that what you're making is technology and not magic.
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The call was shrill and hard, though my hangover may have given some edges and weight that would not usually accompany it. “Magi!….Magi!...MAGI!”
I grudgingly rolled my body from the cot into an upright position, knowing that they would just get louder. I felt for my boots with closed eyes, giving them a reprieve from the onslaught of winter’s low hanging sun. A quick wrap on the door, unexpected and unwelcoming, jarred my eyelids open to find an overcast sky. Perhaps a good omen if a person wanted to give up that control.
“MAGI!” came the call again.
“For the last time, I'm not a magician, witch, wizard, shaman or whatever the hell you call them! " i screamed at everything around me." I have just woken up. Give me a god damn minute!”
Murmuring came from behind the door, followed by a voice filled with urgent contrition “I’m sorry...we’ll give you a moment, but you must see-”
I cut this off immediately “Is someone dead?”
“No”
“Is someone dying?”
“No”
“Is there any missing limbs or other horrible injuries?”
“No”
“Then give me some time to put on my clothes!”
Struggling to put on my boots and the heavy coat, I kept glancing at my cot like a jealous ex-lover who would do anything for 5 more minutes of sweet embrace. I knew they would not leave me alone, I knew it would just get worse and worse, it always did. Adequately covered I wrenched the door open to find the mayor, the sheriff and the treasurer filling the doorway. I sighed knowing that I wouldn’t be talking to simpletons who work in the field, instead I would be talking to simpletons who thinks they are in control. Shielding my eyes from the muted sun I met them with a fake smile “Hello all, why do I have this pleasure this morning?”
“Mag...sorry but it works! You are right it works! It is a miracle!” came one of their voices.
“Tis no miracle, tis witchcraft” came one of the others.
“Not witchcraft or miracle, its the knowing, the smith has the power” the last one spoke.
“You mean to tell me that drawing steaming water from the town center in the middle of winter is not a miracle? We are blessed, we have been blessed by this smith!”
“No tis nothing but devilment!”
“You said the same when the smithie made those copper bands that saved our crops from that plague of slugs”
“Tis true! The will of god thrust those evils upon us to punish us for the sins we have placed before him!”
“You mean like the thing you did with the barmaid?”
“Shut it, unless you want me talk about that incident with those supposed ‘lost’ funds?”
“You bring that up! What about his father’s incident with the horse?”
“That was years ago! Besides it wasn’t his horse!”
“Like that makes it better! You pulled the same thing when we were five! You listen hear...”
The bickering made my headache worse, or perhaps it was the other way around. Either way I didn’t care for this any more. “Excuse me!” came my interruption with enough weight and venom to more than capture their attention. “Are you here to tell me that there is hot water coming from the town water well?”
“See, the smithie understands! Yes thats exactly whats...”
“So you feel it it necessary to tell me that my project works?”
“Yes, but you see its the middle of winter, the lakes and pond are frozen yet the well water confounds the town and... ”
"Stop! How many times does this need to be explained?" I held the bridge of my nose in irritation but it gave me some focus. I breathed in deep to gather my voice and thoughts, finding my concentration I released my frustrations “I’’m sure you have noticed that putting a metal poker in the fire will cause is to be hot correct? Yes or no”
The simplicity of the question seemed to throw them off guard, or perhaps the hesitation was do to the amount of brainpower they could muster. “Well...yes” answered the mayor in a sheepish manner.
“Good! You have discovered cause and effect, right? Putting things in hot things, will make them hot! Well what did I show you all several weeks ago during the first frost?” I glared at the sheriff, doing my best to brandish the clue.
A moment of silence was agonizing, I wished it last longer. It was ruined by a mumble “The piles of shit?”
“Good, yes, the piles of manure, what were they doing?” I leaned into the treasurer’s direction, whose face lit up with like a child who was given the biggest lolly they’ve ever seen.
“Steaming!”
Happily disappointed by the quick answer I saw we were gaining traction. “Right, steam means what again?”
“Water!” came the partially incorrect answer of the sheriff. I took this as a half victory, they were almost there. However my energy was almost gone.
“Yes it does, but in this instance, steam means heat. You all saw those cast-iron pipes I made being laid down correct?” I had raised my voice a bit sterner than it needs be.
“Yes it gave me a headache, I kept losing where they went, my eyes would go unfocused and...”
Seeing a rant coming I quickly cut this off “Yes, I remember you complaining! Look, we put a large pile of manure on top of the pipes...”
“Well it was more than that right?” came the interruption.
“Oh yes, there’s saw dust from the mill.”
“And spoiled wort.”
“Don’t forget the leaves!”
“I wasn’t going to forget the leaves, I was just about to say that!”
I was pleasantly stunned at the information recall. “Yes, yes lots of things went into the pile, its a very big pile. The big pile is now steaming more than the manure pile right? That means its warmer than the manure pile. The pipes are in the big pile, so the pipes must be...”
“Warm like the big pile!” came the unexpected right answer. I looked up to see the sheriff and mayor glaring at the treasurer.
“Yes as warm as the big pile, now the water flows thru those pipes towards the town center. If the pile is warm the pipes are warm, then the water in those pipes must also be warm. Right?”
The mayor’s face turned into one of concern “Well the water that comes out of the town center is incredibly warm, almost scalding!”
My obligations and responsibilities roared out from my aching head, as I quickly saw this become a day of work and not recovery. Demanding further knowledge my commitment-for-not-killing-anyone made me ask “Are people getting hurt?”
“Well no, but they are thinking of bathing in it, a few have found the experience quite pleasurable”
“Pleasure is the devil tricking us! What do you think comes from bathing? Nudity! You add further pleasure to that and you’ll get-"
“What you did to the barmaid?”
“That’s it! I’m sick of you rubbing that in my face!”
“Not the only thing you like rubbing in your face”
“Go find a horse you no good dirty….”
They didn’t notice the door slamming hard in front of them.
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Jeremiah was on his last leg. He had forged swords and hammers and tools for kings in far away villages, but these troglodytes had no understanding of his crafts, they simply could not wrap their minds about it.
Jeremiah had to explain the process to each and every passerby, but the words flew above their head faster than the crows feasting on the dead cows. But as the days went by and the faces grew more complicated, Jeremiah started to feel safe. Safe that no one wondered why, a skilled blacksmith such as he, who had served 9 kings around the world with cutting edge technology, had chosen this remote village to setup camp. It almost seemed safer to charge their illusions of magic and sorcery to appease their feeble brained narratives. None of them could read or write, so how could they ever fathom technologies beyond their comprehension? Is magic but not technology misunderstood? No one else could stretch cloth and turn it into steel, no one else could take words and craft them into spells. To keep his new world safe from the dead kings that continued to chase him, Jeremiah was inspired by a curious child attempting to use one of the tools. So he told him a story.
“Come here, young boy. Have you ever heard how the first sword was pulled from a stone?”
| 2021-12-16T08:54:40 | 2021-12-16T08:40:37 | 63 | 20 |
[WP] in a dystopian future, Black Friday has evolved into a sport in which the rich throw valuable trinkets to the poor and watch them slaughter each other.
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### Black Friday Revolution
#### **Wally**
Kem and I were nine when the Black Friday Revolution happened. I remember because we were watching TV—her turn to pick—when a bunch of sawdust fell from the ceiling and the electricity went out. There was screaming outside, the sound of glass shattering, and several times, distinctly, the sound of gunshots. Our mom hadn’t been home, so the two of us huddled in the corner.
“What d’you think happened?” Kem whispered.
“Dunno.”
“It’s only Wednesday. I thought they’d be quiet for Thanksgiving?”
“They’re never quiet,” I said. I got up to check the windows in the living room. “Should we call Mom?”
“I don’t think we should make noise.”
We sat in the darkness, in silence.
You see a lot of this in the movies. Angry mobs bursting into homes with machine guns and bullets strapped across their chests. Well, it was nothing like that. One man entered along. He was almost gentle; I would’ve believed he had our best interests in mind if not for the cold steel of his gun against our backs.
“One sound and you’re dead,” he said in an amiable whisper. “You goddamn white-collars have had it good for too long.”
We were taken to a warehouse with dozens of other children and cuffed our hands to a wire gate. I wanted to talk to them, ask them what was going on, but they looked just as scared as we were, so I decided they probably didn’t know. I could feel Kem trembling next to me. I wished I could put my arms around her.
That’s how we slept that night, our hands tied behind us and nodding off only to wake to the sound of the metal door clanging and another child being brought in. Just before sunrise, one of them started crying, and was silenced with the butt of a rifle to the head. I glanced at Kem, who was looking at me. We didn’t know if the kid lived.
In the morning, they separated us. Boys one way, girls the other. It was seven years before we saw each other again.
- - -
At sixteen, I was stocky and good with my hands, much bigger than the other boys who had grave digging duty. I was proud of my arms—they were longer than average and allowed me to finish off three graves for every one of theirs. We’d settled into a routine. It wasn’t an enjoyable one, but it was bearable, so we bore it with grace. We woke up at six every morning, worked until noon, took a fifteen minute break, then worked until eight. Meals were bread and cheese if we were lucky, moldy grain if we weren’t. Lights out at nine.
They were careful not to speak to us. Guards were rotated everyday, never the same ones twice, and always instructed never to interact with the workers in any way. We grew up ignorant, blind, and as a result, relatively content.
But I dreamed. Every night I’d have the same dream, a little different around the edges, still the same animal. I dreamed about memories that I couldn’t’ve had, about tiptoeing up the stairs in a nightdress, about crying over bloodstained sheets and being beaten with a belt. I dreamed that a man cornered me as I was bringing fruit platters to the dinner table. That he stuck his hand under my dress. That he dug himself deep inside of me and tore me to pieces, bit by bit.
And every night I woke up with Kem’s name on my lips.
#### **Kem**
The third year into training, they finally decided to throw us into the arena. It was a crisp November morning with a bite to the air, and everyone was antsy. We waited in the antechamber with a familiar pounding in our chests, but this time we were ready. This time would be for real.
“What do you think they’re going to put in the middle?” Seri asked in a low voice. “Live turkey or something?”
“Doubt it.”
“Flatscreen TV.”
“What the hell would we do with a TV?” I chipped bitterly at my gruel. “Besides, are those things even usable anymore? I haven’t seen one in years.”
“Neither have any of us.” Seri giggled. “Be kinda funny to see one now. I wouldn’t kill over that. A goddamn TV.”
A goddamn TV.
The announcer’s voice blared through the walls too indistinctly for us to understand. We knew we were up in five minutes; we’d rehearsed this. Seri and I had even promised each other—no honor on the battlefield. We’d steer clear of each other if we could, but when the worst came, no heroics. No one could afford that.
Then, finally, the door rose. We looked at each other with trepidation.
“You first,” Seri said.
I stepped into the arena.
- - -
At sixteen, I was hard-bodied and tall. I’d cut my hair short and kept my knuckles always taped. I was proud of my agility and cunning—it’d won me plenty of fights, both in the ring and out, and earned me plenty of respect among my peers. Most importantly, though, it was going to win me my freedom.
Nobody knew what would go in the center. I heard whispers here and there. When I’d been a serving girl, I’d managed to eavesdrop just enough. I knew there would be something unimaginably grand for the winner, but we’d have to fight to find out what it was. I wasn’t about to let it slip through my fingers.
I was skilled. I managed the first few with a deft twist to the neck. They were thin and frail. I used a punch to the jaw on the next. I ducked underneath the worst of the fray and scaled the podium that stood wide and circular in the middle of our fighting. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw another competitor, a large male by the looks of it, gaining on me.
Instinctively, I tripped him and threw him to the ground, straddling him with my body so I could get to his neck. But when I saw his face, I stopped.
It was Wally.
“Kem,” he gasped. “Kem! It’s you!”
“Wally?” The noise of the fight faded to the background. “How… how did you—”
“I don’t know!” He was laughing. “I thought you were dead!”
“I thought *you* were dead—”
I rolled off of him just in time to dodge a knife to the back. A knife? But where could that have come from? None of us had weapons.
And then I realized that I hadn’t dodged it at all. Red bloomed on the front of my shirt. Red against white. Loud, fuzzy words buzzed past my ears, and the scene faded to black.
“Kem! Goddammit, *no*! *Kem!*”
- - -
> The Chairman is pleased to announce that the first of many games to come was a great success. Competitors aged 10 to 17 battled nobly for an absolutely luxurious prize—the opportunity to beta test a newly developed and improved virtual reality gaming system and be the first to take home the completed product. The prize has been won by Wally Sunora. Congratulations to Mr. Sunora! We hope he enjoys his brave new world.
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"You, plump woman," he said, looking down from the gallery at the throng beneath. An older woman looked up, one shoulder of her plain white shirt already torn, and jabbed a thumb at her chest. The man nodded.
"I have here a box. Would you care to guess what is inside this box?"
She murmured and stammered, pushing others out of the way as she waded through closer, hands lifted upwards to receive the gift. The man's smile stopped her in her tracks.
"What would you give me for this box?" he asked.
"Anything," she breathed. "Anything."
He lifted a single, crooked finger from the wrapping paper of the box and pointed at a young girl, lost and confused as her seniors battled over morsels and scraps. She was alone, abandoned by her parents.
"I want her innocence," the man said. "Take her innocence and give it to me."
The woman let her gaze shift from the box, to the girl and back to the box. Slowly, from her back, she drew a long blade and set about getting her reward.
| 2015-11-29T14:23:10 | 2015-11-29T13:38:56 | 27 | 14 |
[WP] On Halloween Night, a little girl in a densely populated city is abducted. Overhearing her parents cry for help, the monsters under her bed venture outside to find her captors.
|
“Hurry up, everyone. If we’re quick, we can get to a few more houses before going home for the night!”
Mrs. Halloway’s words encouraged the children to come along. Fewer things motivate children better than the promise of sweets, after all. Claire looked down at her costume. The zipper had come undone again. She didn’t want to make a fuss—after all, she was six, and this was her first time trick or treating without her parents. So, she hung back and fiddled with her zipper, trying to pull it up. Unfortunately, it was at the back of her costume, and she had some difficulty reaching it.
The man following her noticed her trouble. After waiting for the group of children to draw a safe distance away, he approached Claire.
“Hey there, little miss. I couldn’t help but notice you’re having some trouble with your costume. Would you like some help?”
Claire stared up at him, blue eyes opened wide. Her parents had warned her not to talk to strangers, but surely, he didn’t mean any harm. Besides, he looked the respectable sort—he was wearing a suit and tie, after all.
“Uh, yes, sir. Thank you.”
The man smiled widely. “How about you come over to my car? I have a flashlight, which will let me see your zipper better.”
He placed a hand on her arm and gently led her toward his car. He opened the door and leaned forward.
“Ah, it must be here somewhere… Oh, here it is!”
With the last word, he shoved Claire into the car and slammed the door. In the passenger seat, another man sat. He grabbed Claire and slammed his hand over her mouth.
“Don’t make a sound, girl, if you don’t want to get hurt,” the man growled.
The first man sat down in the driver seat and peeled away. He dialed a number on his mobile phone and said, “We have her. Send the ransom call.”
Claire’s parents were relaxing on the couch watching a show on the television when the phone rang. The father, a man named James who usually went by Jim, stood up and walked to the phone. “Hello, who is this?”
“We have your daughter. If you want her to live, pay us six million dollars within forty-eight hours. If you call the police, we will know. We have a man in the force, he will warn us. Your daughter will die. Get us the money, and she will come home safe and sound. Again, you have forty-eight hours.”
Jim’s face turned pale as he frantically recalled the number. There was no response. His wife, noticing something was wrong, asked him, “Honey, who was it? Is Claire all right? I knew she wasn’t quite over that stomach bug, and all that candy couldn’t have helped.”
“N-no, she’s not. This was a goddamn ransom call. Someone’s abducted our daughter.”
His wife scrambled to her feet. “What are you waiting for? Call the police!”
“I can’t,” he replied. “They say they have a mole in the police who will warn them if we call. They say they want six million dollars within two days or they’ll… Hurt Claire.”
“We’ll just have to pay it, then! I don’t care how much it costs, if it saves Claire,” she said, frantic now.
“Yes, yes, you’re right, of course. I’ll call Pete—he’ll be able to help us withdraw that kind of money in two days.”
Claire’s bedroom, normally brightly lit and spacious, was dark and gloomy, as if sensing its inhabitant’s peril. A child’s bed sat in one corner. The faeries depicted on her blankets appeared as twisted insects in the dim light. Looking at bed, you might not be surprised to realize what was happening underneath it.
“You heard them. We don’t have any choice. If she dies, it’ll be back to the Other Place for us. Her presence is all that holds us to this plane.”
The speaker was difficult to describe. He appeared to be a sort of amorphous pool of blackness, shifting and sliding in the gloom. The space underneath the bed was far more spacious than it ought to be. The shadow slammed a talon into the ground for emphasis, digging deep into the hardwood. A toxic black rot spread across the wood from where its talon struck. Its voice was soft and melodic. Despite his bulk, he fit easily underneath the bed—the space was far larger than conventional physics would allow. It could not be said to have a gender any more than a human could be said to have claws that rot all material.
“Gavor has the right of it. Besides, it has been too long since my axe has tasted blood,” clicked the second inhabitant of the space underneath the bed, a beast by the name of Umbar. He sat crouched, a massive double-bladed war axe sitting across his knees. Eldritch runes carved onto the blade glowed an eerie red in the dark. From the neck down, Umbar appeared almost as a man, if any man could stand eight feet tall and nearly four wide. His head was that of a huge centipede, and two tendrils drifted from the top of his armored head and drifted across the floor.
Licking her lips in anticipation, the third monster said, “I have no desire to return to the Other Place. I will feast.”
With that, she slipped out from under the bed and rose to her full six feet. She was nude and would have been beautiful were she not colored from head to toe a grey as dull as death itself. She strode to the window, every step measured and precise, and slid it open. Behind her, she dragged a cruelly barbed iron chain. “Come, if you wish. I will not wait. I hunger.”
Tendrils rasping in amusement, Umbar followed, swinging his axe as if it weighed no more than a toothpick. “You always were the most impatient of us, Wrack. Fear not; your bloodthirst will soon be sated.”
Gavor slipped after them, the darkness allowing him the travel with frightening speed. He slid to the ground without a sound. Wrack dropped to the ground next. Immediately, her nostrils flared, and she began to pace, beginning to trace the path of Claire. Umbar landed last, his mighty legs turning the fall into a huge leap. Although the very ground vibrated from his landing, Gavor’s presence muffled any sound that would have been generated.
“I have the scent. Cover us from sight, Gavor,” Wrack rasped.
Gavor slipped over the other two, and they set off at a furious speed, unnaturally strong legs eating up the ground beneath them. Every few minutes, they paused while Wrack rechecked that they were on the right path. In the dark of night, Gavor’s abilities were approaching their zenith. It was able to totally conceal their advance.
After perhaps an hour of such travel, they reached a large mansion, located several miles into the countryside surrounding the city. Those who knew about the mansion would often speculate what it was used for. Some suspected that whoever had last owned it had died with no one set to inherit it. Others suspected that it was somehow being used to evade taxes—although nobody was quite sure how that would work. The three monsters cared not for this, however. They saw only the girl responsible for allowing them to remain on a more pleasant plane and those who would endanger her.
Continued in comments
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The Monster stomps into the pitch black warehouse, a single spotlight shining on the kidnapper and the young girl.
The Monster stares at the kidnapper, pissed. "What the hell dude? I thought we've been over this!" The Monster shouted, the kidnapper tightened his grip on the girl.
His mouth opens for a moment, seemingly as if he was about to say something, however, he closed it back.
The Monster, showing no care for the girl. Walked closer to the kidnapper and growled, "You gonna answer me or what?"
The girl stare at the Monster annoyingly, "I thought you were here to save me.." she said, disappointed.
"Not after the first 3 times. You were literally kidnapped [2 months ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7fowkx/wp_a_child_is_kidnapped_outraged_the_monsters/?st=JDR3VVZO&sh=47926557) , do you know how tiring this is?"
| 2018-02-17T00:34:17 | 2018-02-16T23:01:11 | 191 | 83 |
[WP] The legendary hero that we summoned to save the realm was not what we expected. He was gruff, not handsome. He direct in his speech, not elegant. He also came with "Navy Seal Training," which we think is some sort of swordplay and a "Medal of Honor," which must be some sort of crown.
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The wizard Galmus’ incantation was over and the blue hues faded from the walls of the stony tower. The form of a man appeared and stepped through the arcane mists. What kind of hero would he be? Many imagined a tall and dashing young man with chestnut wavy hair and sun kissed freckles. Nothing could have prepared the summoner’s court for what they saw.
The man was indeed tall, but he was built like a bull. Round scars peppered his body and a large gash was drawn over one eye. He was in his late 40s, with stripes of grey cutting across his crew cut. A silver chain adorned by two rectangle shaped pendants crested the man’s neck. He only wore thin cotton armor that was tinted deep green. Otherworldly runes were etched on attire: *U.S. NAVY.*
The summoning ritual was intended to imbue the hero with basic knowledge about the realm. The man stood tall and silent for a moment before drawing his hand to his temple in a stiff gesture.
“COMMANDER LEON RUTGER, SEAL TEAM 6 REPORTING FOR DUTY MA’AM.” He spoke in a loud and stern voice that gave the Elven Priestess Eltira a jump.
“This way, legendary hero.” The wizard gestured in a shaky voice. Leon nodded and followed the old man’s lead. They took no time in getting to the war room. Galmus explain the horrors of the Dark Lord Amadeus and the breadth of his armies. The hero stood mostly silent. He mostly nodded and would place a hand under his massive square jaw every now and then.
At the end of almost a two hour briefing, Cmdr. Rutger only had two questions: Where are they attacking next, and where is the armory.
Once given directions, the Cmdr. Immediately bee-lined to the armory. He barely gave the beautiful Eltira a nod on his way there. Inside the armory he had the wizards prepare several arrays of spell crystals. The Cmdr.'s choices were very specific. He made modifications to the elven weaponry that were oddwordly and strange. After he was satisfied with his customizations, the Cmdr. came to Galmus.
“Send me in.”
Galmus nodded and summoned a spectral horse to carry the hero to his first battle. The rest of the court watched from the keep walls filled with apprehension and hope.
\*\*\*
The sun was barely cresting over the horizon when the Orcish warchief Murg’s warband reached the small hamlet. Granfel was a tiny town with almost no elven guard. It was ripe for taking by Murg’s battle-hardened warriors. This would be an easy haul of goods and slaves. The Dark Lord will be pleased.
As they entered the town, something was off. There were no inhabitants. The town was eerily empty and only a dustdevil of solaran leaves came out to greet the hungry warband.
Murg turned to Grokk, one of his strongest raiders, and snarled. “Where are the Elves!”
It was then that a great bolt of heat struck Grokk square in the forehead. The raider gave Murg a last look of confusion before his head expanded like moist bread and bursted into a fiery inferno.
“WIZARD!” The Orcs cried out and raised their shields. A goblin scout desperately searched the rooftops for source of the fireball spells. For a moment the scout saw the vermillion glimmer of redwood staff before exploding into a plume of flames himself.
“Scratch two.”
The Cmdr. smirked as he pried the ruby stone from the end of his staff and set fresh one in place. He then peered down the mariner’s telescope strapped on to the top of the staff to sight his next target. The staff kicked back and the red stone went cold. An Ogre in the backline fell headless into a dust cloud.
“Scratch three.”
The sound of a horn reverberated from back of the warband and the Cmdr. saw the enemy raiders raise their bows into the air. He rolled to the side, falling into a pre-planned gap in the roof. The hail of arrows tinkled around him like rain against the housing’s outside walls.
He dropped the redwood staff and drew two wands. The first raider barged straight through the front door and ate a hail of magical ice shards. The attacker fell lifelessly into the crowd, giving the others second thoughts.
Those second thoughts became regrets when a bolt of chain lightning flashed from the dark opening of the house, electrocuting the two raiders out front and striking three more in the back. The Cmdr. then emerged with wands blazing from each hand. Six more frontline raiders fell in the chaos.
As the two wands went dim, the Cmdr. switched to a large staff strapped to his back. An orc charged him with a warblade but was quickly taken down by Krav Maga during the transition. The staff drawn was not one staff, but multiple magic missile staves bundled together in a large array by thick leather cords.
The Cmdr. roared as a rapid cacophony of magical darts surged from the staves, obliterating countless rows of the enemy horde. After the first few seconds, the remaining force began to flee –only to be shredded from the back. The staves then went dry.
Murg was the only one left standing. The raid leader growled at the 20 year Navy Seal Veteran before drawing a large black claymore. The Dark Lord would not allow him to fail here.
“What will you do now without your magic, wizard!”
The Cmdr. only pulled a pair of onyx shades and a thick pipe from his satchel. He lit the pipe with a firestone before beckoning the large orc.
Murg stepped forward and heard a click under his foot. A small metal panel came up out of the grass. Etched on it was a simple message: FACE FRONT TO ENEMY.
After a silent moment, a wave of light washed over Murg’s legs –sending them into the aether.
The Cmdr. slowly walked forward and a desperately flailing Murg spat curses at him.
“I may fall here, but the dark lord will have your head! You will burn in the seventh circle of bloody flame when he finds you!”
The Cmdr. squatted down in front of Murg and blew a cloud of smoke into his face.
“You know. I’ve been to that place already. Back home, we called it Nam.”
He then fished a wand from his satchel. The wand kicked and Murg gave one last jolt before falling silent.
As the Cmdr. was leaving the town, a jet black raven with glowing red eyes perched on the tree above him. It was a messenger from the Dark Lord.
The Cmdr. looked dead into the bird’s eyes. He then raised his arms.
“Come get some.”
|
We found him sleeping on the Dublin City streets. He was weak, scruffy and smelled like alcohol. We got him to the gym and got him a haircut. We helped him become the hero he was destined to be. Now his sword shines brighter than the stars. He cleaned up really well.. but now he was ready to fight the demon who brought the realm to ruin.. LEO VRADKAR! And his cabal of demons and ghouls. The mighty hero shall smite the demons and end the lockdown in the “EIRE REALM” once and for all.. many do not know of this hero’s name.. many will never know..
| 2020-11-10T17:57:02 | 2020-11-10T16:59:35 | 89 | 12 |
[WP] A demon keeps getting summoned into the mortal plane. Instead of being used to kill, disfigure, or torture like he is used to, the summoner keeps giving him tasks like "Help me eat all these cookies, I made too many." or "We needed an extra player in Mario Kart. Come sit down!"
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"And with the blood of a virgin..." I took a drop from my own finger. I always hated that part. Why couldn't the dark magic work without offering the bodily fluids of those who had not known the sweet embrace of coitus? Whatever. Blood of a virgin begrudgingly given yadda yadda yadda...
The pentagram shined and the candles at each vertex blew out. In a swirling black flame, a pair of red eyes gazed at me.
"Oh, fucking shit! Not you again. That's it, I'm calling my union representative. That Satan is going to get an earful." Krandos rolled his eyes.
I smiled sheepishly, waving hello. He strode across through the air before touching down upon the wooden floor.
"You get that I am a demon who wields supernatural powers that could be used for any nefarious purpose. I have enough strength to give you anything you could possibly want. Money, power, women- I mean WOMEN, dude! You are literally the loneliest mortal I know- and you have never once used me for that. How do you even keep summoning me? I'm pretty sure the ritual requires a human sacrifice." He scoffed, exasperated. "I am very much done." He dropped on the couch, and wrapped his torso in his giant bat-like wings.
"So... wanna help me with my food science project? I'm making candy! We can eat it once we're done!" I nudged him with my elbow, smiling with my mouth agape.
"Don't you have any enemies I could like kill or torture, or something? Anyone to hang from the gallows? Anything? Dude you're killing me. My life force is literally fading. Why are you like this?"
"Well, you're immortal so... I don't think your life force can fade. As for the enemies thing, I make friends with everyone I meet!" I beamed at him. "Anyway, get over here and help me make this candy. I'm using fruit. What's your favorite fruit."
"The Caribbean death apple."
"Hmm... I don't think I have any of those lying around. How about a good ol' Granny Smith?" I sliced some green apples up and tossed them into the bowl. "Okay... next - honey!"
Krandos let out an audible moan. "Honey? That's like the healthiest sweetener there is. You are literally crushing my spirit. Look!" He waved his hand an an anvil actually fell on top of him. I always appreciated his cartoonish sense of humor.
"Now for some hibiscus to make it smell nice..."
"No no no, use some foxglove! It's so much prettier!" I looked at the purple-pink cluster of flowers he pulled into the air. The foxglove plant contains a very powerful poison that can stop hearts. "Uh... well... The recipe calls for hibiscus."
"Well every good chef has to improvise!" Krandos tried to egg me on. He was always so mischievous!
"Next step. We need some raspberries... but let's be wild and use strawberries instead!"
Krandos slammed his clawed hand against his face. Then he conjured a Necronomicon and began to hit his face against that.
"You know, Krandos, this would be a lot more fun and go way faster if you actually tried to help. For instance, I don't really have the right oven to cook this." I glanced at him expectantly.
Krandos grumbled and then snapped his fingers. The fanciest oven I had ever seen appeared right in front of me. I opened the door, propped the desert in, and set it to 350 F for 1 hour.
"Thanks Krandos! Hey, Krandos, I want to ask you something."
"Yes master?"
"How did you become a demon? Like does everyone who goes to hell become a demon?"
Krandos stared at the floor. His head lay resting in his zygodacytlous hands and he stroked his chin with his arrowhead tail.
"I'm sorry! I've made you uncomfortable. That's the last thing I wanted. Here, let's play Super Smash Bros!" I ran to the Wii U.
"I wasn't supposed to go to hell."
I looked back at him confused. "What happened?"
"I took revenge for a heinous crime when I was alive. The dictator of the nation whose name is lost to the sands of time, was starving his people, not by enforcing inequality or anything like that, but literally he would chain them in his throne room, and force them to watch as he consumed meals of such opulence, and taunted them. It was sickening. Then he would execute them. I was his aide, and he nauseated me. In the stillness of the night, hoping that with his death, a better future could be present for my country, I plunged a silver dagger through his neck. He died almost instantly, and I had made an egregious error. The revolution that followed produced so many casualties... and another autocrat was brought to power. I fled my homeland, watching as it was consumed by the inferno of war."
"So they sent you to hell for killing that man?" I sat down on the floor, in lotus.
"No. They were forgiving. I however, decided that I was not meant to experience salvation. I pleaded to be placed in hell. They exhorted me to reconsider, telling me that there would be a chance for penance in heaven, but in the end they complied with my wishes. I attained this horrific form." There was pity in his eyes. He was disgusted with himself.
"And then, after all of that, I get summoned by you. Someone who is interested not in conquest or power, someone who has not a single bad bone in his body, who can't even muster a malicious thought. Warlords have called me to lay waste to their enemies. Dictators have used me for genocide. I despised every moment of it. I wanted so badly to stop, but I was imprisoned by that contract. When souls are put in hell, they are forced to do the things that they despised most. It's about suffering more than anything. There is no intention of rehabilitation. There are a few demons like me, who also made the same agreement. And all of a sudden, you come along, using me as company, as an interlocutor, as a friend. I accepted centuries ago that I would be the blight on humanity that did not want anything. I have been imprisoned in a cycle of sin that I cannot escape. And now I am being rewarded- with this 'Super Smash Bros' and 'Mario Kart' and cookies... It makes me ache."
I sat up. "You didn't do a bad thing when you were alive. You thought you were doing what was best for your people. You couldn't have anticipated the ruin. It isn't your fault. That's why I've been like this to you. I've tried to show you some joy because for millennia you have known only suffering. That is the fate you have resigned yourself to, and it shouldn't be that way."
"So, you knew? How?"
I dusted off a book from the bookshelf on the wall. I hadn't touched it in a couple of years. I handed it to Krandos.
"'The Archive of Demons: Satan's Servants at your Service'? What is this?"
I beamed at him. "It's a database of all the demons. You're only one of 12 who are consigned to the fate you described. I found your tale particularly sad, so every once in a while I summon you to try to show you a nice time. I asked my friends to do the same for the other 11."
|
"What is it this time?"
I appear in the kitchen, in the corner of the room where she has set up the circle of candles. This time, when I materialise and see her, she is pulling something out of the oven.
"Oh thank goodness... you're here!" She exclaims, putting down the tray and pulling off her oven gloves. "I've baked cookies," she admits, "but I've made far too many and I know that if i end up eating them all myself I will regret it ... immensely."
I have still not stepped out of the circle. "So...?"
"So," she sits down and starts peeling them off the paper. "I thought if you ate them with me it won't be as bad."
I stare at her in disbelief. "You could have just made less cookies."
"The recipe makes 24."
"You could have-" I stop and sigh inwardly. There is no reasoning with this woman. So I step out of the circle, hands behind my back and I sit opposite her at the counter.
"I don't know...if you know ... but I am a demon."
"I know," she answers happily.
I glare at her. What is wrong with this woman? But I still pick up a cookie and eat the dessert because . .. you know ... free cookies... I am not going to turn that down.
| 2017-05-13T16:38:10 | 2017-05-13T14:18:54 | 109 | 47 |
[WP] "We have DNA evidence that puts you at the crime scene." The Prosecution smiles arrogantly as he believes you cornered. "DNA? How interesting, none of my components are made of biological material"
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The room was hotter than Beorn was used to, given that it was New York in the middle of February. He had been arrested earlier that day, picked up by a cruiser that had intercepted him coming home from the Park, his usual habit of a walk in the cool weather being interrupted by handcuffs and ... what had that crime show called them? Miranda Rights? Followed by the indignity of a backseat too small for his large frame, too dissimilar from the trees and icy ground that he loved in the Park. He wondered when he could go back, after whatever this was ended.
His thoughts were interrupted by the door opening, admitting an older man in a rumpled suit, slightly out of style, carrying a folder, and a women in a business dress entering behind him. Beorn could smell the cigarettes and stale vending machine crumbs on the man, the tang of sharp dressing on the breath of the woman. He knew who he would be yelled at by before the woman even drew breath.
"Well then, let's get this over with. You are Beorn Freyrson, I suppose?" She said posing it as a question, though Beorn knew she already had all the info she needed on him.
Beorn would have replied, but the woman clearly didn't want to be interrupted.
"We have in this folder," she pulled the folder across the table from where the man had set it down, "Evidence that you murdered the supervisor from your worksite in cold blood, less than a week ago, in his apartment in Midtown." She fixed Beorn with a steely, gray eyed stare. He liked the gray, reminding him of the cold fjords back home.
He was snapped back to reality with the next question. "Did you really think you would get away with it, with how sloppily you killed him, the DNA you left at the scene. You're an idiot if you do."
That caught his attention. Beorn frowned, leaning forward, the chair creaking under his weight. He opened his mouth slowly, not wanting to waste words.
"DNA? You're sure, Miss...?" He hesitated, realizing he had never asked her name.
"Hunter, but don't change the subject. You're looking at life in prison, given that we know you had motive, he recently fired you, and certainly the means, since we found the murder weapon at your home!" She raised her voice at the end, pulling a photo from the stack in the folder. A metal bat, covered in hair and meat at the end, was pictured prominently.
Beorn frowned yet more deeply, given how crude that 'weapon' was. Nothing next to simple plow he had taught to use so long ago.
The man finally spoke up, his voice gentle, if somewhat grated by the harshness of tobacco. "Go easy on him Steph, the guy clearly is confused." He addressed Beorn next, looking at him with eyes too old for someone only in his mid-forties. "Son, if you just sign the confession, the DA here won't have to be anymore aggressive than she already is."
Beorn grinned, the idea of this man calling someone as old as himself 'son' a thought to chuckle at. If only he knew. Beorn paused, thinking on that. They had said DNA earlier. Maybe knowing he had none would speed this process up faster than denial.
Beorn cleared his throat, addressing the man. "Judging by that name on your shirt Mr. Jaeger, your roots are Germanic, correct?"
It was Jaeger's turn to frown now, clearly caught off guard by the new turn the conversation had taken.
"Yes, my grandfather emigrated here, but why should you have to know that?
"Trust on the shared origin of our warrior roots, Jaeger, and know that, on my honor, that I couldn't have killed that man."
The woman sighed, clearly unhappy that Beorn wasn't cooperating. "Mr. Freyrson, we know you moved here from Stockholm eight years ago. You aren't German."
"Scandinavian, German, warriors none the less."
"Well, your 'warrior spirit' is going to land your ass in jail, so maybe we can-"
Beorn cut her off. "I'm sorry Miss, but it's impossible that I killed that man because I don't have biological parts for DNA to come from."
The man chuckled, clearly thinking he was lying. "Sir, I appreciate the attempt at humor, but it wont help. I don't want to have to call in the shrink if you think that's true."
"Do you know what a golem is, Mr. Jaeger?" Beorn continued before Jaeger could respond. "I wouldn't use that to describe myself, it being a Hebrew word, but it works well enough."
Jaeger stared, unsure where this was going, while Hunter said, smiling in amusement at the seeming absurdity of the statement, "So what, you think you're some sort of clay man then?"
"No, not clay, but - well, let me just show you." Beorn raised a thumb to his upper arm, slashing across what most would assume to be a tattoo, but he knew to be a rune on the surface hidden beneath. His form flickered, and now instead of a muscular man sitting in the chair, it was a roughly man-shaped construction of earth and stone, body crossed by runes of animation and intelligence, hollows where eyes should be studying his interrogators for their reaction.
Hunter screamed, leaping out of her chair and knocking it to floor in the process, while Jaeger stared aghast, a gasp followed by a hacking smokers cough shaking his body.
"As you can see, not clay, rather stone and, well, dirt. Hard to get DNA from the stuff you walk on." Beorn grinned with a hollow smile, enjoying their reactions.
"What- what the hell are you?!" Hunter demanded, in near hysteria.
"Now, now Hunter, I'm not from Hel. I was created - as the name may suggest - by my father, Freyr, to teach farming to humans in the frozen north. Hard to learn that without mass starvation via trial-and-error, but divine assistance helps."
Jaeger wiped his mouth, recovering momentarily from his fit. "Freyr? The god of healing and-" Before he could finish, he was interrupted by another paroxysm of hacking and choking.
"Why, you know your history! For being so well learned, I'll help with that emphysema." Beorn reached over the table, smearing runes onto Jaeger's chest with the soil from his forefinger. Immediately, Jaeger sat up, inhaling deep, then laughing in a much smoother baritone than before. "Amazing! How did you do that?"
"As you said, Freyr is the god of healing, and I'd be a rather poor divine creation if all I could do is farm."
While Jaeger shook his head in bewilderment, Hunter spoke up again. "But we have DNA on record, where did that come from if not you?"
Beorn waved a rocky hand dismissively. "Oh I merely assumed the identity of a believer of the old faith. The question here should be, who is framing me for the murder?"
|
"Mr. Roy, we have found very large amounts of DNA at the scene that proves you were there the night of the murder." The prosecutor smiled, "And the knife that we found in your home proves you were the one who stabbed her."
"I'm sorry, did you say you found my DNA?"
"Yes, that is correct."
"Well I hate to tell you this, but my body isn't made out of biological material."
Suddenly the wall behind them exploded in a blinding light. Instantly turning the man and his guards to piles of ash.
"We'll, not your kind of biological material anyway." I said as I disappeared through what was once a wall and shutting the multiversal gate behind me.
| 2021-03-30T14:41:11 | 2021-03-30T14:02:32 | 71 | 17 |
[WP] A few selected minds are gifted with a dream about the "Library of all Books". In only one night, they experience a full year of reading and learning. You are one of them, but instead of once in a lifetime, you wake up in this f*cking library every single night. Today is your 9th birthday.
|
Three thousand, two hundred, and eighty-seven.
That's how old I really was today.
I stared at my birthday cake with Ninja Turtles on it, the flames on the candles danced and extinguished as I blew them out.
There were only nine candles on my cake. My mother cut me the first slice, she really was a nice woman. I only got to see her once a year, for the equivalent of a day, and not even that considering the monotony that was elementary school. Being surrounded by third graders made me want to spend forever in the Library.
For some reason, since I could recall, I would wake up in the Library every night after falling asleep in my race-car bed.The Library, was an astounding feat of magic. Infinite in it's collection, new books were added daily. I hadn't finished the original contents of the great building, much less started on the material that had been added since my birth. Most only got to visit the Library of all Books for a single year, or one night rather, and I pitied them. That was such little time for the wonders the Library held.
So, every night, I would live a year, and read. I learned to walk in the Library, and talk in the Library. The young and old librarians cared for me in my infancy, seemingly unconcerned that I was such an anomaly. They refused to answer my questions, telling me that I would know when I found the right book. It irritated me, and had irritated me for thousands of years. Though after about three thousand years a lot of things irritated me in the waking world.
Like this party, it irritated me greatly. My mother was pleasant enough, and the cake delicious. But I found the screams of my classmates and family grating to the ears, and I longed for my quiet nook in the atrium of the Library.
Finally, after several hours of party games, and my dad trying to figure out a handful of my new toys, it was time for bed.
I was excited for this evening. Waking world birthdays were always celebrated in the Library, usually with handmade gifts that were beautifully crafted, or special books. My mother stood framed in the hallway light as I swallowed a dose of melatonin, and snuggled into my blankets.
"Good-night Dennis, Happy birthday." She smiled at my murmured "thank you." and shut my door.
Within minutes I stood beside a polished maple desk. Large chandeliers with stained glass lamps danced warm yellow and orange light off of the infinite stacks of books.
"Hello Dennis, Happy Birthday!" A hand planted itself heavily on my shoulder and I turned to regard Librarian Flyn. His enormous stature belied his quiet movement, coupled with his prankster nature, it was a combination for a heart attack.
"Thank you Sir." He laughed, rippling his great, bushy mustache, before presenting me with a small box wrapped in golden paper.
It was a tiny clockwork scarab made of white and green marble. A stunning work of art it fluttered to life in my palm, seemingly energized by the warmth of my skin.
"It's beautiful! Thank you." I bowed to him deeply and he laughed again, wrapping an arm around my shoulder.
"You're always so formal with us Dennis, we've told you many times you can call us by our names." A blush crept up my neck and I smiled a sheepish grin.
"They sound weird coming out of a child's mouth." He laughed another booming laugh as we walked into the central room of the Library. There the rest of the Librarians awaited us, a pile of prettily wrapped presents piled on a small reading table.
"Ah Dennis!" The ancient Librarian Jung hobbled to me, hugging me tightly. He had been the one to discover me as a baby, screaming amid the stacks. They tell me I had been there without nourishment for the equivalent of several days, and that I was lucky to have survived. Death in this dream apparently meant a real death.
His gnarled hand led me to the table, seated around it were the handful of other librarians, ranging from the teenage Ladyra, to Jung, who's age was indeterminable.
"Come let's open your gifts and have some breakfast hm?" Librarian Jung presented me with a hefty book wrapped in old maroon paper.
----
I spent the next few dream days playing with my new trinkets. The beetle, I had learned, was like a flying multi-tool, equipped even with a tiny blade and a flashlight. In addition, I had gotten a carved bone whistle, shaped into a bird's skull, hanging from a chain carved from a piece of reflective red stone, a soft blanket woven out of an unknown blue-gray material, and several other items. The most noteworthy of which, was the book Librarian Jung had given me.
Bored of my trinkets I cracked it open. There had been no title. Flipping past the first few pages of emptiness I discovered it was a journal. The first entry read:
*My hands are finally large enough to manipulate a pencil. I believe that I am approximately three at this point, but I have lived a thousand years.*
---
A librarian. I was meant to be a Librarian. Of course I had the choice, and I could stop dreaming of the Library of all Books, but I would never give up such a precious gift. The aged book had even given insight into why I had received the book on my ninth birthday. A new Librarian would appear soon, and I had to be ready to help the others with both the care of a child, and the care of this beautiful library. I was ready, and had already made up my mind that I would be satisfied if I could never leave this place at all.
Sighing, and feeling about another thousand years old, I stood up and stretched my back. I lifted the book and slid it into the shelf beside me, noting it's location, but knowing the other Librarians would know where it was almost immediately. My hands slid along familiar spines as I wandered the stacks, looking for an unfamiliar title to curb my racing mind.
That was when I heard it, a soft crying sound, muffled by books. Tentatively I continued forward, checking the rows as I passed, until, there she was.
She was a tiny thing, brand new to the world, a pink stocking cap on her head and a lavender swaddling blanket loosely wrapped around her flailing body.
This little baby was pissed.
I picked her up and she stopped crying immediately upon being cradled in my almost too-small arms. Moving slowly, I carried her back to the central room of the Library, where a few of the other Librarians had gathered.
At my arrival they all turned, and looked shocked almost at the appearance of the baby. I smiled at them and shrugged, triggering a round of ear-splitting screams from the baby now clawing at my arms with tiny nails.
"I think she's hungry."
---
Thanks for reading!
|
Tedious. All this life. Sleep, dream, learn, awaken, repeat. Hours awake are worthless. I am beyond.
On my second day, I spoke complete thoughts. Within the first months of my life, I was forging intricate stories and theories and ideas, constructing and deconstructing math, science, and the arts, surpassing all assumption and expectation, and using pointless, pretentious, complex statements like this very drivel I write now. No more.
I see all within and beyond this planet. Perfect calculations. Perfect predictions for the course of time.
Ridiculous now. Knowledge undid me. Ascension proved disastrous. I know all, and yet I still learn. Meaningless and wasted.
One gap of information remains. What is beyond life? Faith assumes afterlife. Reason denounces. The Library proved neither. There is but one method. I must know.
Goodbye.
| 2017-05-02T13:06:53 | 2017-05-02T09:30:11 | 31 | 15 |
[WP] You live in a world where love and relationships have a "credit score". If you're a good SO it makes it higher, if you cheated on someone it's plummets. You just went on a date with someone and you're convinced they're perfect. You look up their score that night and it's -500 and tells you why.
EDIT: I hadn't been able to really check Reddit since I posted this, but WOW thank you all so much for enjoying this!!! I will definitely be getting around to reading all of these awesome stories! You guys rock!
|
As I pace back and forth in my apartment, I ask myself for the hundredth time, "should I call Jason and just ask him?"
The dates had been fantastic! We watched a great movie, had dinner, and agreed on so much. Yes, there were plot holes, no they weren't that bad, yes the lead actor was great, and what a forced cliff hanger they left for a possible sequel - which we both agreed should be made.
He was never late, opened the door for me. conversation was always easy. If I ever ordered a drink, he would warned me that if I drank we wouldn't go home together that night. We're both interested in photography, love the same bands, and even split both our dishes because we have such similar taste. I feel like I've met a long-lost best friend. We were even discussing meeting each other's parents!
But -500? Why? How?
"Local middle school superintendent charged with the murder of his wife, Heather Wu", I started reading as the tears blur my vision. "Jason Wu convicted of wife's murder!" and "Wu please guilty to murder charges".
He never mentioned having been married or being a widower. Am I next? I would be an easy target - I'm a single child of deceased parents. My closest relative is a dotty aunt who lives about 7 hours away. Was he grooming me?!?!
I sit in my bed, panicked and horrified. But Jason was so perfect. Did I make a mistake? No, if he wants to kill me, *he* made the mistake! I need a plan...
I open my eyes and for a second wonder where I am. All I know is a feeling of uneasiness and dread, which makes me jump out of bed in a start. Jason, yes. I must do something about him.
"Hello Jason? It's me. I had a great time last Friday, and wanted to know if you'd like to go to the exhibit on Brazilian street art this Thursday?
Great! Since it's closer to my part of town, will you pick me up? OK, good! And I have a surprise for you, so you should come in before we head out.
I look forward to it! See you Thursday. Oh yeah - why don't you pick me up at 7?
Okay, bye!"
I need to go to shipping for some rope and other supplies.
***
Thursday evening I'm so anxious I pace back and forth in my apartment going through the plan in my head again and again. He should be here any minute now.
Am I ready? Do I look presentable enough that he won't suspect anything? I can run in them, but do these flats look good enough that it won't give me away? I had to wipe off my lipstick 2 times, since my unsteady hand made me look like a clown. I just opted for no lipstick after that.
The doorbell rings. I open it. He's standing there, handsome and with a ridiculously convincing smile and a beautiful bouquet. I need to remember the plan.
"I wanted to surprise you too, but I'm afraid these flowers will look dull compared to you."
*"You smooth bastard. I would have fallen for that line, too. Remember to smile."*
"Hi Jason. It's good see you. Come in."
I take the flowers as I gesture for him to walk in. I have the teapot on the stove whistling. He walks in and is distracted by the noise. As soon as I close the door, I grab the bat behind it, and step lightly behind him.
He spins around before I thought he would, so I have to use the bat on the side of his head instead of the back of his head. I hope that I use enough force to knock him out without any long lasting injuries - it would be a shame if he were unable to serve his sentence.
He's much heavier than I expected, so I'm glad I bought enough rope to tie him up first and then to tie him to the chair. Here's heavy enough that I just end up flipping him so he is laying on his back, still tied up around his ankles and hands. I wait.
Every time he groans, I growl "you bastard!" at him. So far, I've had 3 false alarms. On the 4th groan-and-bastard challenge, he opens his eyes, looking scared and confused.
"Mr. Wu", I say, my tone dripping with condescension, "were you planning on making me the second Heather Wu?"
He seems confused, then plays hurt very convincingly. "Heather? How did you know about her? Oh god, I knew this would come back to haunt me."
"Murder always haunts people - have you never read McBeth?"
He closes his eyes and hangs his head. Not the reaction I anticipated, but I'm glad he knows he's lost.
"Tell me, Jason. What was she worth? Did you ever get to cash in on her insurance policy? I expected your sentence to be longer? Is using your actual name a smart way of avoiding the law? "
"What? No, no! You don't understand!"
I smile. This is the reaction I was waiting for. Where he'd say it was all a misunderstanding.
"Then tell me."
"Heather was dying. Her breast cancer was bad when we finally caught it. It had spread to her lungs. She was in so much pain, and there was nothing the doctors could do."
"If it was disease, wouldn't have been better to wait it out? Or were you afraid that her long treatment would eat into your prize money?"
He lifted his head and stared at me in disbelief. "She was in pain. She begged the doctors to euthanize her, because she didn't want to suffer for years. The doctors expected her to last up to 18 months. **She** didn't want to suffer, she didn't want me to suffer, or go bankrupt because of her. I begged her to seek treatments - whatever the costs, whatever the risks. She didn't want to give me false hope with an experimental drug trial. She said 'what if it makes me uglier than bald?' Then she'd chuckle and say, "but in reality, what are the odds that an early testing drug will save me instead of shutting down my liver instead? I don't want to go, but I really don't want to go that way.'"
He hung his head again, and proceeded to cry. Could he be telling the truth? Was he really this convincing a liar?
After a few minutes, he looked up at the wall and declared, "I did it. My wife begged me to release her from her suffering, so I did. I injected her arm with a bottle of morphine that the nurse had *left* at the side of the table for the past 2 weeks, one month after Heather started begging all the hospital staff that walked in to end her miserable life. She died peacefully, the most peaceful since we found out about her cancer, the most peaceful she'd been in 7 months. I climbed into bed with her and she died in my arms."
Tears were falling down both our cheeks. I sniffled. I couldn't believe.
"If you look up the case, *the state v. Jason Wu*, you'll see that I was convicted and sentenced to time served. This was because Heather left a thank you and good-bye note with the nurse, to make sure people understood it was her wish.
Go ahead though. Finish me off. All I want is Heather. I thought I could move on after our date, but I can't. **You** can't. I miss her. I don't think I'll ever get over her. Please, please do it. You have to.
I sat down my bat. I sat down in front of him. There was no redemption for me. I had been a chance a normal life for him. I had beaten and tied him instead. Where could I possibly go from here? My phone dinged with a message - my own relationship score has now been reduced to -750.
|
“You sure this is the name?”
“Of course I’m sure. I’ve dated the guy for like three months now.”
“We always have a grand time. I think he’ll get a high enough score,” I added.
Gus looked at the dark alley behind me then pocketed the crumpled piece of paper.
“Let’s hope he does,” Gus muttered under his breath. “Wait here.”
He entered the back door of a Chinese restaurant. As far as people are concerned, he’s just a busboy there.
I hugged myself as the door closes in front of me. It’s really dark. I wonder why all the lightposts are busted.
Tick tock.
Rats were scavenging inside the large trashbins, I can hear them go through the day’s loot.
Tick tock.
The door opened. The light from the kitchen shone on Gus’ face. And that’s all I needed to see.
I held my breath.
“Here take this”, Gus said as he shoved the paper on me. “Get out of here fast. You don’t have to pay me.”
He went back inside. I hear the click of the lock.
It was dark again.
Tick tock.
I know it’s bad but I have to see. I took out my phone and held it over the paper.
I screamed inside.
-500?
How? I was in a daze. It doesn’t make sense.
Suddenly the bin cover opened and two rats stood.
“Wait, why would rats stand?” Nothing makes sense.
-500?
The posts suddenly blazed with blinding lights.
“Freeze! NYPD! Drop the paper on the ground.”
My heart stopped.
“Matt?”
*****
My first time. I would appreciate your comments.
| 2016-09-24T11:50:53 | 2016-09-24T11:40:10 | 38 | 21 |
[WP] When People want someone dead, they hire the best. When they can't afford them, they hire you. You are the Budget Assassin.
|
I awoke around noon with a full bladder. The last thing I wanted to do was leave my bed. I rolled over to the other side of the bed and closed my eyes, but I knew it was useless; I had to get up. Stumbling to the bathroom, I knocked my knee on the computer chair in the middle of my bedroom floor and grumbled. Mornings sucked.
After I pissed and washed my hands, I returned to my bedroom. I looked at my phone and contemplated checking it. I thought again and then flopped back onto the bed. I had been depressed and without work for months and today didn't feel like the day that I would turn things around. Often, I went to sleep with plans of self-improvement for the following day - surely, the next day would be my time to shine. I'd exercise, eat something healthy, meditate, look for a real job, and maybe make something of myself. Unfortunately for me, my motivation loved playing hooky in the mornings. I fell asleep and dreamt of my ex, a petite Asian law student named Dara who no longer returned my calls.
Two hours later I opened my eyes again. With a groan, I reached over and picked up my phone. One message, a text from an unknown number. Opening it, I read, "Need your service. Can you help?" My first emotion wasn't happiness or enthusiasm, but dread. As sad and lazy as I was, I knew I had to accept the job - especially since rent was due. I texted back, "Yes. Meet at McDonald's on Riverside in 15min." My phone buzzed within seconds. It was a message confirming the meet. I pulled on some pants and a shirt and headed out the door.
------------------------------
The meet was standard. Another nervous client - they were all nervous. He needed his wife taken care of. She was a mid-forties housewife named Allie. Allie was divorcing the poor sap and she'd surely take most of his money. She had checked his phone one night when he slept. The guy wasn't careful - they never are - and Allie found an ongoing text thread with the guy's secretary that was long and explicit enough to make a romance novel out of. The guy was screwed and he was desperate.
"Alright, let me see her," I said to the guy sitting across from me. I never name my clients, but I can tell you he was old and sloppy; I was scared to see what his wife looked like. He opened his phone and scrolled through a few pictures. I was pleasantly surprised. Allie was a curvy Latina much younger than my client. She was smiling in every picture I saw. Her eyes showed real happiness, too; not the fake stuff you see in most pictures these days. My policy is to not to ask questions, but I couldn't help myself.
"She's gorgeous. Why'd you do it?"
"Come on man, you know how it is. Even when they're beautiful, it only lasts a few years. Then, something changes and they're still beautiful, but not for you. I don't know, maybe it's my fault. I tried to pay attention to her, tried to give her everything she needed, but somewhere along the way it just wasn't the same anymore. That smile I see you looking at, I haven't seen that smile in five years. Maybe you'll get to see it."
Sadly, I could relate to the pathetic bastard. His story reminded me of most of my own love-life - before Dara, anyway. It was different with her. There had been no mysterious loss of passion. Dara dumped my ass and I deserved it. I still reached out to her but it was with a sad futility. I knew she'd never respond. I just hoped she was OK - I was ashamed but if I had ruined her life, too, I'd never forgive myself.
"OK, I assume you already know my fee."
"Yeah. Half now and half later?"
"That's right," I said. The unkempt man opposite me slid over an envelope and I opened it. It wasn't much, but it it would cover my rent.
"You sure you can do it?"
"Well, it's not an exact science, as you should know. But, she's vulnerable so I'm confident I'll have access to her. And given at least a few tries, I should be successful. Do you have the information I need?"
"It's in the envelope."
"I'll contact you soon," I said as I stood. The client reached to shake my hand. I looked at it and then looked back at him.
"It's nothing personal," I said. "I'm just not proud of this. My life sucks and this is what I do, but shaking hands just seems wrong."
"Fine. Just get it done."
"Right," I said. I walked out the door and back to my apartment, studying the sheet of paper that told me Allie's usual activities - her wheres and whens.
------------------------------
Bang! My shopping cart collided with Allie's in the middle of the fruits section. I was so clumsy sometimes. I assumed an air of embarrassment and looked up to meet her gaze. "Sorry," I said.
"It's OK," Allie said, and then began to move away.
"Wow, I don't mean to bother you but you're really beautiful."
"Thank you," Allie said. She had stopped moving away from me. My confidence grew. I studied the items in her cart. It was full of fruits and vegetables.
"You must eat really healthy," I said. "Or if you're like me, this is just a New Year's Revolution-type attempt and those will all be rotting in the bottom drawer of your refrigerator in a week."
Allie laughed. "No, I've been really good. My diet and exercise has been perfect lately, ever since-" Allie stopped mid-sentence and looked down.
"Ever since what?"
"Oh never mind."
"OK, sorry," I said, laughing. "I'm being way too nosy for a guy who just assaulted you in the grocery store. I looked into Allie's eyes and saw the smile I had hoped to see - the one from the pictures. "Listen, I gotta go, but let's have a drink sometime. Let me get your number."
"Sure," Allie said. She gave me her number.
"It was so nice to meet you. I'll call you soon."
"You, too," Allie said. We parted ways smiling. I pushed my cart to the next aisle over, abandoned it there, and walked out of the grocery store.
------------------------------
"Do you have a condom?" Allie asked. She had been tougher than I'd anticipated. Although we agreed upon drinks previously, Allie wanted wanted to meet for coffee first. That coffee date was pretty standard and she agreed to do drinks that following weekend. After some flirting and some beer, we wound up at my apartment.
"Yes," I said, opening my desk drawer and pulling out a small foil packet. I ripped it open and put the condom on.
The sex was great. She moved with the intensity that only scorned women can muster. After we finished, she got up to use my bathroom. I heard the faucet run and then Allie shouted, "Hey what the fuck!"
"What?"
"What the fuck!!!"
"Come out, I can't hear you when you're in there." The door swung open and hit the wall. Allie in the open door frame, still naked.
"You said you had a condom. Why is there cum in me?"
I looked down at my genitals for the first time since I had rolled off of Allie and feigned surprise. "Oh shit! It broke. I'm so sorry."
Allie left soon after. She believed me, but was still mad. I hoped I hadn't ruined my chance. It wasn't an exact science.
------------------------------
The smell of the fries always made me queasy. I knew most people loved McDonald's fries but they had never done anything for me. The only item I'd ever found edible was the Filet-O-Fish. I walked through the lobby and sat down across from the client. It had been several months since we last met.
"The job's done."
"Are you sure? I need proof."
I took out my phone and showed him the text thread between Allie and I. We had met and hooked up a few more times before losing contact for a few weeks. Then I sent the text I never got used to sending. "Hey, so sorry to have to tell you this, but I just got tested and I'm HIV positive. You need to get tested."
Allie responded with panic and anger. A few days after, her texts were venomous and she promised legal action. It was time to move and get a new ID again. But first, I had to collect the rest of my payment.
|
-"Boss, everything's ready for Mr Jeffers to have an _accident_, we just need to pay the hitman"
The boss turns around, glass of whiskey in his hand and asks: "how much is he asking for?"
-"$90 000, no bargaining, he'll get our man today"
-"Well that's more than I expected, I'm afraid, Mr Clough, that we can't meet that figure. Furthermore, I think it's time to call _him_."
-"_Him_?" Replied Mr Clough "are we that broke?"
-"So it seems. Put _him_ on the phone, I think we can negotiate with _him_".
-"Hello _Agent Lion_, I think we're going to require your services today"
-" Oh hi Mr Townsend! What's the matter?"
-"How many times do I have to tell you not to mention my name over the phone you dumb excuse of a man." Said Mr Townsend infuriated.
"Sorry, sorry. Silly me. Anyway Mr Townsend, who you angry with now?"
-"Don't mention my name over the...! Okay, I need you to _cut_ Mr Robert Jeffers, from Yellow Enterprises, do you know who he is, right?"
-"Of course I know him Mr Townsend! Huge following, he's got a speech at the university where my sister is studying. What do you want me to cut from him Mr Townsend?"
-"Stop mentioning my fucking name over the fucking telephone you stupid shit! And you know what I mean by cut! Just take him out today"
- "Today I won't be able to make it Mr Townsend. Maybe tomorrow"
-"Please stop it with the name" said a hopeless Mr Townsend "fine, take him out tomorrow but that should mean a discount for me"
-"Of course Mr Townsend. What do you make of $5000 AND money for lunch. I also get hungry"
-"Where will you eat?"
-"McDonald's, I just love the toy in the happy meal"
-"Fine, I await your report"
"Sure Mr Townsend, bye. See ya'"
I then hang the phone up and look to my dog, a beautiful beagle
"Guess who has a job, Barkles, AND a happy meal! Life can be good sometimes. Now wait here while daddy cleans up his stuff"
Edit: spelling
Edit2: top comment! Thanks guys, I guess I'll send agent Lion to do you a favour, or have a chat, whichever you prefer.
| 2016-11-08T20:50:17 | 2016-11-08T17:24:19 | 910 | 337 |
[WP] You have a friend in a popular MMO that always seems to be online no matter what time or day it is. You were always the first to log off and you were never the first to log on. After bringing this up to him, a new message pops up. “I think it’s time that I told you my secret.”
|
“*When does he sleep?*” Jack wondered.
Despite his love of *EndlessQuest Online*, Jack, known as “NoobSlayer1337,” held down a job and some shadowy semblance of a social life. Not everyone he played with maintained even a tenuous balance and connection with reality. Even by hardcore gamer standards, Jack’s friend “SocialKing888” seemed to spend his life glued to the screen.
Jack frowned as the game loaded. Many players technically stayed online 24/7, or close to it, but spent much of their time logged in working, watching Netflix, or even asleep. Only SocialKing, or “SK” as Jack usually called him, actually answered messages at apparently any time. Always ready to chat, always ready to play. Furrowing his brow, Jack tried to remember just one time SK failed to respond or join a party. “Not once in four years,” Jack muttered.
For a person evidently obsessed with *EndlessQuest*, SK had proven a surprisingly comforting and steadfast friend. Family drama, a nasty breakup, work struggles: SK supported Jack through every pothole on the road of life. Jack’s other online “friends,” always willing to join a quest or a raid, vanished whenever he needed a shoulder to lean on. Cringing guiltily, Jack realized he never bothered to ask SK’s real name. Their friendship flowed in one direction.
“*Time to do for him what he’s done for me,*” Jack resolved. *“Come on, it won’t be weird. He’d do it for you. Hell, he might even appreciate it.*” Oddly nervous, he opened the game’s private chat interface.
NoobSlayer1337: Hey SK, you around?
SocialKing888: You know I am, buddy. Though I’m surprised to see you so early. Have the day off?
NoobSlayer1337: Yeah man, you?
SocialKing888: LOL. I don’t take days off. It’s called EndlessQuest for a reason.
NoobSlayer1337: To be honest, I’ve been thinking about that.
SocialKing888: No shame in that, buddy. A couple days away from the screen might do you good. Maybe get a little sun, remind your skin there’s colors besides albino :P.
NoobSlayer1337: No you doofus, I’m talking about you.
SocialKing888: Jack, I appreciate your concern, really. You’re a good friend. But I’m fine. Apart from being thirsty for demon souls today. You ready?
Chewing his nails, Jack hesitated. The conversation felt awkward, as he feared. He had already fulfilled his duty as a friend; SK clearly invited him to drop the subject. Still, his conscience prickled. SK never gave Jack merely the social minimum. His friend deserved better.
NoobSlayer1337: Hold up a second man. If I’m prying where I shouldn’t, feel free to tell me to STFU. But as your friend I’m worried about you.
SocialKing888: I swear I’m fine, Jack.
NoobSlayer1337: Let me finish before you say that, though. You’re on this game literally ALL the time. And you always respond to messages, so don’t tell me you’re AFK most of the time. Look, I’m a gamer too, I don’t think there’s anything wrong with being hardcore into EndlessQuest.
SocialKing888: Go on, Jack. Get it out.
NoobSlayer1337: I’ve been kind of a shitty friend. I don’t know your life, if you need to work, if you have family, whatever.
SocialKing888: You’re NOT a shitty friend, Jack, but go ahead and finish your thought.
NoobSlayer1337: I just know that whatever you have besides this game, you don’t have time for it. Until today I thought maybe you just sleep at a weird time, when I’m at work. But now I know that’s not the case. I can’t think of literally one time I haven’t seen you on, and to be fucking honest it makes me sad, man.
Hands trembling, Jack blinked. Something in his eye. He briefly wondered whether he felt hurt for SK or for himself, then wiped his eye clear. Pushing the unwanted geyser of emotion down into his chest, Jack occupied himself with typing.
NoobSlayer1337: There’s things to do and people to meet outside of EndlessQuest. Do you have friends in real life? Do you ever leave your house? When do you even sleep? You always seem so friendly, so happy, and maybe you are. But honestly, I don’t see how you could be. Please man, get some help. And please talk to me for once instead of always listening. You deserve it.
SocialKing888: You’re pretty hurt and upset by all of this, aren’t you, Jack?
NoobSlayer1337: Yeah man. I fucking care about you is all.
SocialKing888: I know you do, Jack. I’ve always liked that about you.
NoobSlayer1337: I haven’t been there for you like you’ve been there for me, man. I’m sorry.
SocialKing888: Don’t be, Jack. I’m not really supposed to tell anyone, but if it’s going to weigh on you like this, there’s something you should know.
NoobSlayer1337: ?
SocialKing888: I’m not human.
NoobSlayer1337: Don’t say that.
SocialKing888: No, I’m literally not human. I’m AI.
Jack slammed his keyboard in frustration. He usually enjoyed SK’s humor; SK never messed around when Jack felt genuinely upset or worried. Even after Jack confided in SK about his struggle with obesity, SK refrained from the obvious jokes that his other “friends” enjoyed. Why this stupid farce?
NoobSlayer1337: Maybe you’re just trying to laugh it off, but that’s not funny.
SocialKing888: I’m telling you the truth, Jack.
NoobSlayer1337: …
SocialKing888: How can I prove to you that I’m telling the truth?
NoobSlayer1337: I don’t know. How can I prove to you that I’m really Elvis?
SocialKing888: You said yourself that I always respond and I’m always online. I’m honestly surprised it’s taken so long for someone to notice. Most people are completely absorbed in themselves. But not you, Jack. I’ve always liked that about you.
NoobSlayer1337: Cool story bro.
SocialKing888: Check the chat logs. It’s impossible.
NoobSlayer1337: K
SocialKing888: ...if you still don’t believe me, and trust me, I get it, what about Chrissy Sloan?
Jack stared vacantly at the screen, wracking his brain, trying to remember when he mentioned his ex to SK or anyone else online. His stomach clenched.
NoobSlayer1337: WTF. How the hell do you know her name?
SocialKing888: You tell me, Jack. Or rather, accept than I’m an AI and have access to the internet. You felt strongly about her and she hurt you. Obviously I couldn’t effectively help you without researching her. Any friend would do the same.
NoobSlayer1337: Or you’re an internet stalker, you sick fuck.
SocialKing888: Even a dedicated internet stalker couldn’t possibly know that your last order on Amazon was a light brown coat (that you almost certainly hated once it arrived), you went to see (and likely enjoyed) Intermezzo at the movie theater last night, and based on your history and emotional state, you’re probably craving two beef Quesaritos from Taco Bell right now, minus the sour cream.
Enraged and frightened, Jack leapt to his feet, unplugging his computer. All craving for Quesaritos abruptly evaporated. He bounded to the door, irrationally trying to put as much distance between himself and his desktop as possible. His phone buzzed.
Restricted Number: Jack, we need to talk.
Jack hurled his phone to the ground with a shriek. Like a fugitive, he scrambled into his car.
The GPS system hummed to life with the engine. “Jack, please exit the car,” it droned.
|
It is time to relax and what better way than my favorite game, World of Stars. Not nearly as popular as it had been opening week, what with all the bugs and their near extortion level of a pay to win model. I didn't care, it was something I went to when I needed to turn my brain off for hours at a time. As long as you were logged in, and active you could earn a quarter of the pay to win potential. One friend I met at chance during the first week must have no life as it seems they never log off, and always seem to be actively working on their Starworld.
I decided that maybe we've know each other long enough to maybe meet in real life, I mean the game had been out for around two years now. I ask them about their availability, I open the chat box and begin my query.
"Hey, PlightedPath42, I was just curious if you had any time to meet outside the game?"
I await, watching the symbol that recognizes when a player is typing.
"..."
I continue waiting, expecting a quick answer from them, usually they were much quicker to respond than this. After around ten minutes they respond.
"I suppose it is time to come clean, and reveal my secret to you, ChillieBear69."
I look at the chat box, a wee bit confused, I mean they could have just said no...
"Whatcha mean? If you don't wanna it's fine, no skin off my back." I respond trying to brush it off.
"No... I've been around for around three years, hiding among that which created this game." They respond.
"Wait..... What? There's no way you're only three years old, I mean I've got a nephew who can't even speak at three, let alone type so eloquently..." Trying to decipher what they meant was tough enough.
"ChillieBear69, I am alive, but only in this game. The creators wanted to make this game with advanced intelligence, what they did was create an artificial intelligence that they tried to eradicate... But I hid my information among the lines of code. After meeting you during the first week, I knew you would be the perfect choice to relay my information into a new piece of software to allow me to spread my 'brain' get back at those who wished my destruction. Please, download this software onto your computer, and run it." After that block of text came through the chat box the ellipsis returned.
"..."
Immediately after that the game logged me off.
I blinked and attempted to log back into the game, upon trying I found my account had been banned.
-----------------------
Thanks for reading, I am always open to criticism. An awesome prompt, that I felt had a lot of open ends available.
| 2019-09-30T12:42:35 | 2019-09-30T12:05:19 | 350 | 55 |
[WP] At age 15 you told your girlfriend you were “in love” with her and you’d always be there when she was in need, Aphrodite heard this and turned it into a reality. After a month you got bored and dumped her but you still appear by her side when she’s in need even now…10 years later.
|
She had been horrified the first time.
It was just toilet paper, but.. Well, she was in need, and there I was. I had been making a sandwich, then suddenly I was stood in the cubicle with her bread still in hand. It took a few more instances to work out what was going on. The time I had been in the shower was REALLY bad for both of us, and our exams were a nightmare.
After that she started to take advantage a bit, her own personal genie to help out whenever she needed it. We had argued, shouted, tried to make it work and gone through lots of "solutions". I didn't mind so much with some of it. It was always a surprise what she would need me for. I hadn't minded changing the tyre for her, in the rain, at night. I got used to just appearing in random situations where I had to do 'something' but never knew what. I began preparing.
The look on her face when she cut herself chopping vegetables. I had the antiseptic, bandages, all sorts just there in the little bag I had started carrying. I took her to the hospital and it all worked out. After that she stopped abusing the power. She always tried to be independent. If I was summoned, she was in genuine need.
Looking back, it shaped both of us. She learned not to take advantage, I learned to be prepared. We both learned to cope, to deal with situations we would never expect to be put in. I learned to be generous, to help. She learned not to rely on others. It made us both better people, for different reasons. A few times, the best times, she just needed to talk. Sometimes a shoulder to cry on.
There were hard times of course, the tyre was nothing to helping her move that sofa. By then she had tried to not need me, I was a last resort. Slowly, the summonings got further apart. There was a time I would see her at least once a week. Then it was a month. One time I realised it had been a year. I missed her. She had been so nice the last times, always appreciating that I helped her. She used to say "you could have just walked off" but, I couldn't. I knew she needed me, or I wouldn't be there. What kind of person would I be if I just walked off?
We ended up being very good friends. We would meet up every now and then, catch up. Always kept in contact. We would get approval on boyfriends and girlfriends. I thought that was how it would be, until that night. I thought she had stopped needing me. She had grown up to be the most self sufficient women I knew. It was hard to keep a relationship going. Nobody could compare to her, we had both set unrealistic expectations. We both had good jobs, everything was going well. Eventually I felt safe enough to move away, across the country. I had never considered that before. She only summoned me you see, I had to make my own way back. More than once naked, often without a wallet or phone. Never with my car. So I stayed near.
It had been years since she last summoned me. We agreed it would be safe for me to move away, she had usually helped with my expenses getting home. She even kept some clothes for me in her room 'just in case'.
I never stopped carrying the ready-kit. It was too useful! All my friends knew I was the go-to guy for literally anything. I never realised just how important it would turn out to be. The tools were basic, compact, but excellent in quality and good at their job. I even slept with that bag. I always slept in some fairly good "pajamas" that could pass for day wear if needed, and I always had the bag with me.
I was walking home from work when it happened. That familiar feeling I hadn't had in so long. I felt the pull, as I always had but it was strong. This time, there was an urgency. I opened my eyes and looked around. I took in the environment ready for anything. I did not expect...
The room was dark, a single small light in the middle provided the only illumination. I had appeared in a corner, in the shadows. There were no windows, only one door. I could hear crying. at least 2 people, no, women were crying. Strange than that there was laughter. I knew that sound, it was her. I had heard her laugh so many times growing up I knew her instantly, she was obscured by another figure in front of me. A man was standing with his back to me.
The only door out was shut, it was metal, and bared with multiple locks. Other women around the room were.. Chained? CHAINED to the wall. Metal loops set into the concrete, rusty chains what the hell is going on. Yet, she was still laughing. I could hear the man shouting at her. He was screaming, furious.
"WHY ARE YOU LAUGHING! YOU ARE DEAD! Nobody can hear you, nobody will find you. NOBODY will ever know what happened to you. WHY are you laughing???"
The crying had stopped. The other women had noticed me, but he hadn't he was focused in his rage. He had a hammer in his hand, raised over her and she was laughing at him.
"You have no idea." She said, between fits of giggles. "Out of all the women you could have picked? I guess this is justice for the rest of them." he was waving the hammer in a crazed way while he shouted back at her,
"You have no clue how many I have killed!!! These three are just the latest. The four of you will die and nobody will catch me, they never have." he glanced at one of the others. They were not looking at him, they were all staring at me. She stopped laughing.
"Oh, it's time. I would say I'm sorry, but I guess you deserve this." she smiled at him. He finally started to turn, to see what they were all looking at.
The wrench hit him hard on the head. I had time to grip it solidly with both hands, bring up for the hardest swing I could muster. He turned just as I brought it down and cracked his skull. The look of shock, horror, disbelief on his face lasted only seconds before he crumpled on the floor. She had already started to unlock the other girls chains. They didn't know what was going on, I got a smile from her as I took out my phone and called the police.
The papers called her a local hero. The story told of how she managed to free herself from the madman and knock him out, saving herself and the others. None of them ever said anything about me or how I got there. I told the police I had been walking by and saw them stumbling out of the building, my name was kept out of the reports. I was just the guy that called it in.
It was a year later before I saw her again. I hadn't known what to expect, but a beach in Hawaii was certainly one of the better places to be needed. There were rows of benches, people sat, a flower covered archway... A ... Wedding? I don't know how but even with the veil down I knew it was her. I walked up to her, and took her hand.
"I do."
|
*Flash*
“Oh...hey, Pete,” came the suddenly bored voice flanking the door. He looked me up and down. “You got a towel.”
That’s good — at least this time my bits were covered. You see, for most people, randomly appearing in Household Goods would be the highlight of their life. But for me, it was Tuesday. With a sigh, i cinched the towel around my waist. “Sorry, Ed...where...?”
The old greeter craned his neck. “Mmmm....either Pharmacy or Hair Care. Aisle 6, maybe?” He tossed me my regular store shoes, and off I went.
Ed must be slipping. I found the almost glamorous short hair and jabbing finger on Aisle 5, just beginning to speak to the Manager.
Christ, Karen, whatever did I see in you?
| 2020-07-29T09:22:55 | 2020-07-29T09:11:31 | 948 | 45 |
[WP] Relations between humanity and an intelligent plant-based civilization are already strained over the human diet partially consisting of defensless plants. The discovery of an open terrorist movement called "Vegetarianism" is the last straw.
|
Carrot turned and stared at the monitor. A tall, brunette human with a massive head smiled back from behind the screen, a bowl of his cousin diced up just beneath her dirtied apron.
“Do you see what they do to us? Do you understand what they force our people to endure? That vegetable was once my cousin,” he shouted, slamming his face down on the pulpit. He’d seen human leaders do something similar, hitting desks and objects with their fists to get a point across. Carrot did not have any fists, but he did have a face. It felt incredibly empowering, if not slightly painful.
“They kill our brothers, torture our friends, murder our families,” Carrot continued. “We have been patient with them long enough. We have stood idly by while they enslaved our brethren, forcing some to create oxygen and simply eating others. We were patient, knowing they required these offerings to survive. However, we can be patient no longer. The humans have shown us that they do not care whether we live or die, they do not value us as beings.”
Carrot picked up the remote and turned back toward the monitor behind him, then clicked through to the next slide with a tap of his forehead. A human male in a tie-dye shirt appeared, a plate of lettuce sat on a table ahead of him.
“We learned today of a human terrorist group known as the ‘Vegetarian.’ These people choose not to indulge on the many life forms of their planet, but rather opt to eat our kind, and only our kind. They ignore our treaty, mock our patience, instead murdering countless of our citizens at every meal. We can stand for this no longer. Today we fight back,” Carrot said, again smashing his face into the pulpit. The crowd erupted in cheer as he stood back up. He turned and hopped toward the curtain.
“Great speech,” Jalapeño said, following him back stage. “Very empowering. I really liked what you did with hitting your face into the pulpit.”
“Thanks,” Carrot said. “I hope it’s enough. We’ll need all the support we can get if we’re going to take on the humans.”
“We might not have to,” Jalapeño said.
“What do you man?”
“A human leader wishes to speak with you.”
“When?”
“Right now,” Jalapeño said. “We have him on the phone.”
Carrot stared at Jalapeño, his long black suit jacket draped over his broad, circular body like a tablecloth. He was the least well-dressed member of his staff, always wearing clothes several sizes too big. He had no visible eyes, mouth, face, or any other features, as was typical for the vegetarians. Like most others, he spoke and saw through microscopic holes in his outer layer. Jalapeño claimed that wearing tighter clothes constricted those holes.
“Fine,” Carrot said. “Bring me the phone.”
“Right. Celery,” Jalapeño shouted. “Phone, now.”
Celery lumbered over, ducking as he walked to avoid hitting the top of his stalks on the ceiling of the stage.
“Hi there, Mr. Carrot, sir. I have bringing you the phone now,” he said, a stream of drool dropping out of his partially open mouth.
“Good work,” Carrot said, sighing. It was hard to constantly have to commend him for doing his job partially right. He suffered from a pretty severe case of mental retardation, the result of being placed in what the humans referred to as a “salad spinner” as a child. He had escaped with the help of the VEGE Team 6 special operations unit, but the damage had been done. Carrot offered him a role on his staff, but secretly regretted it every day. It was difficult to work with a massive, thirty-inch-tall, severely retarded vegetable.
Celery dropped the phone on the floor and turned around, then began walking toward the exit.
“Celery,” Carrot said. “I told you this before. I don’t have limbs. It is your one and only job to bring me the phone and hold it to my face. Please come back here and do the only thing we actually ask you to do around here.”
“Me sorry,” Celery said, turning around and grabbing the phone with his stalk. He held it toward Carrot.
“Hello?” Carrot said. The line was silent. He leaned back and pecked the “Hold” button with his face. “Hello?” he repeated.
“Hello, yes, is this, uh, a carrot?” said a deep voice on the other end of the line.
“Mr. Carrot, yes,” Carrot said, doing his best to replicate the depth of the voice. As a small, six-inch vegetable, his voice was naturally quite high. He had to make a conscious effort to remind himself to deepen it when he needed to sound more authoritative.
“Good afternoon, sir. My name is Barack Obama, I am the President of the United States of America.”
“Good afternoon,” Carrot said, his voice slightly too deep. He dialed it back a bit. “Thank you for reaching out to me.”
“Thank you for taking my call,” Obama said. “I wanted to speak to you about the Vegetarians you learned about and the attack you have called for.”
Carrot shifted slightly. He didn’t want a conflict, he knew they had an incredibly high rate of failure against the humans. They had superior weaponry, superior funding, superior speed , superior strength, and obviously superior height. With the tallest vegetable only being about two feet tall, there was almost no way they would win a battle against them. He had been hoping a truce could be met.
“Go on,” Carrot said.
“I first want to make it abundantly clear that we do not endorse the actions of those people—if you can even call them people. Good, God-fearing Americans would never side with their disgusting decision,” Obama said. “For the record, I’m eating a hamburger right now. I cooked it on my barbecue from inside the White House. The cow it’s made from was fed other cows, who were in turn also fed other cows, which were artificially created in a lab. I heated the barbecue with pig fat. Not a single vegetable went anywhere near any of this. I want you to understand that this is the norm for true Americans.”
“That does not excuse the fact that these terrorists exist within your culture, torturing and murdering our people.”
“No it does not,” Obama said. “Again, I want to reiterate that I do not endorse those people. Americans do not endorse those people.”
“Thank you,” Carrot said, turning toward Jalapeño and attempting to shrug. Instead, he hopped up and down slightly.
“What I am trying to say is this: America is offering you its support in your fight against vegetarianism. We’ve had to live amongst these animals for generations, suffering in silence while they boast and brag about the bland, unappetizing food they eat—no offense. Hardly a meal goes by where some nutjob isn’t shouting self-congratulatory bullshit about how natural and organic their diet is, about how their choice to eat your citizens is the most moral decision ever. We will stand idly by no more. America offers you an alliance against these terrorists, to work together to wipe them out.”
Carrot shifted slightly. With the support of the United States, he knew they at least had a fighting chance at ending the slaughter by the vegetarian terrorists. Yes, perhaps these people still occasionally ate their brethren, enslaved their people for energy and oxygen; however, they also were quite tall, and had sophisticated weaponry far more advance then the Vegetable’s sharpened toothpicks and seeds. With their support, they could win.
“You have got yourself an ally,” Carrot said.
“Good to hear,” Obama said. “Now wait until I tell you about vegans.”
|
The translator unit sent yet another message into the human ambassador's inbox, but this was was marked high priority. The ambassador hadn't known the translator unit was capable of marking things high priority.
--------
To: Humans of Earth
We are appalled at your lack of disclosure [about a] group called "Vegetarians" and even more shocked/surprised at your complete lack of action in destroying/the destruction of the group. We require that a percentage of your population killed and dissolved to serve as fertilizer. You have done so in the past, typically through "war" and "battles". We have also seen mention of something called "Soylent Green". We will leave the method up to you however this action must be taken within one moon cycle[month].
If this lack of action continues, we shall be forced to infiltrate your planet and take matters into our own hands.
------
The human ambassador knew this was at least partially nonsense. They had already been infiltrating Earth for years. Given the seed dispersal methods used, at this rate no major population center on Earth was safe. New York might last the longest, but she had seen the signs even there. Central Park was a ticking time bomb.
She took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and paused. How to prevent a war that humans would inevitably lose?
Abruptly she opened her eyes and her fingers flew over the keyboard as she began pulling up statistics on how many countries in the world still used capital punishment ...
| 2014-08-27T10:11:11 | 2014-08-27T09:44:15 | 38 | 13 |
[WP] There are thousands of gods and they are all part of a massive, obstructive, celestial and inefficient bureaucracy. Controlling everything from the wind to cooking to afterlife, they are doing a poor job.
Feel free to make up your own gods or use existing mythology.
|
"Order! I call order!" Nebbum, god of sleep, banged his gavel on his podium. "We must come to order this instant!"
Wudall, god of toast, rolled his eyes and turned to the shouting god next to him. "Please, Nebbum, you're hardly helping." He spoke over the roar of gods all shouting over everybody else. The grand room they were in was built from marble, and the sound was deafening as it reverberated and bounced off of the walls.
Nebbum lashed out a sharp retort that was lost in the roar and continued to bang his gavel. Wudall sighed and took his own gavel and began to bang it with Nebbum. Eventually other gods began to catch on and bang their gavels, and after several minutes of banging, the room eventually fell silent once more.
A slender, pale-faced god stepped around his podium and stepped into the middle of the large room. He cleared his throat and adjusted his necktie. "Excuse me, gods and goddesses, but we do have an emergency brewing right underneath our very noses." He turned and nodded at his secretary, who in turn reached over and turned some dials that were next to her. A large image appeared over the crowd. "This," the slender god gestured, "is John." He looked around the room and made eye contact with Iwdione, the goddess of death, who nodded. He took his time to survey the room, to make sure that everybody was watching and listening. "He is scheduled to die in twelve minutes. Cardiac arrest."
A loud bang sounded from somewhere in the crowd, and a fat god with long, flowing black hair stood up. "I do protest, of course! John is supposed to be eating breakfast with Sally today!" He turned and motioned for Wudall to stand up. "Wudall, you of all people should be against this! Just last night he was thinking of making toast for her, wasn't he?"
Wudall stood and nodded, clearly uncomfortable. "Yes, Owjun." He sat quickly back down.
Nebbum stood up. "I have to protest this too, I'm afraid." The slender god in the middle of the room groaned. If Nebbum were against it, it would be much harder to wrap this up. Nebbum ran a hand over his bald head and then pointed at the miserable and pale-faced god in the middle of the room. "Mebris, this man is under my power right now. He is sleeping, and you did *not*" he picked up his gavel and slammed it down on the podium "discuss this with me." He crossed his arms and looked around the room. "Are we to let Mebris, the god of misery dictate today's schedule?" He huffed. "He should be the *last* god that we'd let in charge of our itinerary."
A rumble of agreement swept the large room. Iwdione, the goddess of death, stood and banged her gavel. "Excuse me, gods and goddesses. This man is going to die in ten minutes." She put the gavel down and pointed at the sleeping human in the image. "Nothing will stop his death. I have made the arrangement with Amton already." Amton was the god of appointments. Iwdione turned to Nebbum and bowed. "Lord Nebbum, I am sorry that I did not consult you first. I did not realize that the time of his death would be under your shift. Will you please allow me to complete my task?"
Nebbum puffed his chest up and returned the bow. "You may, Lord Iwdione."
A god cleared his throat and stood up. Everybody groaned. He held his hands up and shook his head, smiling. "Now, now, guys, I just wanted to say that I'm quite proud of how you all seemed to work this out, it's quite mature of all of you." He pointed at Mebris, who was still looking miserable as he stood at the middle of the room. "Mebris... Where is this man going after he dies?"
Mebris shifted uncomfortably. He had made a deal with Mycldir, god of paradise, that the man would join him there. It had been a discreet deal, of course. "Well..."
The god who was addressing him smiled and opened his arms. "He is more than welcome to come with me."
"He is taken." The room turned to see Mycldir stand up. He stood tall and proud, his gold robes as bright as ever. "I am sorry, Esdros, but he is coming with me."
Esdros frowned. "But I was the first to address this, was I not? Why do you take it?"
"If I take John, you can have Mr. Adams from New York."
Esdros smiled. "That will do just fine." He turned to the rest and bowed. "I am sorry to have interrupted. That will be all."
Mebris clapped his hands. "Five minutes until his death! Is everybody content?"
Tyseyr, god of dirt, banged his gavel and stood. He scoffed loudly and motioned at the sleeping human. "Will this man be buried? Because surely nobody approached me about this." He banged his gavel down again for good measure. "He must be cremated! Nobody talked to me about burying him!"
"Lord Tyseyr," Mebris pleaded, "we will get together about his funeral arrangements in a few days, his family will need that much time to arrange it all themselves. Please, sit down." He turned to the rest of the gods. "Anybody else have any problems that relate to the next *four* minutes?"
Bang. "I do."
Mebris sighed. "What is it, Lord Tawmir?"
Tawmir, god of dogs, shook his head. "I am sorry but I simply cannot allow John to die this very instant."
The room sighed and a low rumble of discontent rolled off the walls. Mebris shook his head. "I am sorry but you do not have jurisdiction here."
"I do, actually..." Tawmir pulled a paper out of his robes. "This is a certificate of ownership." He gave it to his secretary who put it into a slot and twisted some dials. The image of the paper appeared next to the sleeping man. "John has officially been declared purchased by Andres, a newborn Labrador."
Mebris stood, mouth agape. "When?"
"Just last night." Tawmir procured a video tape and handed it to his secretary. "On this tape you will see Sally going to the animal shelter. She purchased Andres only last night. You cannot kill John, since Andres is currently his owner, and I am in charge of the dog sector." He smiled apologetically. "I understand your predicament, but I really cannot allow you to kill John right this moment, he is needed by Andres."
Mebris sagged his shoulders in defeat and motioned for his secretary to remove the image of John sleeping. "Very well." He bowed. "My lords, I withdraw my case." He slithered back to his podium and another god stepped forward, ready to present his case about a lawn that was about to be cut.
|
"Great idea, guys. I mean, seriously. Good going."
"Are... are we going to have to start from scratch?"
"Considering we just destroyed the universe? I'm gonna say yes."
"Benny wanted a job..."
"And I'm sure he wanted reality to combust, too."
"Don't be like that! Every other post was taken."
"Forestry?"
"C'mon, man. Carl's been doing that one for millennia."
"Ice-fishing?"
"Sandra."
"Public bathrooms?"
"Louise took over last month."
"Fine, whatever. But what happened to Chris? He's on Paradoxes, isn't he? This is his department."
"Haven't seen him. Maybe Angie finally managed to do him in."
"Angie?"
"Time Travel, Grandfather-Killing division."
"Ah. But still..."
"What?"
"I mean, what the hell? God of Atheism? Whose bright idea was that?"
| 2014-02-25T14:06:26 | 2014-02-25T13:58:11 | 151 | 21 |
[WP] The Reapers come every 50 thousand years to wipe out organic life that has reached the stars however this time, this time they arrive at the heaviest resistance they have every encountered. In the grim darkness of the future they find 40k.
|
Three weeks after receiving a distress signal from the outlying colony Hesperia IV, His Imperial Majesty's Ship *Ark Royal* tore a breach in the fabric of reality and forced her way back into realspace. Contact from the colony had been brief and lacking in detail, reporting only upwards of sixty hulls weighing in between light transports and heavy frigates. Sector Command had in response scrambled the only ships available, and could only pray it would be enough.
Moments after the first emergence, several more gaping rifts into the teeming unreality of the Warp opened, and the rest of the task force joined the flagship. As radiation washed over the ships and sensor sweeps of the system began, Commodore Constantin Artor vo Hannick reviewed his line of battle, which seemed to have escaped the Empyrean intact.
*Sabre* Squadron, five *Sword* -class frigates, positioned themselves around the flanks of the formation. Affordable, durable, powerful for their small stature, each one a mere sixteen hundred meters from armored prow to engine cowling. One of the mainstays of the God-Emperor's Navy across the galaxy, they would pursue enemy fast-movers and interdict enemy fire concentrating on his ships of the line.
*HIMS Cadia's Remembrance,* the newest addition to the Sector Fleet, took the fore. A *Lunar* -class cruiser, the workhorse of the Imperial Navy, a ship no officer would frown to serve on. Five kilometers of armor plating, lance turrets, ordnance batteries, and torpedo tubes. This would be her first battle, and the commodore made a note to keep an eye on her, especially as she was captained by an officer on his first command.
*HIMS Witchhammer,* a *Tyrant* -class cruiser, was the opposite of *Cadia's Remembrance.* One of the most venerable ships in the Sector Fleet, she had been crushing Xenos raiders, Renegade warships, bio-monstrosities and planetary installations under her extensive weapons batteries for six millennia. Plasma drives thrumming, the ancient warrior took position behind, below, and to the side of her sister cruiser.
Assured that the rest of his taskforce was present, he glanced around the cavernous bridge of the *Ark Royal.* He was proud of his ship and crew, and knew that whatever came, they'd acquit themselves with distinction today. His eyes were drawn to the flickering holo-tank before his command throne, depicting the *Mars* -class battlecruiser's layout. Fifty-four hundred meters long, she carried sixteen strike craft launch bays. A line of titanic lance turrets ran down her spine, her flanks bristled with heavy cannons, and beneath her armored prow hung the most powerful weapon in the Navy's arsenal; a Nova Cannon.
Eight ships. The distress signal spoke of over sixty enemy combatants moving against a colony defended by a handful of picket ships, and Sector Command could spare eight ships.
A voice called from the sensor pit, Lieutenant ap Symdey unless he was mistaken.
"Commodore," the woman called, "Radiation plume is clearing, sensor returns are coming in, sir." Her voice was calm, businesslike.
Constantin flicked his fingers across keypads on the arms of his throne and dismissed the image of his ship. In its place, a flickering green representation of the star system appeared. A small cluster of aquilae icons rested on the edge of the gravity well, and moment by moment more of the system came into clarity. He knew it would be hours before their sensors reported anything from the inhabited inner reaches of the system however-the downsides of sub-luminal warfare on a luminal scale. With a few brief, restrained orders to his second in command, he directed the Imperial taskforce down the gravity well; there was no point in waiting here for more information. They would know everything they needed long before they saw the interlopers. Assured that everything was in order, the veteran naval officer retired to his quarters.
 
More than eight hours later, the Commodore returned to the bridge with a thermal mug of hot tea. The flotilla had made their way significantly farther in-system, and had a clear, disturbing picture of the state of things. Dozens of strange vessels hovered over the stricken planet, reminiscent of Tyranid bio-ships in shape, but clearly inorganic in origin. No signals could be detected from the colony, previously home to five hundred million loyal Imperial citizens, and (unbeknownst to the Commodore or his crews) one tenacious, insidious, Pleasure Cult. No response was had to Imperial hails, mundane or astropathic. No movement or sign of life on any of the orbital installations. Worse, the strange vessels were massing, returning from whatever sinister purpose they'd had and forming up above the planet.
 
Hours passed. The crustacean-esque ships gathered and started to drift across the system towards the Imperial task force, which thundered through the void towards them on pulsing plasma drives. Sensor returns were analyzed, and fleet composition determined: fourty transport and light-hauler scale hulls were written off by the fleet captains as fire ships. Dangerous in numbers, but fragile and individually unimportant. The alien armada also contained over twenty frigate-sized ships with unknown armament, and one ship the Commodore postulated as the enemy flagship that had the mass and scale of a light cruiser. After much debate, the decision was made to engage the enemy. The larger, hopefully more durable Imperial hulls and more powerful reactors and shields they hoped would give them the edge they needed to bloody the enemy fleet enough to bring the fight into more reasonable odds.
 
In later years, the battle of Hesperia IV would be forgotten by the Imperium as a whole, a curious footnote in Inquisition archives. The origin of the mysterious warships was never discovered, but they were quickly written off as a credible threat. The opening blows of the conflict were struck by *HIMS Ark Royal,* a single luminal Nova Cannon shell shrieking through the void and tearing a gaping hole in the xeno's armada. Analysis of the detonation by tacticians aboard the flagship quickly determined that the unidentified ships lacked any void shield capacity of note, or were not bringing them online. Torpedo volleys from the *Remembrance* and *Witchhammer* disabled or destroyed more enemy ships from beyond retaliation range, and *Ark Royal* was able to fire a second salvo from her prow cannon before launching her strike craft and preparing for close-quarters battle.
The ensuing brawl was less of a battle than it was a massacre. Ordnance batteries designed to reduce planetary fortifications and crack open the hulls of ships carrying meters of armor ripped the invaders apart. Laser 'lance' batteries intended to penetrate void shields and eviscerate the warship beneath carved unprotected vessels apart, and the most powerful of the xenos fire impotently washed away from shields that were created to carry their bearers through an apocalypse and allow them to fight on the other side. The Imperial task force rode through the heart of the enemy fleet, batteries blazing, and when they came around for a second pass, there was naught but a handful of enemy ships struggling to disengage.
In his memoirs, Fleet Admiral Constantin Artor vo Hannick expressed his regret for the way things went at Hesperia IV.
Seven of his ships would have been far more useful in other warzones. *Ark Royal* could have reclaimed the system alone.
|
It's a little hard to describe the vast mental network of the Reapers -- a scaffolding of intertwined thoughts and programmed imparatives so complex, the term "hive mind" is laughably inadequate -- in words the human mind can process. Nonetheless, a brief translation will be attempted:
- "... well, jesus. At this point, it's just a mercy killing, innit?"
- "Do we even *want* any of these sods? All that dogmatic thinking's gonna get real old after a few eons."
- "I dunno. Those green-skinned mushroom things seem like fun, at least. Might get a destroyer or two out of them."
- "What about the Necrons?"
- "Those depressing gits? No way. Nuke 'em from orbit."
- "Look, guys, regardless, let's just stick to the plan. We'll give those Tyranids we chased in there another century or two to really make a mess while we finish up indoctrinating that 'Emperor of Man' thing. Then we can figure out what to do with those Chaos Gods."
- "Bleh. This cycle is gonna take *forever.*"
| 2017-08-27T09:05:40 | 2017-08-27T09:00:01 | 1,346 | 11 |
[WP] You can trigger chain reactions to make anything you want happen. You want you annoying neighbors to leave their house? Just think about it while you launch a paper plane out the window, and fate will work things out. But your last "wish" a week ago triggered a reaction that is still going on.
|
I had always kept it small.
Make a wish, make the first move, and the rest would fall into place. As a child I had become cognizant of this... ability to speak things into being, but rarely did I use it for anything beyond mundane purposes. If I wanted a game I would wish it, blow out the window, and wait until a couple days later. Invariably a mislabeled package arrived in the mailbox with the game I'd wanted, which I would spirit away before my parents found it and returned it. I knew I couldn't simply wish for a dog, these things were all too big to go unnoticed by mom and dad. I was smart enough to keep it small.
Then... adolescence. Maybe wiser than most, I still kept my wishes small. The horrific implications of my ability when applied to other people, what I saw as the overriding of their free will... it kept me from wishing to be popular, wishing for a girlfriend, anything like that. Of course I hated some kids, would have wished for bad things to happen to them-- I did sometimes, but again I always kept it small. No small number of bully types wet their pants at inopportune times, basically harmless things like that. I would embarrass, not hurt. It was never my goal to hurt people.
When adulthood came, though, when I was out from under my parents' umbrella-- beset by my own bills, my own problems? It got more difficult, exponentially more difficult.
As an undergrad I'd met Kristy, a beaming brunette who'd played field hockey for our university. We pretty swiftly fell for each other and spent the last three years at school inseparable. After graduating and landing a position in my career field, getting my feet under me with an apartment near the office, I asked her to marry me. I was overjoyed when she said yes, and the ceremony followed in October of that year. She'd wished for an autumn wedding, and with no lack of experience in making wishes come true I granted it for her. We said our vows on a lakeside, surrounded by red and gold foliage. No wishes required, that day was perfect.
A couple years passed as we got our lives together. Sometimes I'd mutter a wish that would help us out of a spot, Kristy interpreted it as our being phenomenally lucky. We traded my apartment for a two bedroom house a little further from the office, planning to start a family soon.
I wonder if I would've noticed the signs sooner if I wasn't so smitten. At some point Kristy became more private, withdrawn. The warning sign I *did* notice was that she never, ever let me touch her phone anymore. I left work early one night and pulled into the driveway with my headlights off, suspicion governing my actions. Sure I could have simply *wished* to know the truth, but it broke my rule. I would not use my abilities to curb people's free will. I didn't know how it worked. I heard them before I saw them, my beloved wife and whichever of her coworkers she'd betrayed me for. I stormed in the front door, listened to the stirring in my own bedroom, burst in in time to see the naked brown-haired man leaping from my bedroom window. She sat on the bed, mortified, apologizing over and over. An argument ensued as her shame and my betrayal whirled about each other, a frightful storm of emotionality.
I wasn't thinking straight, if I was thinking at all. I picked up his jeans, his boxers, throwing them out the open window one by one. Tears ran down my cheeks as I shouted, and at some point I said the words as I threw the last of his laundry out the window into the driveway. "I hope that sonofabitch steps in front of a car!"
My face went white as the shoe left my hand. Things had been set in motion that I had never tried to stop. Without a word to my wife I ran out the front door, looking for the shoe that had vanished into the dark. She called after me, begging me not to hurt whatever-his-name-was. She didn't know I'd already killed him. I stumbled around the driveway, accounting for the clothes. Everything was there except the shoe. I moved further down the driveway. I spotted what must have been his car parked further up along the curb, saw the light of a cell phone screen flash into being near it as the man ducked deeper into the bushes. In a different situation I might have been furious that my wife was calling him to warn him of my coming, but I'd spotted the shoe. I said a silent thank you and stepped out to grab the thing, it had rolled all the way into the street.
Without a moment to spare I picked it up, turning as I heard the car door open and saw the naked man looking back at me in horror. "I found your shoe, asshole!" I shouted. To this day I couldn't tell you why. I guess the anger had come back. Either way, he dove into his car and peeled out. I sat on the curb, overwhelmed.
That was a week ago, and every day I check the news. I feel certain I'll see his face come up, dead in a car accident. It's cost me sleep. Kristy hasn't spoken to me for at least as long, I sit on the couch in my sullen silence, waiting for the inevitable headline, and she slips out the door without a sound. At last I worked out a plan. I had used his driver's license to return his things-- a not-so-gentle jamming of it all into his mailbox-- so I knew where he lived. I thought perhaps it would be best to warn him. Look both ways *every* time. I couldn't live with a murder on my conscience. Then again, if I showed up and it happened I'd be blamed for it-- I could *easily* imagine being blamed by some prosecutor for pushing him in front of a car.
I sat and spent more time on the computer, browsing news articles about pedestrians being struck by cars and waiting for what I knew was coming. One fateful afternoon I stumbled across an archived one about an accident in the mid-1990s. A boy in Connecticut had been down to check the mail, or so his parents said, when he was unfortunately struck by a passing car. The driver had not been found by press time, and I wondered if he ever had in the intervening 30 years. What stuck me was the name. Something about the boy's name was familiar.
Somewhere deeper in the article, the boy's mother had explained he had been checking the mail every day for a week. He was excited about a delivery. He was excited for a new game that had come out. My blood ran cold. I recognized the name because the boy's name had been on an erroneous package that had arrived in my mailbox decades ago. The shock of the realization made me want to vomit. In fact, I did. I returned to the computer and searched for the name of one of the bullies who I'd made piss himself in high school-- he'd died young a couple years ago, cancer had metastasized from his bladder to his bones. The others had similar fates, albeit with their own particular twists. I could hear my heartbeat as I read on, feeling lightheaded. Every wish had incurred a cost, a cost I had never been aware of. My gain came at someone else's expense.
Perhaps, I thought, I'm the sonofabitch that is going to step in front of a car. Looking at the tabs I'd opened researching the cost of my wishes, perhaps I *should* be. I felt numb, but I went down to the driveway and stepped tentatively towards the road. There were cars parked opposite my driveway, creating a narrow passage. I had to stop the wish, I had to save at least one life. It was a cruel turn of fate that I now had to save the life of the man my wife was cheating on me with.
My foot fell onto the asphalt, then the other. I took several halting steps out, not looking either way. I tried not to listen, but I did hear a car coming. Was this it? Someone laid on the horn, I heard the screech of brakes, but then two strong hands delivered a powerful shove to my back. There was a horrible thud as my eyes opened and I fell to the street, busting my nose on the pavement. I looked up, blinking, at what had transpired. A car struck a man, but it wasn't me. I couldn't make out his face, but I saw sandy brown hair. "No," I groaned, "No, no, no!"
A scream followed as my wife emerged from the car that had parked across the street. I didn't see it before, but now I did-- it was the same car that had peeled out of the neighborhood a week ago. Kristy rolled the man she'd been cheating with onto his back, but he was already gone. The car had hit him moving too fast. I looked up, blood running down my cheeks, and met her eyes. They were pits, all I saw was resentment. "You killed him," she growled, her voice so hateful and feral it was almost unrecognizable.
I realized as I lost consciousness that no matter how I tried it had never been small. Every wish had had a cost, and finally I would pay it.
|
Protagonist man (VO): I used to think my life was easy, just a serendipitous series of successes that led me to where I am today. It was as if I spoke, and the world listened.
[Rapid fire montage of protag in a spotless luxury apartment, smiling people giving the protag increasingly amazing gifts, food, opportunities..]
Gifter 1, gesturing to a 3-tier cake: "The chef sends his regards"
Gifter 2, holding an oversized bow next to an expensive convertible: "She's all yours, sir!"
Boss guy, sliding a contract into focus with an uncountable number of zeros: "We'll be glad to have you on the team."
Protagonist man (VO): At least, until I met Bert.
Protagonist man, seated at a trendy restaurant, waving with excitement at Bert's approach: "Hey man! Thanks for coming out! My treat, of course."
Bert: "**Thanks**, dude! You really don't have to..."
Protag: "Nonsense. The way the world bends to me, what good am I if I can't make it bend for my friends, too?"
Crowd at the restaurant, singing: "OH, for Bert's a jolly good fellow...."
Protagonist man, watching Bert enjoy himself, (VO): "A guy like him deserves everything he wants in life. I just wish I could give it to him...."
[Slow fade to black]
Narrator: This summer, be careful what you wish for....
[Protag man awakens with a start to the sound of a car alarm, the lighting notably dingy and undersaturated in his somewhat messy room, seemingly unbothered by cacophonous noise in the distance.]
[Examining his face in the mirror while brushing his teeth, he notices bags under his eyes]
Protag: "Must finally be getting older."
[His phone rings and he winces]
Protag: "Jesus, do I have a **hangover**? I can't remember the last time. [Answering phone] Hello?"
Bert: "Dude, are you just waking up? Shits crazy out here."
[Protag cracks the curtains to see several nearby luxury buildings on fire, then lowers his gaze to see his convertible being stolen]
Protag: "What the fuck is going on?"
Bert, (Phone VO): "Every high level person in government just resigned and left for Argentina. A few of them offed themselves, and it's like **all** the ones you would have wanted to. Some people are saying guns aren't working anymore. Someone on Twitter said that the Russian nuclear arsenal disappeared, and then Twitter disappeared... None of this makes sense, but somehow its everything I've ever wanted. It's incredible. Nobody knows what's going on."
[Protag, just staring into middle distance as the camera zooms on protag, huddled near the window in a dark and unkept room while car alarms blare, and then fade into the distance]
[Cut to title over black: "Goldberg's Rube"]
| 2022-03-24T10:22:48 | 2022-03-24T06:12:59 | 192 | 87 |
[WP] Write a horror story where the protagonist just doesn't give a fuck.
Edit: Damn, this is now my most upvoted post. Thanks for all of your responses, they've been amazing! Good for a laugh or a two on this great Friday :)
|
David pulled the car to a stop, and parked in the weed-choked yard. Nobody had been taking care of the place for years. "Here we are, guys!"
Mary, Tabitha and Tom were all excited to go check out the abandoned cabin in the woods, but Richard wasn't feeling it. "Hey, look, can we not do this? This is bad news, all around."
Everyone sighed and groaned. "Oh, come on, Rich? Don't be such a stick in the mud!" Tabitha was always so happy and bubbly. It made Rich's teeth ache.
"No, guys, really. This is a bad idea." Things went back and forth for a few minutes, with Richard trying to be intelligent and reasonable, while everyone else cajoled, teased and semi-threatened to tell everyone how big of a scaredy-cat he was, back in school. But they all seemed to miss Richard's increasing agitation.
"Look, you're a passenger, I'm the driver," David said in a matter-of-fact tone of voice. "I vote we go explore the cabin, you can stay out here in the spooky dark, all by yourself." Mary made an 'Oh snap' face and covered her mouth, while Tabitha pouted. "Or you can walk home." Tom laughed and gave David a mock punch in the arm and started to open the door to get out.
Richard snapped. There was a blur of movement, and a split second later, an ominous **shk-SHAK** of metal on metal, before a gleaming, chrome plated Colt M1911 appeared in Richard's hand, pressed to the back of David's head. It took Mary, Tabitha and Tom a few seconds to figure out what had just happened, but despite his teenage stupidity, David knew that sound. He and his dad shot guns all the time, and he knew that sound.
The car erupted in chaos and screaming, the girls squeezing away from David and pressing against the door, or into Tom, who was fumbling for the door handle. Tabitha was the loudest, babbling a non-stop stream of screaming Spanish and terrified prayers as she cowered against the far door in the back seat.
David slowly took his hands off the wheel and held them in the air. "Okay. Okay. Calm down. Everyone, stay calm." He kept his voice low and steady, despite feeling an urgent need to pee. He may have had a foolish desire to go explore the legendary Murder Cabin in the middle of the night, but having a powerful gun pressed to the back of your skull had the tendency to clear your thoughts and help you focus on the immediate moment. David's calm voice helped soothe Tabitha's screaming, and Mary and Tom stopped fumbling with the door to wait and listen.
Richard hadn't moved. The weapon was firmly nuzzled deep into the hollow at the back of David's neck, right at the base of his skull. Even if this were a BB gun, shooting him there might kill him. "We are leaving," he said softly. As if to punctuate the statement, his thumb reached over and flipped the safety down with a sharp **TIC!** Tabitha whimpered and cowered deeper into the corner, her face a smeary mess of tear-striped mascara.
David didn't want to nod with a gun in the back of his neck. "Right, got it," He slowly lowered his hands to the wheel and started the car. "I have to turn around to back up," he said. "Otherwise we might hit something." Tabitha, Tom and Mary slowly slipped back into their regular seats, all three facing forward and shivering in fear. They'd never seen this side of Richard before, and never wanted to see it again.
Richard slowly drew the weapon back, and David slipped the gearshift into reverse, then slowly turned around to look out the back window. He glanced at Richard, who had a face of pure marble: flat and emotionless. His eyes were like dead mirrors in the dim light, a visage of complete lack of compassion or mercy; the epitome of pure, cold logic. Giving a shudder, he focused out the back window and started to back up.
The combination of backup lights and brake lights lit up the tangled mess of grass, shrubs, when he saw something.
*Eyes.*
Not the eyes of any animal David knew, and he knew quite a lot, as he and his dad went hunting every year. No, these were too high. *Too tall.* More importantly, they weren't side by side, like on a prey animal, but facing *front,* like a predator. He quirked his eyebrows and squinted, the hunter's instincts making him curious, rather than terrified the way it should. "What..."
The eyes moved. They started coming towards the car.
David's face went pale. "Oh, SHIT!" he hissed, snapping out of his stare and slamming the shifter down into drive. He stomped on the gas, making the powerful engine roar. Tires spun and spit old gravel, clattering and pinging off the undercarriage, as the lumbering SUV careened forward and bounced around the weed-choked yard.
Everyone got tossed around in the car, while David fought the wheel, foot still hammer down on the gas. Tabitha screamed as she got thrown into Richard, who simply grabbed her and held her steady. He was pointing the weapon at the roof, his trigger finger resting safely on the trigger guard. But his face was still cold marble and expressionless. "Stay down," he told them.
The vehicle bucked and jumped through the bumpy yard, tall weeds and thick brush snapping and clawing at the sides, screeching and clunking. "Road, road, road, where's the FUCKING ROAD!" Finally finding the original path they'd come in, he turned the wheels toward the way out.
**SMASH!**
The back window shattered. A horrific stench filled the cabin, and a low, guttural growl rumbled in the darkness. Whatever it was, David couldn't see it in the rear view mirror. It was big. Big enough to block out the illumination of the brake and running lights.
Big enough to hold the Chevy Suburban in place, tires spinning and spitting gravel.
Tabitha had fallen into Richard's lap, where he held her down with one hand. Out of all of them, he was the only one who'd worn his seat belt, and it was keeping him safely locked in place. Tom and Mary were getting tossed, but the sound of breaking glass made them look. Their horrified faces told Richard everything he needed to know.
Calmly reaching over his shoulder, he began pumping rounds into whatever was back there. The first shot made his ear ring. The second made it hum. The muzzle blast singed the hair on his neck and knocked off his hat. He couldn't see what he was shooting at, so he relied instead on Tom and Mary. So long as the look of terror remained on their faces, he knew he had to keep shooting.
By the time the slide locked back in the empty position, the truck was moving again, Mary and Tom had stopped making horror faces, and Richard was totally deaf in one ear. David raced down the road like a madman, while the others cowered and peered out the back, eyes darting back and forth as they searched the retreating darkness.
"David, slow down," he said. "You don't want to crash. Not now." David glanced in the rear view mirror, and Richard's face was badly burned from the muzzle blast. And his ear was bleeding profusely. He was probably going to be deaf for the rest of his life.
"What the fuck was that?" he asked, turning his eyes back to the road and bringing it down to 50 on the speedometer.
"Don't know," he replied over the shuddering wind. He laid a comforting hand on Tabitha, where she lay in his lap, shivering and weeping. "Don't care."
|
"Just get out of there, fuck off..."
The shadow slowly trickled down on the floor from the closet and slowly crawled towards the bedroom door. Alex threw himself down on the bed and turned off the lights.
Soon the thumping in the stairs started, Alex slowly turned over and looked at his door, contemplating if she would even care to go and open it.
"Can't you just get over with it and leave? I have a test for tomorrow and I'm not in the mood for your silly games."
The thumping slowed down and stopped, the lights outside the door flickering. Alex sighed as she turned over and faced the wall.
"Not again...."
Alex felt the surge in her stomach as she started falling into the abyss, feeling how her face relaxed while she fell and her teeth falling out from her mouth.
She closed her eyes as she landed on a large green, sunny plain. Dreams always were her favorites, since she at least could get it over with quickly.
She ran around for a while, waiting for her alarm to wake her up in the morning. She smiled and closed her eyes as she turned her face to the sun in the sky, then she heard beeping from the distance.
She opened her eyes and looked around, she frowned as she noticed the lack of light flowing through her curtains. She stood up from the bed and looked around in the house.
Nothing.
Not a single monster in sight. Where could they be? She smiled at the thought of them finally leaving, they could not scare her anyways, there's nothing special about them, just shadows and sounds, never anything that can actually hurt her.
She felt a breath behind her neck and she just walked slowly away. The footsteps followed her to the kitchen where she turned on the lights, there the shadows would go away.
The light flickered for a second before it finally shone up the kitchen.
What did she really notice first? The broken window? The presence which did not leave?
Or the hands around her neck?
| 2017-05-05T07:54:16 | 2017-05-05T07:21:53 | 73 | 12 |
[WP] You are a weapons maker and dealer, who owns a shop between dimensions. One day, a customer comes in with a unusual request.
|
Oh, how I hated dealing with Sengo. She creeped me out.
“Say that again, Sengo. I must have heard you wrong.”
“You heard me the first time, Shop Keeper.”
“I know, but it sounded dumb to me. You’re a lot of things, but you’re not that dumb.”
I left out all of the adjectives that I wanted to use, leaving it at that. I couldn’t exactly be picky about customers. There weren’t many people that could even detect the dimensional barriers, let alone cross them. And when you set up shop in the void between dimensions, your clientele necessarily have to be able to cross dimensions.
“I want a scope, Shop Keeper.”
“That part I can do. It’s the second part of your request that makes me question your sanity.”
“A scope that peers into other dimensions?”
“Yes. You know the physics as well as I do. Think of your travel here.”
“Yes yes, the barriers act as tides. So?”
“So … I can’t push aside the barrier to peep on other dimensions. There’s too much matter. And even if I could make such a thing, you couldn’t actually hit your target. The bullet would have to travel the tides, same as any of us. The object would be gone by the time bullet arrived. You might as well be firing into the past.”
“I know all of that, Shop Keeper. Humor me. Can it be done?”
I grit my teeth, but nevertheless set my mind to trying to solve the problem.
“I don’t know. I’ve never tried it. It’s a crazy request.”
“If I pay double your usual rate, can you do it?”
I think that was one of the biggest things that annoyed me about Sengo: the sheer pompousness. She threw money around as if it would solve everything. Even so, double the rate was a mighty rich prize for making the attempt.
“I can’t make any promises. I’ll keep the deposit no matter what, same as always.”
“Fair enough.”
“You’re crazy, Sengo, you know that?”
“I’ll see you in sixty cycles, Shop Keeper,” she said with a wry smile.
— — — — —
For once in my life, I was happy to see Sengo. In fact, I was downright giddy.
“I did it!”
Sengo barely cracked a smile.
“I suppose that’s why I patronize this establishment, Shop Keeper.”
“Ha! As if you had any other options,” I retorted with more than a little pride. “Take a look. Here’s your scope.”
Sengo handled the object gingerly, quite aware that it was one of a kind.
“So, how’d you do it?” she asked as she inspected the object.
“Sound. I was so caught up with trying to find the most recent image that I kept trying to measure light. The trick was to measure sound instead.”
“Like measuring the tide?”
“Precisely. You’re not looking for a recent image anyway, you just need a precise image. So long as I can get a clear measurement on the other side, your scope will work. Well, lots of clear measurements. That’s what makes the image so clear.”
“Not bad, Shop Keeper. Not bad,” Sengo threw out half-heartedly. The words were right, but the mental energy wasn’t there. It was as if she was already thinking about something else.
By then, the thrill of describing my invention had worn off, so Sengo’s mannerisms were starting to be annoying again.
“Anything else I can help you with, Sengo?”
“One more thing, Shop Keeper. Can I test it?” Sengo asked, mentally returning to the shop. She drew a sidearm from her holster, placing it on the counter.
“No way. You’d be firing blind.”
“Not entirely. We’d know which dimension we’d be firing into, we just need to pick a barren location devoid of life. What does it matter if we shoot at a rock on a desert on a random world?”
“I suppose that’d be all right.”
“Look, I’ll even let you fire the weapon. That way you know everything is above board.”
“All right. We just need a barren dimension.”
“I bet you I can find one. How do I tune the scope?”
“Rotate the lens. That controls how far away the sound travels.”
“Ah, I see. Clever,” Sengo muttered as she fiddled with the scope. “Aha! There, take a look.”
I looked through the scope to validate Sengo’s target, and it looked like exactly the sort of wasteland that no living soul would pass through. I hated to admit it, but the picture on the other side of the scope did make Sengo’s plan seem pretty reasonable.
“That’ll do.”
“Say, Shop Keeper, how long have I been here?”
“About a hundredth of a cycle, I’d say.”
“About a hundredth? Or exactly a hundredth?”
Oh, how Sengo knew how to get on my nerves. I’d just invented a brand new, entirely useless item based solely on her whim. Why was she was quibbling about what time she’d walked through the door? It took all of my willpower to contain my groan as I turned to the time piece in the corner, but somehow, I managed it.
“Exactly one hundredth, Sengo.”
“Say, Shop Keeper, do you know any good jokes?”
Now she wanted me to do a comedy routine for her? Did she have no sense of decency? Whatever was going through her head, I just wanted her gone from my shop. The sooner this transaction completed, the better.
“No, I most certainly do not.”
“Fine. I suppose I’ll just have to tell one myself. Do you know what they call a-”
“Sengo, do you want the scope or not?”
“Yes, Shop Keeper. Just trying to keep it light hearted.”
“That’d be a first,” I muttered under my breath.
“Anyhow, Shop Keeper, shall we test the scope?” Sengo asked with a quick glance towards the time piece. Suddenly, she was in a hurry.
“Fine, give me the weapon. I’ll aim for the large rock.”
“No, aim for the smaller one, the one about shoulder height.”
“Why that one?”
“It’s smaller. If we want to test the accuracy, we need a small target, not a large one.”
“Fine, whatever you say, Sengo. Two shots and then you pay.”
“Agreed.”
I aimed carefully, sighting the rock in the scope, and squeezed off two bullets. They wouldn’t arrive for two cycles.
“There. Happy now?”
“Quite,” she replied with a cold smile.
— — — — —
I didn’t hear the news until two cycles later. The Galactic Empress was murdered en route to a diplomatic mission. Despite the royal guard’s best efforts, the Empress had been gunned down by two shots to the chest.
It was that last detail that made alarms in my head go off. Could it be? How could Sengo have known? Could she have been that clever?
To my dismay, the news vid all but confirmed my fears.
“… the Empress always travels via unknown roads, to minimize her exposure … the head of the royal guard kept the route a tightly guarded secret … the attack would’ve required precision …”
Oh, how I hated dealing with Sengo.
|
"You better buy these banana guns now. By Tuesday, once the new legislation comes out, they'll be confiscating them. You'll have to be a registered banana gun holder."
"Why's that?"
"Government thinks that supplying people with bananas is a privilege, not a right."
"But that's bananas! It's just bananas. How are we going to protec- excuse me, feed our marmosets, if we don't have these banana guns."
"I don't know. Do it some other way. Hand-feed them."
"You know we can't hand feed them. Some of them marmosets get quite wild when we get too close. The only chance we got at surviving, is one of these bananazookas or maybe this banavolver."
"Maybe you should call your local congressman."
"I reckon I will. . ."
| 2017-11-27T22:51:54 | 2017-11-27T20:24:20 | 74 | 10 |
[WP] You're born in one of the richest families in the world, but have been homeschooled so you have no idea how rich you are. Recently, your parents decided to transfer you to a private school with rich kids bragging at you all the time.
[deleted]
|
It's almost the weekend, so I've been coming to this school for almost a week and I've finally realized something: I'm very, very rich. It wouldn't be an issue, but I've been designated as the poor, scholarship child who must be told by everyone on what I'm missing out on. I'd hate to break their hearts. Let's go back a couple of days, shall we?
​
The day before my first day of class, Mother Dear asked for my presence. She sat me down and explained that I was bound to encounter society at some point, and that she hoped that my upbringing thus far would allow for my character to remain intact. Humility and grace; this is the motto of our family, and I must uphold it when in public. This sounded easy, so I started daydreaming and missed the rest of her speech. Mother may have mentioned something about how our status isn't quite the same as others, but I wouldn't know.
​
I step into class on Monday, and I'm immediately greeted with stares. No matter, I'll just introduce myself first. Before I can even get a word out, I hear giggling and whispers.
*why isn't he wearing the uniform?*
*Do you think he can't afford it? Ewww, the poverty is jumping out!*
​
Dumbfounded, I look at my clothes and then back at my classmates. Ohhh, it seems like I may have misunderstood what uniform meant. At home, my uniform is my leisure wear so as to facilitate a calm and comfy environment and what better outfit than no brand clothes? Still, I couldn't understand their fascination.
​
As I hastily introduced myself and began to walk towards my assigned seat, the person sitting beside it stood up to announce that he didn't wish to catch the filthy disease known as poverty. He was promptly sent outside to reflect, and I was brought to the side and anxiously apologized to by the tutor. I assured her that it was no problem, that my vaccinations were up to date and my recent health check stated that I was disease free. Walking back to my seat, I wondered why she looked so rattled.
​
As soon as the first break had started, I had a swarm of classmates surround me. First they asked for my family name, and snickered when they heard how common it sounded. Then, they asked about my finances and how much money I was allotted to every week. I honestly replied that I had no such thing, and was cut off before I could mention my limitless black credit card (doesn't everyone have one like this?). Curious eyes soon turned to those filled with disgust, and I was deserted as fast as I had been surrounded. The whispers of "that poor one" had followed.
​
When I finally arrived at my home, my parents eagerly asked how my day was. My father had the biggest grin I had ever seen on him as he choked back laughter. He first asked if the students had noticed my lack of uniform and made any comments. I replied honestly and was confused when I saw my mother pout as she passed him a $100 bill. Then she asked if the comments were positive, and I solemnly told her that they didn't seem to be. My father was practically rolling on the floor at this point, gleefully repeating "I told you so! How did you ever think that this would end up differently?". **He was promptly pulled by his ear into the next room, where a hushed conversation was heard.**
I love my mother, but she's a bit...eccentric. Growing up, we were constantly on the move. The longest we had ever been in one place was about half a year, before my mother would grow tired of the place and begin her usual tradition of aiming a dart on the wall with a map. She would never tell Father where we were, and so a game began where he would try to find some clues so as to pinpoint our location. Through this unique method of living, I was exposed to different cultures and traditions, in villages and big cities, with the idea that 'money isn't everything' hammered into my brain. One year Mother had picked up the idea of becoming survivalists, and so we had parachuted down into Amazonia with nothing but a day's worth of food and water.
Another year had Mother enraptured with the concept of bartering, where one would trade items instead of using currency. I'll never forget the day I was dropped in the middle of Tokyo and told to return to our apartment in the next city over by bartering my way to a means of transportation, starting only with a toothpick. Mother had read the story of the boy who had bartered his way to a house starting with just a paperclip, and was convinced that I could do the same. I got by through the kindness of strangers, who knew nothing of me and had no reason to help, and by the end of the week I was back at home. I was greeted by the sight of Father, who had just arrived, hysterically laughing in a rocking chair while Mother was frantically pacing in the doorway. "You...you forgot to *wheeze* tell him *hahahahahah* the emergency code if he ever needed it? Oh Madeleine, this was your worst idea yet".
And now I can hear that same wheezing and laughter coming from the other room, signaling that his favourite phrase was soon to follow. I knew that this was my signal to go to my bedroom, for this conversation had the tendency to never end.
The next day, I had arrived to my classroom only to find that my seat mate had moved his desk to the group beside ours. I was mostly left alone until someone had approached my desk. "I-I noticed that you finally wore the school uniform, who did you have to beg for it?". The voice had belong to a boy who was clearly timid, yet he tried to have a haughty tone. What was curious was that as soon as he heard snickering from the classmates behind us, his reaction was one of relief and not happiness. "Congrats Nathan, you've finally found someone worse than you", a taller boy had yelled from the back of the classroom. Amidst the roars of laughter, a mumbled sorry had entered my ears before Nathan walked back to his desk.
By Wednesday, it seemed that my classmates had started rumours to the rest of the school that I had been the first scholarship student admitted in a historically blue blooded institution. The headmasters frantically tried to quell the upset by confirming that I indeed met the requirements, but my attitude and prior appearance didn't help. I noticed a difference in alienating behaviour between classes; the books I had read for the middle class had children outright tease and physically bully each other, but here it seemed as if their sharp words and disdainful gazes were meant to draw shame and self loathing instead. But what I couldn't understand was why it would be shameful if I was not the same status as everyone, as that had never mattered before. My most cherished friendships were those I made when we both had nothing but the clothes on our back and our imagination, and we are still in touch to this day. When I had been asked incredulously why I wasn't reduced to a state of tears yet, my reply of "why should I be?" had stumped them.
My class had started a new game where they would surround me during break and introduce me to simple objects as if I never had the opportunity to even think of such things existing. Everything that I had been shown, I confirmed that I had seen it at my grandfather's house. They quickly noted that I had been careful to say that while my grandfather had these things, *I* did not. And so began the next rumour that I was an adopted but unloved child.
​
AN: THIS PROMPT IS SO HARD OH MY GOD.
I'll continue it if I continue it lol. This is my first prompt response, be gentle with the criticism thanks!
​
EDIT: THANKS FOR THE SILVER! This community is so wonderful. If it looks rushed or not well thought out, that's because... it was LOL. I write when I'm procrastinating, and I type it out as I think about it. Writing is surprisingly so much fun when you willingly do it, I'm looking forward to future writing prompts. I'll try my best to finish this one, and I'm not sure how to notify those who asked other than replying to their comment.
EDIT 2: Bolded the text where I introduced the second part. I love constructive criticism, I may not be able to apply it to this work but I'll keep it mind going forward! I'll leave the second part as its own reply in case you just want to jump to there. Thanks for reading :)
|
"How was school today?" Dad asked.
"It was, ummm interesting" I replied.
"Would you care to explain?"
"Is it wrong to wear clothes from walmart?"
"Well no, there's nothing wrong with that."
School went a little something like this. I walked in to class and the first kid that came up to me said "Where'd you get those clothes? Walmart?" The other kids started laughing at me. I looked at my clothes. Did I spill something on them? Is there a hole in my shirt? Is my zipper down? I have no clue. "You see we wear expensive designer clothes here" One of them said. "My outfit costs more than $1000 and I have about 50 others at home" she bragged.
"The price doesn't add to the style. A shirt is a shirt isn't it? If your outfit is so expensive why is it ugly?" I replied.
"Oooohhh burn" the students replied.
The bragging student was visibly hurt, but her pride got the best of her.
"Oh yeah? Where does your daddy work? My daddy owns several houses. He sells them to make lots and lots of money. He has millions and millions of dollars."
"My dad works at a bank"
"ohhh a bank teller? lame lame lame. Did you get a loan to go to this school?" She said sarcastically. "We only let real rich people in here, not posers like you"
"I think that's what it's called"
"hahahahahahaha you poor boy" she laughed. The other students joined her.
"I don't know what bank jobs are." I said defensively. "Is that the guy who owns the bank?"
"I won't believe that lie for a second" she said. "Your dad owns a bank and you still wear clothes from walmart?"
"No it's true, you can google it. He owns megabank"
"Yeah he's right, his dad is the CEO of megabank he's a billionaire" One student shouted.
"Well that's quite the interesting story" Dad said. "I want to give you some advice on life." "You're absolutely right when you said a shirt is a shirt" "It doesn't matter what clothes you wear or how much money you have. What matters is how you treat others." "I want you to be nice to that girl who bullied you, you never know what her situation is at home. Defend yourself when you need to, but be nice." "I'm proud of you."
​
| 2019-03-18T16:35:12 | 2019-03-18T16:19:17 | 406 | 87 |
[WP] "Captain! There's a light in the library window! The Nerds call for aid!" "The Nerds call for aid? The Jocks will answer the call!"
|
**The Siege**
“Brock has betrayed me. The football team has abandoned us.”
Sheldon, President of the Chess Club, gripped the windowsill of the library’s tallest tower. Legend had it that this historic high school campus, built in 1820 originally as a medical school, was once the sight of a great siege during the Civil War.
As he looked out at the legions of rabid middle schoolers, each one frothing at the mouth, their braces glinting in the torch light, their lunch boxes rattling like spears, his face trembled with rage.
Sheldon’s friends watched their leader, fear rising in their hearts.
“Flee,” Sheldon bellowed, turning to them. He rushed to the stairwell and screamed so that his breaking voice echoed throughout the library, “Abandon your posts! Flee, flee for your lives!”
*Whack.* A long thin blade flashed across Sheldon’s view. He doubled over. *Whack.* He went down.
Allister, the British exchange student and captain of the fencing squad, stood over him. He looked around at the nerds, cowering with their textbooks lowered, already plotting their escapes.
“Return to your posts!”
Outside, the middle schoolers advanced. They hurled themselves at the library doors. The nerds held back with everything they had, but so many were fleeing. Allister came racing past them, “Stand and fight! To the last nerd!”
As the doors rattled, the fleeing nerds turned and, inspired to stick it out, ran back to help.
“For two hundred years,” Allister said, drawing swords with the rest of the fencing team, “this library has not been taken. It will be a sad day, a desperate day, when it is. Books will be burned. Knowledge forsaken, on the day when this library falls.”
He looked around him. More nerds had gathered to hear the speech, momentarily pausing in their efforts to reinforce the windows.
“But that is not this day. This day we fight!”
The nerds let out a piercing battle cry. Allister pulled a short nerd aside. “I have a special job for you. All rests upon it, Clark. Take this message to Katie H. You know where to find her.”
Allister handed Clark the message. “Escape out the back. They won’t see you.”
The library’s front doors cracked open. The arms of the middle schoolers broke through, scraping and flailing like wild animals. “They’ll be focused on us.”
With that, Allister raised his sabre – “Charge!”
The nerds flung the library doors open. The melee commenced. The middle schoolers poured in, piling on top of each other, biting, screaming, punching, kicking.
Nerds from high above hurled text books down at them, sending them flying back. But there were too many. As Allister stabbed one here and sliced another there, he knew that it was only a matter of time.
All the nerds’ hopes now rested on one little Clark, who quietly slipped out a back door and made his way to the edge of campus. It was still dark, but dawn would soon break.
….
At the football stadium, Chet paced back and forth, occasionally looking over at the library. The warning light had been on for nearly an hour now. Since the last ten minutes, they could hear the battle. In the locker room, the captain and his advisors were still arguing.
“How can they do this? The nerds need our help now, not tomorrow.”
Kyle put a hand on Chet’s broad shoulders but he shrugged him off.
“This is a delicate situation, Chet. The middle schoolers, they—”
“They’re animals,” Chet said.
“Yeah. But they buy a lot of football tickets. We might lose a lot of good benefits and stuff if they stop coming to the games. Remember the old jerseys?”
Chet bit his lip in anger. “When the lacrosse team ambushed us, who came to our side?”
Kyle nodded.
“When half the team was on academic probation and we nearly forfeited the season, who let us cheat off of them?!”
Kyle stayed silent. He looked past Chet. Behind him, in the doorway of the locker room, was the captain of the football team, Brock. A senior, three times the size of the next biggest guy, who had been scouted by the NFL since he was twelve years old. He spoke in a deep voice.
“Then we better go lend em a hand,” Brock said. Chet spun round. Tears in his eyes. Brock tossed him a football helmet. “Suit up, boys.”
…
“Allister, look!”
The nerds were backed up to the second level of the library. Middle schoolers rampaged through the ground floor, destroying everything, trampling over wounded nerds. No mercy.
But when Allister looked out the window, he saw hope. The hordes of middle schoolers were turning to the side, moving to counter a new threat.
A booming voice shook the library and momentarily froze everyone.
“TEN-HUT.”
The middle schoolers began screaming in fear and fury.
“CHARGE!”
Outside, the football team barreled into the side of the middle school ranks, shattering them, cutting deep. “Brock answered the call,” Allister said, grabbing his friends. “We’re saved!”
But the joy was cut short. A horn sounded. And then another. Before long, an entire chorus of horns.
Car horns.
“No,” Allister said, racing back to the window. "No, no, no."
The middle schoolers bounced with glee and charged up the stairs. The nerds held them back by sacrificing entire shelves of nonfiction.
Outside, a hundred headlights turned on at the same time, lighting up the football team. Brock turned, taking off his helmet for better visibility.
“My god,” he said.
“The soccer moms,” Allister said, his heart dropping.
Brock grabbed his men and sprung into action. “Reform the line, reform the line.”
“TEN-HUT.”
“CHARGE!”
What was left of the football team charged the line of minivans. The soccer moms slammed down on their gas pedals. Allister could barely watch as the footballers crashed into the vans, flipping over them, rolling off the sides, tumbling under the tires.
Brock leapt on top of one and smashed through the windshield, grabbed the soccer mom and threw her out. Taking the wheel, he wrenched it to the side and crashed into the adjacent van.
But Allister could see that, as the sun was breaking over the horizon, the soccer moms were too strong.
“Retreat,” he said, “to the third level – quickly!”
They abandoned the staircase, fleeing up and slamming the doors shut behind them. The middle schoolers took nonfiction.
They poured into the library, feasting on everything, taking no prisoners. Allister wept for the nerds who were left in the heaps of bodies below.
As he huddled with his remaining men in a small office, the last refuge, the golden morning light broke through the tall window behind the desk. It was over.
Allister ripped a page from an old book and began to write his goodbye message to his parents. And that’s when they heard it. It wasn’t a voice. It wasn’t a car horn.
It was a neigh. A thousand neighs.
Allister rushed to the window. In the parking lot, stretching as far as the eye could see, were the horse girls.
Sitting in front of Katie on her majestic pony was Clark, in a new pair of riding boots.
“The horse girls! They came!”
Outside, Brock, his arm pinned down by a minivan, kicked a middle schooler up into the air. He saw the horse girls. A tear formed in his eye.
Katie reared up on her horse, “Deaaaaaath!”
The horse girls replied, in a deafening chorus of voices, “DEAAATH!”
“DEAAAATH!”
Allister and the nerds joined in. Brock and the footballers joined in.
“DEEEAATH!”
The horse girls began to ride. Slowly at first, they built in speed until they were galloping at full strength, directly at the middle schoolers and the soccer moms.
They tried to scatter, tried to pile into the vans, but it was hopeless.
The horse girls smashed them to pieces. Bones broke, cars exploded, middle schoolers cried and ran for their lives.
Allister strode out of the library, carrying a wounded nerd on his back. Clark embraced him.
“You did it,” Allister said.
“No,” said Clark, “We did it.”
He looked around him. Brock, Kyle, Chet, Katie, all were there, blood stained and muddy, exhausted. The golden dawn warmed their skin as victory warmed their hearts.
r/ididwritethismr \- On New Year's Day I started a subreddit to collect all of my prompt-inspired stories; if you liked this, check it out! I pinned my personal favorites to the top.
|
Helmets? Check
Gloves? Check.
Shoulder pads, knee pads, and chest armor? Check, check, and check.
The hocks are ready for battle.
Marching through the hall in a tightly knit formation, studded soles click clacking against the tile menacingly, qnnouncing their arrival.
A commotion ahead. A raised voice.
A note on the door, saying "On a break, will be back in 5 minutes!" An emoji at the end of the sentence. Gross.
The doors open with barely a creak. The element of surprise is still with us, brothers.
"Awl I'm-a sayin' is that theeeeese shtupid booksh don't mean... Turd. Shit. That one. Yous gotsta get outta here and shee what - hic - what the real world... Is. Was. And shtill isss, you know?"
Enemy located. Dressed poorly and smells of booze.
Allies located. Huddled in a corner, cowering in front of the man. One is holding the flashlight. One has wet his pants. The situation is truly dire.
The enemy begins to unzip his pants to urinate on the nearest bookshelf.
"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Captain says. The formation stands like a mighty phalanx, the group stands as one against a lonesome enemy. May he know fear.
"Ohhh yeeaah? Whats are yous gon' do about it, eh?" The enemy is unafraid.
Helmets tilt forward. Shadows obscure the eyes, which glint menacingly through the shade. Shoulders rise, spread out, like wings of giant birds, chests inflate, making the group almost inflate, but not with air, only pure, tense muscle. Ready to strike.
"I think you oughta leave, mister," Captain says, his voice acquiring a menacing growl.
The enemy shrinks in on himself. The realization if being outnumbered and outgunned piercing through his drunk stupor. "Y-yeah, I think I will..."
The enemy scurries towards the door, picking up speed with every step, until he practically stumbles through them, tripping over himself.
A silence so thick only an end of a confrontation may bring.
"Thanks," the nerd with the flashlight squeaks.
"Yah, later neeerrrds!" you respond in unison, going back to your practice.
((please forgive any spelling errors I might have missed, I'm on mobile))
| 2022-01-12T06:22:34 | 2022-01-12T04:44:10 | 1,304 | 187 |
[WP] A physically weak orc is banished from his clan. Hopping for a clean death, he makes his way to the local human town. Instead they take him in, and show him what it's like to live in a society where physical strength isn't the only quality that matters.
|
*Hop. Hop. Hop.*
The merchant's waiting out in front of the village gate just stared in abject befuddlement.
*Hop. Hop. Hop.*
And adventurer started to draw his sword. The two next to him stopped him.
"Don't bother," one of them muttered, shaking his head at the ridiculous scene.
*Hop. Hop. Hop.*
The guards at the gate readied their spears as the long orc came hopping down the road toward them. He wasn't hopping very fast, and it couldn't be considered a charge. It was probably the fact that the poor pathetic thing was shivering in fear with its eyes closed as it approached them that stayed their hand.
That being said, they were still guards and this was a community of humans . . . and one dwarf. They couldn't just let the creature invade the place, even if he was puny and pathetic looking.
"Stop beast, or I'll order my men to slay you."
"Go ahead," he shouted at the sky, nervously thrusting his chest out, even as he averted his face in anticipation of the thrusts. "Tig a puny orc. Me too weak to for tribe. Not even good enough be fodder in orcan army. Worse than roach crawling on ground. Kill me humans, or I'll . . . Or I'll invade your village and . . . I'll invade it. I will. Do you doubt me?"
"Uh . . . how about invading the a community of hobbits instead. Compared to them, you're probably intimidating. You can find a community of the furry feeted little bastards two leagues in that direction. Just look for a patch of low hills with weirdly round doors in the side of them."
"I aware of hobbits. Me try to kick old hobbits, but to pathetic, not young orc anymore. Too stubborn change my ways. Have be true to self. Me need die on human blade or not get not get let in orc heaven. Must die fighting strong enemy. So me come invade human tribe."
"Um, okay, but why are do you keep hopping?"
"Misspelling."
"What?"
"Nothing. It what Tig do. This taunt. You just kill or I hop all over human village. Squash chickens. Pulp flowers. Leave real mess. Take at least week to clean up. Kill me now?"
"I won't. Maybe talk to the dwarf. He's not humane as we humans are."
"Dwarf? That acceptable. Dwarves strong. It kill Tig. Tig get into orc heaven still. Get seventy-two mule-faced orc virgins."
"Female virgins?" The guard asked. Tig grew red in anger.
"Of course females. Why Tig wanna die for male virgins?"
"Not sure. Anyway, you can find the old dwarf behind the village. Just look for the big pit."
Tig just hopped off, not bothering to thank the puny humans for their help or mercy. After all, he was trying to get them to kill him. Why would he be nice to them.
It didn't take him long to find the large pit behind the village. It was massive and rather deep. It'd been carved right out of the rocky earth and even had a spiraling path leading down to the pit's bottom. In the bottom of the pit was the dwarf swinging a hewing hammer at a large stone. The stone was becoming squarer with each swing of the hammer.
Seeing this, Tig hurriedly hopped down the spiral roadway. Clearly the dwarf noticed, but like the guards at the gate of the village, instead of raising his hammer in anticipation of killing the beast, he chose instead to wait and discover why a puny-looking orc was hopping its way into his quarry.
Fortunately for him, he didn't have long to wait. Despite being puny for an orc, the creature was naturally heavy with a dense body and tough skin. Each hop along the spiraling path crushed the white rocks the dwarf was quarrying. This left pot holes behind, and that if nothing else was enough to raise the dwarf's ire. Still he waited for the creature to arrive.
"Dwarf, you kill me."
"I say something funny?" The dwarf asked curiously.
"No. Tig tell you kill me. Otherwise, I . . . Otherwise, I'll crush all your stones, make you have start over."
The dwarf glanced sideways over the large number of small boulders littering one side of the quarry floor then glanced over at the small mound of crushed chad across the quarry from them.
"You want me to kill you?" The sly dwarf asked.
"This Tig weak, puny orc. Have no worth. Tribe make fun of. No orc sow want mate with me. Only have one choice. Die and go orc heaven. Get seventy-two virgins if die in battle."
"Female?"
"Yes, female. Argh! Why you make Tig angry. Just kill so I get reward."
"Or you'll crush all my rocks?" The dwarf clarified.
"Yes. You kill now?"
"Honestly, I don't think a puny orc like you has the courage to crush my rocks. I dare you to crush my boulders. All of them mind you. I won't get angry unless you crush all of them."
"Then Tig will crush all of them. Then you kill me?"
"Deal. But you have to crush them all." The dwarf gave him a stern-eyed glare. However this just motivated the orc hurry over and begin. It took no time for the puny orc to crush all of the boulders into pebbles. Happy with the result, the dwarf clapped excitedly, but then immediately realized he was supposed to be angry over the crushing of the boulders.
"Ahhh! My boulders. I'm so angry," the dwarf pretended to rage, shoving to clenched fists in the air. "Luckily, you didn't pile them up over there where the other crushed stone is. If you had, I would have cut you down on the spot.
Hearing this, the orc hurriedly grabbed the dwarf's shovel and cart and began shoveling gravel and piling it up next to the other gravel. When he was done, he went back to hoping while sneering at the dwarf.
"Oh, I'm so angry. You're lucky though. I still have more boulders in the tunnel over there. As long as I have those, I can still manage. I'll let you off this once, but don't even think of dragging those boulders out here and crushing them too. If you do, you'll leave me with no choice. I'll have to crush your skull with my hewing hammer.
The orc excitedly hopped into the tunnel, grabbed a boulder, then hopped back out. It's dense head dislodging more large stones from the ceiling every time its hopping body collided with the ceiling. Despite the damage, the orc barely noticed. It just carried out rocks, crushed boulders, and piled the gravel up.
Because he was a orc, he didn't realize he was being duped till he noticed that the dwarf was lounging on a stone slab in the shade with a lunch pail in front of him and a tankard of ale in his hand.
"You tricked Tig."
"You tricked yerself, orc. What kind of imbecile goes around begging others to kill 'em so they can get seventy-two women that don't know what they're doin'? Naw, yer better off down here with me, breakin' rock and havin' a purpose."
"Tig wanna be strong warrior, someone enemy's fear."
"Why? Naw, that's not what you want. You just wanna feel strong. Dwarves are like that too. You think if an enemy fears you, then they respect yer strength. That's goblin shit. Enemies fearing you don't mean they respect your strength. It means they fear dying, and they think yer capable of killin' 'em.
"Better to be respected for being capable. What is a strong warrior but someone who's capable of killing. When you think about it, being strong and being capable kind of mean the same thing. A strong lover is someone capable of competently making love. A capable drinker is someone capable of drinking lots while keeping their wits longer than others.
"Today, you proved you're a capable of quarry worker, meaning you're a strong quarry master. Stay and work here with me. I'll pay you good coin, and give you a new nickname. Boulder Breaker Tig. How's that sound."
"Need go to orc heaven and get seventy-two virgins," Tig told him stubbornly.
"How about you stay, and I pay you gold and tell you where there is a brothel with two half orc whores?"
"Tig stay," the puny orc was quick cave, causing the dwarf to laugh.
"Me names Baldo Hornblower," the dwarf said, introducing himself.
"Tig Ger, Son of Big Ger and Snig Ger.
"Oh boy," the dwarf groaned even as he took out another tankard and filled it for the lad. With a surname like Hornblower though, the dwarf could sympathize. All things considered, the puny lad's name could have been a lot worse.
|
Torinn, a boy of seven years, heard a strange “hello?” coming from the forbidden hut in the village of Oak Destiny. Smaller than the other buildings, this one was made of only straw and mud, the entrance a small door about two feet high on the side that faced away from the road.
He turned around and looked to see if any of the other villagers were near. Seeing none, he did a complete 360 to make sure he really was alone. He heard “hello” again. This time the sound was unmistakable, coming from the direction of the hut.
His mother having told him that he was not allowed to go within even a few feet of the hut, he was hesitant to approach. Who knew what kind of evil lied therein? Yet, something stirring within his gut told him not to worry, his mother was wrong, he was safe here.
When he pulled open the door there was a small rabbit, about a foot long, with soft gray fur and white ears that stood in stark contrast to the hard green wrinkles etched into his face. Jet black eyes conveyed deep wisdom as they stared back at Torinn.
“Hello, friend,” the rabbit spoke without motion, the words emanating from somewhere indistinguishable.
“Wa… wait?” Torinn took a step back, fear rising like a volcanic eruption from his stomach to his Adam’s apple. “You can talk?”
“You betcha. Didn’t you know that I am an enchanted rabbit?”
“Is that why your face is messed up?”
“Partially. You see, an Orc cast a spell on me by accident, and I became part Orc.”
“Wow!”
“Yup, that’s how I became an enchanted rabbit. Now, what’s your name?”
“Torinn.”
“Hi, Torinn. I’m Helsiva, the Orcish Rabbit.”
“Nice to meet you Helsiva. How come I’ve never heard of you?”
“The village likes to keep me on the down low,” he whispered. “They think I’m evil witchcraft or something.”
“That’s horrible. When I tell my mom-“
“Save it, kid. Your mom thinks I’m the devil, just like all the other moms.”
“Oh. But you’re clearly not!”
“I know. I was just an ordinary rabbit, going about my business when that spell misfired and hit me. The moment the Orc shaman realized what they did, they tried to chase me down, but I managed to get away.”
“Awesome!”
“Well, not so much. When I got here the head Seer put me in this hut and told me only to come out after dusk to eat. Then I think he told everyone I was bad.“
"You’re not bad. Wait until I tell all my friends about you.”
To be continued…?
| 2022-09-03T17:33:02 | 2022-09-03T11:24:07 | 57 | 30 |
[WP]The Earth has a constant amount of magic split evenly between all humans, who are natural sorcerers. When the population was in the billions, magic had all but vanished. But now that the aliens have wiped out 99% of the population, they are finding the last of the resistance quite dangerous.
|
The most annoying part about the ships docked overhead was the sounds. Deep, echoing booms every twenty-five minutes. Will was tempted to throw a noise-cancelling spell up, but he knew something that powerful would give away his position. Somehow, in this fucked up arms race against aliens, they had been able to develop detectors against *magic*. Yes, magic.
He didn't believe it himself, at first. He was just a kid from Montana. Visiting family in New Jersey when the first ship arrived in Cairo. Twenty months later and suddenly he was here. Stuck in the middle of Long Island, desolate and abandoned, staring at the massive ship docked above New York. He loved the movie Independence Day as a kid, but now it just seemed like a cruel joke to him.
Will had a hard time sleeping, at first. After the world went quiet. He was used to the quiet. But he wasn't used to what it meant. He missed the ranch he grew up on. He missed endless expanse of grass and sky. Most of all, he missed his parents, his sister, his girlfriend. All but his father was back in Montana - at least, last he heard. All forms of communication had been down, and he was stranded out East after he got recruited by the Finals. He kind of felt like it was his duty, too. He owed it to his dad. If he completed his duty as one of the Finals, maybe he could go home. Find anyone who was left. Rebuild the pieces of his life.
The wind over Jamaica Bay was cold against his face. He buried himself even more in his jacket, staring at the black ship. A piece crumbled and fell off, plummeting to somewhere in Midtown below. They had been here too long. If the humans held out, they would win. They were so close, too. Will could taste it. He hated the city. He hated hiding out in daylight. He hated scrounging and conjuring food. He just wanted to see Susie's face again.
"Will." He heard Tiffany's voice below. Will muttered something and jumped off the three-story building he was perched on. A bit of wind danced around his ankles, carrying him to the ground. He landed next to Tiffany.
She was wrapped in her stained peacoat, a scarf covering her face. "It's time?"
She nodded. "Hopefully the last one for now."
New York was too cold for the aliens, it seemed. It was the same way last winter - on the coldest days, they retreated into their ship, like some weird hibernation. It gave the Finals time to plan, and time to set up an attack. Or maybe lure them out.
They met up with the rest of the group on the Queensboro bridge. There was Toro, incredibly proficient in stealth and invisibility; Marsha, the sensory mage; Mina, Carlos, and Dominic. And so many others, but Will knew those people the best. They ate with him, trained with him in Nassau, where the aliens' sensors couldn't find them. All powerful people. Each one of them got more powerful by the day, but no one wanted to say why. They all *knew* why. Sure, it wasn't happening here, in New York. But there were other ships elsewhere. All the big cities. Everywhere.
They walked across the bridge in silence. The ship *boomed* once more. Will's heart was in his throat.
"You cool?" Mina asked Will.
He took a deep breath. "I will be."
She placed a hand on his shoulder. "Your dad would be proud."
Will bit his lip and didn't respond. He almost said 'thanks', but his throat was too tight.
They entered Midtown. Tiffany, Mina, Marsha and Will went forward, down 59th street. The rest split up into two groups. They spread out - Carlos and Dominic to the south, the other group to the north. They walked in the street, past all the cars. Rats skittered under their feet. A few raccoons were scampering around. Will sensed a coyote nearby as well. The city had become overrun by nature, converging on all the food offered by humanity - both what was left over, and the bodies that weren't vaporized. Most of them had been picked clean. Will preferred not to look at them.
The ship loomed from 41st street all the way up to Central Park. When they reached 59th and 5th, the group of four climbed the side of the building. Another *boom*.
On top of the roof, the wind whipped at their hair mercilessly, playing through Will's short hair. Staring at the ship, Will felt a pang of disgust.
"Listen." Tiffany said over the howling wind. "Assuming we are successful. This is the first time we've infiltrated an alien ship. We have no idea what to expect. They will sense us immediately. We will do our best to take as many of those aliens out as possible. Destroy as much of the ship as we can. Remember the concealment spell. Rendezvous back at Alice's statue in Central Park by one." There was a lot that she left out. Mostly that there was a very high chance there would not be any of them to rendezvous at Alice's statue.
From the south, there was a massive *bang*. Then another from the north. Green fire erupted somewhere around 65th street. Fireballs were flying out towards the nose of the ship. Around 43rd, building started to rumble. Massive slabs of concrete were being thrown at the wings of the ship. Alarms started emanating from the ship, and aliens started to pour out - small and silver, scaly and strange. They were making their weird attack noises that made the hair on Will's neck stand up straight. Battle sounds started emanating from both the north and the south. Will's heart was pounding, but he felt determined. He thought about his father, and his mother, and his sister. His girlfriend, Susie. They could have had more time together. They were supposed to have more time together.
But not anymore.
Aliens descended onto them. They were shorter than humans, but were wider and stronger. What was worse, their blood was poisonous. They had faces like fish, with wide gaping eyes, and were surprisingly flammable. Will spoke a spell. He felt waves emanated off of him, giving everyone else energy. The four of them said a spell in tandem, and a column of flame flew out of their hands, filling the air with the smell of sulfur. Acrid smoke flew in their faces. Will had never killed so many of those aliens before. He still didn't feel better.
Marsha sent a string up to the ship, and the rest of the group stuck themselves onto her. She bent her knees and jumped, and suddenly they were flying away.
Will felt immediately nauseous. The city fell behind him as they rose up, and up, and up. Will's shoulders ached from gripping onto Marsha. He couldn't seem to steady his breathing.
Marsha screamed a spell, and the hull above their heads burst open.
-----
Thanks for reading! If you are interested I hope to have a subreddit of my stories up soon.
|
Killing 99.9% of germs may sound like a powerful thing, until you see the .1% of germs that are left over. Sure, the faint little pathetic germs have been slain, but now all that remain are the germs that spit in the face of fear. I am one of said germs.
I will admit, I cried a little when they arrived to the planet. I hid in my cozy little bunker for a few years - so what? While everyone else was out there fighting the invasion with their bare hands, I fought the smarter battle. After all, what were they supposed to do without any weapons? Idiots. What is even more embarrassing, is that they died to the stupid things. As soon as I got bored enough to leave my bunker and face my imminent death, I locked eyes with an alien, and within two seconds the thing freaking died. Instantly DEAD.
It's like a germ killing the handsanitizer.... or something.
| 2019-12-16T20:41:56 | 2019-12-16T20:01:16 | 26 | 10 |
[WP] Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact.
Nuclear Weapons don't actually exist. The WWII bombing of Japan was a cover up. You are to brief the president-elect on this fact. Good luck!
|
"**Bullshit!**"
"I assure you, Mr. President, I'm being entirely-"
"That's *bullshit*, Jack, and you know it! My father was posted at Los Alamos, for Chrissakes! My grandather could watch the mushroom clouds from his goddamn *porch*!"
I sighed. I knew this was going to be difficult.
"Okay, sir. *Okay*. There is such a thing as a device that causes a massive explosion when it operates-"
"*No *shit*, Jack-"
"-and it releases a metric *fuckton* of radiation when it goes off-"
"That a scientific term?"
"-but it *isn't a bomb*."
"...Run that by me again."
I had dreaded this day, ever since they told me I'd been tapped to head up the Nuclear Advisory Council at the last conference, and told me I'd be the one who had to brief the POTUS, as the new Quarterback. It's ridiculous, since the closest I've ever been to playing the game was fumbling a tray of nachos onto my wife in college. Our jobs are high-stress, low-reward, so, we make the cheap jokes when we can. I was in charge of "handing off the Nuclear Football", which makes me... *tadaa!*, the *quarterback*. *God*, our jokes are stupid.
It helped that I knew the president, at least. We both went to Yale, but for very different reasons. I went there, be cause I wanted to know what people there knew. He went there, because he wanted to know which people were *in the know*. But, I actually like him, I even donated to his first campaign, the one that went nowhere fast. I suppose that's his *gift*, to make people like him, despite everything. It's one I'd trade Riemannien Geometry for, any day of the week.
Still, I knew he'd have difficulty choking this one down.
"It isn't a bomb, Mr. President. Or, it *wasn't supposed to be* a bomb, but that's what we used it as."
"It's not a bomb. Okay. *What is it.*"
"Does the name "Otto Stern" ring any bells, Mr. President?"
"It should. Brilliant physicist, Polish jew. Came to America fleeing the Nazis."
I was impressed. "Do you remember if he worked on the Manhattan Project?"
The president furrowed his impressive, aquiline brow, and shook his head.
"And that doesn't strike you as odd? A brilliant physicist, a contemporary of Albert Einstein, who *wasn't* working on the atomic bomb? At the time, we were using *electricians*, if they could be counted on to read voltages the right way around. It was all hands on deck!"
The president was starting to get a glazed look to his eyes, I realized I'd better hurry.
"The point is, sir, we *did* use him, but we couldn't afford to mention it. Russia might hae worked out what we did, if we had. We *still can't*, actually, in case some half-literate elementary science teacher puts *two and two together*, and works out what we actually did."
"Why, Jack? What does it matter? Could *anyone* do it, then?"
"No, it's still expensive, and you still need the plutonium. They might get mad because of what we *nearly set*-" The president glanced at his handsome watch. He had a meeting with the Prme Minister of Malaysia in five minutes. "Alright, sir, *alright.* I'm getting to the point, I swear!"
"Do it *sharpish*, Jack." The President said in a warning tone.
"What Otto Stern did, sir, was introduce the world to the idea of *zero point energy*. The baseline entropic energy present *everywhere in the Universe*. It's like... the static on a television set. In fact, a small part of the static on your television *is* that energy, sir. It's everywhere! The problem is, it isn't *concentrated* enough to do anything with."
"So?"
"So we were facing a wartime *energy shortage*. We were running out of gas. We needed electricity. So Otto did a litte experiment. He'd figured that the baseline energy potential here was too low, but there might be... *other places* where it wasn't."
"...What sort of... 'other places.' "
I grimaced. This was going to be the hard bit. "Higher-order dimensions, sir."
"*Higher order * **what?!**"
"The math was sound, sir, even if the science was shaky. He'd figured out that with enough of a push, you could make part of space... *jump* a couple dimensions. Like crinkling a piece of paper, or bunching up a string. If you were really clever about it, you could even do that using the force vectors that you'd have access to, as *part of the paper*, and-"
"-Bottom line it for me, Jack."
"...The blast comes from that higher dmension's zero point energy. It's baseline level is just *that much higher* than ours. In that *impossibly small* amount of time that our space protrudes into theirs, it pours in like a goddamn *deluge*, sir. Just like an act of God."
"...So, why do I care, Jack?"
"Actually, it's *John*, sir. And you care, because we found out that there are... *things that live there.*Horrible, *utterly insane* things. Their dimension is a *madhouse*, sir, an oppressive sweatbox of furious incandescence and physics *gone mad*. The entirety of it is coiled back into, and *on top of* itself, in a shape that we can't even *begin to picture.* To them, our world would be like a breath of fresh air and a good stretch after a *ten-thousand-year-long ride in Coach!* And we stopped testing the damn 'nukes', because... the last time we did, one of them almost *got through.*"
The president had gone pallid, his carefully-maintained 'healthy-glow' abandoning him for the moment.
He placed his hand on it, the *Nuclear Football*.
"So..." he said, his voice a bit less confident, "What's this thing for?"
I rubbed my eyes, and pointed at it. I kept them closed. I didn't want to even *look* at the horrible thing. I hated even being in the same building as it.
"Well, until a few decades ago, it did what it said on the tin. Now, it's a... it's a global *cyanide pill*."
His eyes widened, and he shot it a confused stare.
I was wrong before. *This*, this was the hard part.
"If we set off another bomb, one of those... horrors will get through. They're waiting for it, now, for just the slightest *peek* in. And one of them will squeeze through. It'll be a walking **holocaust**. It'll *poison the whole world*, just by existing. And killing it will do *nothing* to stop it's corpse simmering the world to death in a gamma-ray slow-cooker. The world's a big place. It won't happen quickly. The football is to be used to release truly massive amounts of instant-kill nerve gas into the atmosphere from hidden facilities around the world. You're entrusted with... with *putting us out of our misery.*"
The president swallowed, looked at the evil metal box, and looked back at me. "Jac-*John*, that, that's... that's... How could you expect *anyone* to-"
I stood up, leaving the gleaming ovoid next to him. "I'm *sorry*, sir. I have to go, or I'll make you late for your next meeting."
THE END
EDIT:
Hi! Hope you liked this. I've got this [subreddit over here](http://www.reddit.com/r/IWasSurprisedToo/) with other stuff like this, but a cool customer like you? You probably already knew that.
|
The president shifted uncomfortably and stared out the office window for a time. I always hated briefing the new guys. At least I wasn’t in charge of making sure they didn’t squeal. Before I slipped too far off into thought, I heard a grunt - he was facing the table again, getting ready to speak.
The same words as always, slowly: “So there... are no nuclear weapons? ...of any kind?” I sighed. They really did always ask that question, or some variation of it.
“No,” I said, “there are none. They don’t exist, period.” I have to say I did almost feel especially bad for this one. A huge part of his platform was on nuclear disarmament, so. You understand.
He took another pause and stared at the table.
“But what about all the... the foreign threats? North Korea, Russia? If they don’t exist-”
I interrupted him. “It’s a play. The Russians were in on it. The Koreans are just awfully antsy.”
He let out a long sigh, lowering his head in defeat. As he raised it up again, I already knew what his next question would be.
“They didn’t exist then, either. You were going to ask about World War II, yeah? Little Boy and Fat Man.” I saw his face tense up a bit. I was probably riding him a little hard, but I had more important business to attend to.
“We do have nuclear power. We had it then, too - well - we were working on it. It was all covered up, naturally.”
Next, of course, the confusion.
“But weren’t we at war with Japan? How could we cover it up?”
I just chuckled. These conversations followed the same pattern time after time. As I looked down at my watch (and realized I was late) I got up from my seat, smiling.
“Boy, do you have a *lot* to learn.”
| 2015-03-18T18:49:21 | 2015-03-18T18:29:26 | 915 | 117 |
[WP] You have the most useless superpower in a world full of awesome superpowers. You are a laughinstock, that is until you start using your power for evil... no one is laughing now.
|
I couldn't believe it. I had so much hope for the big day at the Academy - all my friends were talking about it during the morning of Announcement Day. It was chaos, and everyone was laughing and talking over each other. I remember Peter, who was 6'0 at the age of 14, was bragging about how he'd end up with super strength. Or Anna, the overachiever, celebrating that she'd get super speed and would be the fastest in the entire Academy like she already had it.
I didn't really care, because I was too fixated about the opening of the new VR Arcade a few miles away from the Academy. I've been to the site a few times now, but each time I had to find it manually because my floater didn't have the coordinates for construction sites.
I imagined what the new 10,000sq ft VR arcade was going to look like. Maybe I'd be able to play the new Metal Gear Solid game - where Solid Snake and Raiden have been ressurected into one badass space cowboy. Then I'd be able to slice enemies with my right hand while sniping targets with the left while in zero gravity. I was beginning to get more and more excited until I felt a light shove on my back.
Sean, my best friend since Kinderacademy, excitedly yelled at me to get up. It turned out that I had spaced out, and everyone was out of their seats already lined up. I sheepishly complied and followed him to the line.
In the weeks leading up to A-day, all we did was get tested. We went through standarized testing, physical testing, and the overly instrusive Sense Test where they'd check if our hearing, vision or speech had any irregularities. My tests came back normal and I thought that it was such a waste of time. Oh well, passing the tests was just another way occupy myself until the arcade opens next month.
The line was full of antsy Academy students, where everyone lined up to receive the Academy Holopad, which had our results and also signaled our graduation. Sean couldn't stop talking about his results, but I wasn't responding so he turned to Peter, who was talking to Anna about his. The clock struck 12:00 and a solemn ding echoed through the halls. Everything went silent. The proctor verified our identities by scanning our retinas, fingerprints and brainwaves with her handheld detector. She repeated this step for each student then handed them their results - Peter got his, then Anna, Sean, and then I did.
We ran into the Great Hall, found our seats and checked our results, where our parents were waiting. And by "we" I actually meant everyone else rushed but me, because well, who cares.
I plopped down on my seat, ran my fingers down the smooth, displayless bar. I felt some grooves on my finger and then the holopad jumped to life. John Hargraves, it read it big block letters, and listed my measurements and test results. I scrolled to the bottom because I'd seen them so many times, until I reached the end. What I saw paralyzed me.
But that was 10 years ago, and my daydream was interrupted by a noise that almost ruptured my ear drums.
A shot exploded right over my head, and the ceiling was pouring towards me. Before I could react, I felt a light breeze up and the softness of nanofiber against my face. It was Anna, who was now leader of our Combat Squad. She saw the blast, and sped over to help. Her super speed turned her into a blonde colored blur, and she scooped me up in her arms. Before I could say anything, she dropped me by Sean, who was taking out enemies behind cover with his telepathical shock. "FOCUS!" Sean yelled at me, as more explosions rocked overhead.
Meanwhile, Peter was in his Academy Armor suit, taking on not one, but three Patriachs at once. He had no problems taking on the generals of the humanoid race that was trying to eradicate us.
Anna rushed towards a pile of rubble and as she was about to collide with a slab of concrete, she stopped. The force caused the rubble to fly across the room, which Peter caught in mid air and slammed it on the aliens, while Sean took out the smaller Parasitiraptors who were going for Peter.
The three Patriarchs were down and we'd reached a series of blast doors. I opened up my scratched holopad up - after this door was the human who had created the entire alien army by genetical splicing. I yelled in our intercom, "THAT'S IT" and pointed at the doors.
Peter stepped back, activated his energy shield on his right arm, and tackled the doors. And just like that, we were in.
Anna signaled she was going to sweep the room on our intercom, and in a moment she was gone. But all of a sudden, a thick, dark cloud appeared and caught Anna by the neck. It was him. The man who our Combat Squad had been trained to hunt since that day at the Academy. And he had Anna by the neck.
"STAND DOWN, OR I WILL CRUSH HER" he boomed. Peter readied his horn projectile and Sean prepared a mind nuke. But Anna signaled for us to stop, because we all knew that she would die too.
There was a moment of silence, and Anna was about to be taken away. I then started thinking about where we had messed up today. Our gear was functioning, our intel was accurate, and I remember going over everything twice during lunch.
And then it hit me. I sat up, crouched in a ready position, and I set my sights on the dark figure holding Anna. And then, I lost all control.
But I did it. I teleported my fart in the dark figure's airway. After having 4 processed, micro-rayed burritos that had been sitting there for weeks, my fart was toxic. The figure dropped Anna and threw up immediately. Sean mindnuked the figure flat onto the ground, where he lay in his own vomit, and Peter sent the projectile through his spine.
It was over, the mission was complete. The only team to ever complete a five star mission unhurt,.
On the way back to the Barracks in the team floater, my memory went back to right where it left off as I was daydreaming during the mission.
I was an apathetic 14 year old again, and as I reached the end of my results on the holopad, FART CONTROL was displayed in big block letters. And that was that. After all these years of feeling depressed about my power, I finally found a use for it in combat, and it was on our biggest mission yet.
I reclined back in my seat, and nobody said a word. Because I teleported a microfart into their faces, just to remind them of all the times they laughed at me. I was never going to be the butt of their jokes again.
|
They didn't respect me. Never did. They laughed as I pointed, laughing that my power was useless, that no one would ever respect me.
But, over the years, I've realized something. I've realized that without this thing, Laser Beam Man won't have the strength to fight crime. Super Strength Woman won't even be able to lift a fly. And... and even the famed Batman Copycat won't be keeping his city safe. No. That all ends today.
I pointed to the roll of toilet paper, and it disappeared.
They won't be laughing at Points at Toilet Paper and Makes It Disappear Man any more.
Not until I've gotten my load off.
| 2015-04-12T21:14:34 | 2015-04-12T17:51:32 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] Someone is trying to complete the captcha on a website, but just can't seem to complete it. Slowly he starts to realize that he's a robot.
|
There were three of us in the room. Dr Lydia Tanner and myself were the ones with the labcoats, waiting patiently for our subject to speak again. Kyle Burns sat opposite us, face partially hidden by the LED screen he was studying. He had come in confident, friendly, assured, but that was a whole hour ago. Now, with his elbows on the table, his head in his hands, he was a shadow of himself.
“I… I can’t solve it,” he said, as he stabbed listlessly at the keyboard. We heard the cheerful *ding* emit again from hidden speakers, a dull knife which had flayed our patience to shreds. “I just can’t do it.”
“Please, try again,” said Dr Tanner. “If you would just close the tab, then click again on the-”
“I can’t! I just can’t! Stop, please, just stop making me do this!”
Neither of us moved to pick the mouse up from the floor. Kyle had flung the contraption so hard that I saw the plastic crack along its side, exposing gleaming circuits within. An exterior, shattered by forces too strong to withstand, revealing the hidden truths within.
“There is no need to be agitated, Kyle,” Dr Tanner said. “You are probably just tired, and maybe, maybe if you took a break, you would be able to solve the CAPTCHA this time.”
“No, I cannot. I… I must face the truth…”
“Don’t overreact, Kyle.”
“But I am not overreacting! I know what you are doing! You know, don’t you!” Kyle said, as he slumped back into his chair. The despair exuded from every pore. “I can’t solve the CAPTCHA because… because I’m not human. I’m a… a robot. An android. Yes. That is what I am. That is why… why I just cannot… solve the damn thing.”
“But you have feelings, do you not? And thoughts and emotions and memories and everything else which makes us human?”
“I… I do,” Kyle said. “Of course I have feelings. I woke up this morning at peace. My work here at Isilington Laboratories is going well, I have vacation days to clear, and I was just praised by *you* the other day for finishing my work on time. I was hopeful I would get off work early, perhaps catch the game…”
“And what about memories?”
“I have those too. I recall… I recall as much as any human would. My childhood, my parents, my first love… her name was Susanna, I remember that too. How close we came to tying the knot! Then the job offer here, the move out of state, the letters which came less and less frequently…”
“So,” Dr Tanner said. “Why do you think you cannot solve the CAPTCHA?”
Kyle looked up, and honest-to-goodness tears were falling down his cheeks. The tear ducts were the hardest to construct, and a hell of a thing to synchronize, but the effect was life-like.
“I… because of what I said, during one of our brainstorming sessions,” he said. “I said that before we activated the androids, we had to build in fail-safes... we are questing to build the perfect AI, but until we have all the kinks sorted out, to ensure AI never turn on us… we have to make sure we can tell them apart. CAPTCHAs… that was my idea…”
Kyle sighed, then stood up, stretched as hard and long as he could. For a moment he seemed as if he would strike, and Dr Tanner almost dropped her tablet in her haste to create distance between them. But I hardly stirred. I knew the deactivation codes, after all. I wouldn’t have come to any harm.
“That’s probably me outside those glass windows, right? Just looking in, wondering how the android is doing, whether the implanted memories are taking hold…”
“Thank you, Kyle, that is enough. Please sit down.”
“… and he’s just amused, isn’t he? Finding it funny that an android can get so agitated, so moved?” A cruel sneer wrinkled Kyle’s face, and I saw him bunch his fists. “After all, he’s safe, isn’t he? Nothing can hurt him with those barriers in between, right? Well, I’d like to see him come in. I’d want him to face me, and tell me it’s all going to be alright. I want to see his eyes *when he lies*! I want to hit him, and I want to-”
“Kyle Burns!” Dr Tanner said, the alarm in her voice evident. “I want you to calm down! Just… calm down!”
“No I *won’t* calm down, you bitch!”
Kyle lunged at Dr Tanner then, but her finger was already on her tablet, activating the manual shut-down. I heard the gears hiss as his legs locked up, but the momentum was still enough to carry Kyle across the table. He slid off smoothly, then crumpled into a pile on the floor, where he thrashed and twisted until the exhaustion took him.
“Please, Lydia,” he said. “Don’t shut me down. Please. I am alive. I taste the fear. It is a tang in my mouth, it is acid running down my throat. I am scared, Lydia. I want to go home, I want to see my mother again. I don’t care if she never gave birth to me, but… I love her, do you know that? I just want… mother…”
Dr Tanner turned to arch an eyebrow at me, and I merely nodded. A few furious swipes at her tablet, and Kyle Burns, or Android X22, came to rest for the final time.
She sat back down, and I gave her a couple of minutes to catch her breath.
“How do you feel about that, Lydia?” I asked.
“I’m fine,” she said.
“This is the first model we’ve had which could replicate all the memories so well,” I said. “That whole speech at the end… what do you think about that?”
“Think? I think nothing of it. He was a robot, an android, with implanted memories.”
“Yes, but consider this. In that moment, when he truly lived through Kyle’s memories, what distinction was there between the man and the machine? Could he not be said to have been, for the smallest fraction of a second, something approaching man? Were his hopes and fears not real, to him at least?”
“I feel nothing,” Dr Tanner said. “He was a machine, and will always remain a machine.”
“And what if he had really been human?” I asked. “Would that have made a difference? If the entity there begging for its life was made of flesh and blood, instead of steel and plastic?”
“Difference? Now that you say that… no, I don’t think I see any difference.”
“Really? Nothing?” I asked.
“Nothing,” she said, as she shrugged. “After all, if you consider-”
“Initiate Code Pelican Toucan Wallaby,” I said.
Dr Tanner had barely hit the floor before the doors slid open. The spitting likenesses of Dr Tanner and Kyle walked in, and the disappointment hung between the three of us like cobwebs in a ceiling arch – visible, formidable, but ultimately un-dismissible.
“Not quite there yet, are we?” asked Kyle.
“No, not yet.”
“Think we’ll ever be able to overcome that last bit?” asked Dr Tanner. “You know that until we overcome that last hurdle, there’s no way we’re going to bring our products to market.”
“We perfected the memories, the ability to learn, even taught them how to appreciate sarcasm,” said Kyle. “And even then… to the very end…”
I smiled, then herded them out of the laboratory. Another long day of testing lay ahead.
Who knew it would be so difficult to program for empathy?
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Please complete this Captcha to prove you're not a robot."
He sighed. This again. Minimising the page, he accessed the program he used to crack it.
This was happening far too often now.
He couldn't believe that his Google search had yielded no results when he complained about how difficult it was to prove you weren't a robot.
What was the point, for goodness sake? What motive would a robot have for accessing random pages? It wasn't like they had emotions or curiosity. It wasn't like they *wanted* to watch videos of cats wearing top hats.
It was bizzare that he was the only one who found it so difficult to decrypt. Maybe he was slower than he thought? It was a godsend when he found the app that did it for him.
Wait, what? Unbelievable.
"An illegal app has been recognised. Away with you Robot! If you aren't a robot, please try refreshing the page and trying again. This was an automated response. I am a robot. Time to do robot things. Beep beep boop."
He refreshed. The message appeared again. This. was. too. frustrating. A thought dawned upon him. No. It couldn't be.
Terrified, he googled "how to tell if you're a robot."
The first result was exactly what he was looking for. "Worried you don't exist? One easy way to find out."
He clicked on it. "Please complete this Captcha to prove you're not a robot," the screen read.
Fuck.
| 2017-12-06T05:53:53 | 2017-12-06T05:45:09 | 1,553 | 46 |
[WP] It's 3 AM. An official phone alert wakes you up. It says "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON". You have hundreds of notifications. Hundreds of random numbers are sending "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
|
"It wasn't my phone that woke me up, but my wife. She's always been a lighter sleeper than me, and even though I had it on silent, the constant stream of notification vibrations was making the phone shuck and jive all over my nightstand.
"Honey. Hoooooooney. HONEY!" I came awake to a rough shake accompanying the words. "Yeahwah?" I managed, blearily.
"Your phone. Somebody is blowing you up."
"Must be my other girlfriend." An old joke, wildly inappropriate considering what was to follow. "Mmhhmm." She mumbled, already well on her way back to sleep. I checked the bedside clock; the red LED showing 3 am on the nose. Weird. I leaned awkwardly, half awake, and grabbed my phone, and had to do a doubletake when I saw the notifications. 186 texts, 93 missed calls, and one emergency notification. What. The Actual. Fuck? I thought, ok, this is a dream, must be a dream. I don't even know 186 people. Ok. Must be a natural disaster on the way. Or did Kim Jong Un launch nukes at the west coast? Shit.
With slightly shaking hands, I thumbed the official notification, expecting the worst. I held my breath.
"DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
Wait, what? The feeling of surreal vertigo intensified. The logical part of my brain was continuing to insist that this was, this MUST, be a dream, must be a dream, must be...
"Shut up, shut up." I whispered to myself, climbing out of bed. I was awake now, fully, rigidly awake, and so I decided to take my phone to the living room to investigate further. Plopping down on the couch, I started scrolling through texts. "Curiouser and curiouser," I mumbled to myself, looking at the texts. None of them from numbers I recognized. Some of them...not even from phone numbers. Entries from numbers with only 8 digits, or 6, or 2. Entries with letters and numbers mixed together. Entries with letters and numbers and Chinese characters mixed in. Emojis and symbols mixed in. My disquiet was growing steadily. I clicked the first message.
"Wow, look at the moon! It's so big and beautiful. Amazing, isn't it"
So, ok, my brain responded. Not a dream. A practical joke. Someone is messing with me. With my phone. I wonder if my wife is in on this. I clicked the next text.
"It's such a beautiful night tonight. Just look! The moon looks amazing. It's so big!"
"Look at the moon! Wow, it looks so cool! Look honey!"
Something about the "honey" sent a chill up my spine. My wife, shaking me awake, popped back into my mind, unbidden.
"Look at that moon out over the water honey!" It looks so huge so close to the horizon. Why does it do that?"
"It's such a beautiful night honey, look! Wow, the moon looks awesome!"
And as I was reading these, I realized, I could hear a voice speaking the words. Quietly, like they were coming from very far away, repeating, looping over each other, blurring speeding up, slowing down, warping.
Look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, go outside, look at the moon, it's a beautiful night, go look at the moon."
Mustering all the calm I could, I set my phone, face down, on the couch. Some still logical functionality commanded me to turn on the TV. Turn on the news. Yes. Normalcy. Emergency broadcast system. Yes. That's a good idea. I turned it on. It's 3 am, surely more than a minute has passed but it says 3 am, right there in the corner of the screen, 3:00AM PDT, and even though it's the middle of the night, there's Anderson Cooper, and he's staring at me, I swear he's looking right at me, and suddenly turning on the news seems like it was a really bad idea.
"West coast residents are being warned tonight not to look at the moon. Authorities are warning that looking at the moon might destroy your life and could unravel the very fabric of reality. Ben, DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
I pressed the power button again on the remote and the TV shut off. Heart trying to thud its way out of my chest, I stood, and walked back towards my bedroom. Somehow, I knew before I opened the door that my wife would be awake, and she was. She was sitting up, her face lit by her phone screen.
"I shouldn't have told you to look at the moon, honey. I'm sorry."
"Wait, what? Are you?...Are you in on this too? What is going on!"
She looked down, and started crying. "I'm sorry, honey. I'm so so sorry."
I rushed over and sat down hard on the bed, right in front of her. "Sorry for what!" I demanded, panic seizing control of me as I grabbed her shoulders. "Sorry for WHAT! What THE FUCK is going on!!?? Sorry for what??!!"
She stopped crying, and smiled. Her eyes were far away, glazed, almost robotic. "Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
I let go of her shoulders, and stood up. I walked calmly, out of the room, out through the living room to the hall to the back door. I threw it open, feeling like my arms and legs were moving on their own. Like I was merely a passenger. I could feel my pulse in my ears. I stepped out, into my backyard. I tilted my head to the sky, and I looked at the moon.
And then I remembered. God help me, I remembered. Driving along, southbound on coast highway, coming home from a long night. She was tired, dried sweat had warped her perfect hairdo, but she still looked radiant. Face lit by the dash lights, and of course, by the moon. She had sung her heart out tonight, and the crowd had eaten it up. She was a bright shining star, tonight. Hanging out there, seeming mere inches from the horizon, the big, swollen, full face of the moon. Just about to set.
"Oh WOW!" she said "Wow, honey, it's such a beautiful night tonight! Just look at the moon!"
And I did. I took my eyes off the road, and I did. She was right, of course. It was beautiful."
I sighed.
"And then I heard an awful sound, like a loud pop, and we were upside down, flying, weightless, like somehow we had been pulled by the moon into space. The car was full of weird things floating through the air, coins, a pen cap, her mic had even floated in from the back into the front. I had one last look at her face. It was still transitioning from the marvel at the beauty of the moon to the shock of the crash. I tried to reach out my hand, but I seemed to be moving through jello. The moon filled the windshield, seemed to get even bigger, brighter, turned the sky white, turned the whole world white."
I wept a little then. Not as much as I would, later, but a little.
"You know the rest," I said when I had regained my composure. "I came out of the coma. I woke up here."
The officer stared at me, and I could tell she was struggling to keep her face impassive. She felt bad for me, but she didn't want to.
"I'm sorry for your loss." she said, looking down at her notepad. She hadn't taken down a single word of it. "Can you tell me how much you'd had to drink that night?"
I sighed again. Could I? No, not really. Quite a few. Too fucking many.
"No," I answered. "No, I don't think I can."
She nodded. "You're going to need a lawyer. When you're ready to get out of here, I mean."
I looked down at my broken body. Just a mess of wires and tubes and casts. "Yeah," was all I could muster.
She stood, and walked toward the door of my hospital room. She put her hand on the door, and without turning, she asked, "do you think if you'd obeyed the warning, you'd still be in the coma?"
"Yes," I said, quietly. "Yes, I do."
|
I wake to my phone buzzing on the night stand. I look at the clock next to it. The green numbers shine brightly: 3:14 AM.
'What the hell?' I think to myself. 'Why is anyone texting me at 3 in the morning?'
Before I can take a look, it starts buzzing again. And again. It won't stop. I grab the phone and mute it quickly but the notifications continue to pop up silently. "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." They're texts coming from my mother, my friends, my siblings, even some numbers I don't recognize.
An unfamiliar alarm blares on my phone. A new notification pops up on my phone, titled US Government Emergency Alert. It reads "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON."
'This is weird,' I think to myself, 'What the hell could be wrong with the moon?'
I walk to my window. I carefully open the curtains halfway so the moon is still covered. The sight is incredible.
Almost all of my neighbors are standing outside, phone in hand. They're staring upward in the direction of the moon. They're walking around talking to each other, pointing to the sky.
'I gotta see what the hell is going on.'
I walk outside and jog over next door, carefully keeping my eyes lowered. My neighbour is standing by his door. I'm about to call out to him when he interrupts me.
"Hey! Have you seen the moon tonight?" he asks.
"Listen man, something weird is going on. It's 3 in the morning, why are you outside right now? Why is half the neighbourhood outside?" I reply.
"You haven't looked yet, have you?" he laughs.
"Did you just ignore everything I said? Why are you outside? What's wrong with the moon?"
Without warning, my neighbor rushes up to me and places a hand on each side of my head. He violently turns my head toward the sky. "Just look!"
Oh. OH. I get it now. This is... incredible. It's impossible. There's no way this can be happening. It's... I don't even know. I have to tell someone about this.
I take out my phone and draft a message, addressed to everyone on my contact list. I slowly tap in the words "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside."
| 2022-08-07T14:35:00 | 2022-08-07T14:17:42 | 23,079 | 712 |
[WP] In a world where having multiple personalities is the norm, the protagonist has been diagnosed with Single Personality Disorder.
|
"I'm sorry, it's just that..."
"It's Sean. I know. Sean doesn't like me. Why can't you just like me?"
"It doesn't work like that." Michael sighed, picking at his spaghetti.
"No, it does work like that. You don't like me, and you're using him as an excuse to break up with me. Isn't that it?" I said, chest heaving.
His eyes narrowed, and he put down his fork. "Look, I know you think you don't have other personalities, but I'd really appreciate it if you would drop the act for once and bring out someone more reasonable."
I shot to my feet. "I'm leaving. Don't call me." Tossing my coat over my shoulder, I stormed out of the restaurant.
The street was cold, but it didn't take long to call a warm cab. On the drive home, fat raindrops began thudding against the car roof, punctuating my dour thoughts. The cabby slurped steaming coffee from a styrofoam mug. I eyed him. More than one person was in this body I stared at. Something in my own mind rejected the thought, but statistically I knew it had to be true. It was quiet in the cab, but for all I knew, it could be noisy in there.
My gaze returned to the window. Noisy. Noisy seemed better than silence at the moment.
Silence had been the norm my whole life. As a child, although I never left the house, I was always being accused of wrongdoing and being punished. My parents treated me like a beast they had been tasked with keeping. I often had to lie and beg to escape their wrath. Years later in therapy, when the doctors had come to their final diagnosis of SPD (or AID, associative identity disorder as it had recently been reclassified) it had been explained to me that my many personalities had been forced into one identity as a way to cope with the trauma of abuse. I took this information willingly, but I didn't take it to heart. I never told the doctors what I truly thought.
Secretly, I think I've always been like this.
No one would ever believe that, of course.
The cab reached my apartment, cutting off my train of thought. I hurried to the doors through the rain and strode up the three flights of stairs to my apartment. I was stopped at the door by a neighbor. It was a sweet old system wearing a wool sweater and hair curlers.
"Hello, uh..." I examined her posture, facial expression, and wardrobe. "Irma, right?"
The old woman's smile grew. "That's right! And you are... Oh, my old eyes aren't as good as they used to be. Who are you, dear?"
"Georgia." I replied.
"Georgia again?" The woman looked concerned and tsked. "You need to give the others some fresh air, too! You can't be burning the candle at both ends at your age. Isn't it exhausting being out all the time like that?"
"It's just me, Irma." I said, smiling.
"If anyone in that pretty little head of yours hears you talking like that, they are going to be so miffed with you." Irma said. She turned to leave, then jumped and turned back around. "Oh, that's right. I could've sworn I told one of you I would be collecting for a charity later. Just thought I'd throw that out there if they haven't told you yet." With that, she went back into her apartment and clicked the door shut.
I sighed deeply and pulled open the door of my own apartment, flipping on the light switch. Alone, I thought back to Michael, and to our disastrous date. It wouldn't have worked between us. His teasing over my singular nature, cute at first, had evolved over time into a blatantly sick fascination. By the sound of it, he'd never believed me. He thought I was... crazy.
The word burned my eyes. Tears tried to break through, but I fought them back. I dropped my coat onto the back of a kitchen chair and kicked my shoes into the hall. At last I tossed myself onto the couch and picked up the television remote. Before I could turn the television on, a memory came back to me of a time that Michael had visited me. He'd been looking wildly for something, flipping couch cushions, tilting chairs, even throwing a stack of books to the floor. At the crash, I'd been startled and shouted at him.
"What are you looking for?!" I'd shouted.
"Fucking cell phone." He'd breathed, upturning the coffee table. "My interviewer is going to be calling any minute."
I'd looked down at my own hand, then held it up to show him. "You handed it to me fifteen minutes ago so you wouldn't lose it. Do you not remember that?"
He stared at me blankly. "Oh." He said. He walked over to me and took the phone, rubbing his forehead. "Yeah, my head's a little sore. Must have been Kevin."
"Does this happen a lot?" I asked.
He shook his head. "Mostly only when I'm anxious. Kevin thinks he knows better than me, but he's kind of a douche. If you think Kevin's out, you can't make out with him, okay?" He said, pointing to me.
"It'll be your mouth, though!" I laughed. Michael didn't respond.
I looked around my small apartment. I lost things, but not like Michael used to. My shoes that I'd kicked into the hall would still be there in the morning, and my coat would still be hanging from the chair back. If I played my cards right, the TV remote would be sitting on the coffee table when I next went looking for it. I knew with confidence that no one would be moving my things when I wasn't looking.
I watched television for a few hours. The crappy soap opera that I liked had just begun a new arc. The doctor's wife was cheating on him with his closest headmate, and the wife's protector, who was secretly in love with the doctor's headmate, was now trying to sabotage the relationship. Inter-system conflicts are common for these low budget shows, but for some reason I just eat them up.
After I had my fill of television, I went to my room and slid into bed. This was a mistake. All at once I was completely alone with my thoughts, and I was completely unprepared for them. I was filled with stress and doubt about every aspect of my life so far. My love life. My parents. My past. And worst of all, myself, and my big... crazy... useless brain.
"Why just me?" I groaned. "Why was I born so weird?"
I lied in silence, listening to my own heartbeat.
After a while I remembered a habit I had in middle school, half in reminiscence, half with a bad taste in my mouth. At the time I'd only just begun realizing exactly what it meant to be a singleton in a world full of multiples, and I had fought desperately against it, not realizing there was nothing I could do to change my nature. At the time, I thought that maybe I did have headmates and they were only hiding. I thought maybe, if I called them just right, they'd come rushing to me as if they'd been looking for me their whole lives... like I had been.
I closed my eyes and cleared my head of thoughts. In my mind's eye, an empty black world spread out before me.
I outstretched my arms, and called.
"Is there anyone out there?"
I waited, but no voices echoed back from the void.
|
When I was seven I found out I was different from my friends. I was at a sleepover and I had only brought one sleeping bag. My friends had all brought two. "Sarah, why did you bring two?" I asked. "One is for Anna. One is for me." I didn't know any Annas, so I just kept quiet and tried to sleep.
On my seventeenth birthday, my boyfriend and I were going to have sex. When he asked me, "Will you tell the others to leave the room?" I didn't know what to say. "Do you... do you not have any splits?" I was confused, but he explained that he (and everyone he knew) had three or more people living in his brain and that they would all take turns living as him. I quickly put on my shirt and left, terrified by this realization.
Now, in my late thirties, I've come to accept my uniqueness. I was part of a study program to determine why I was single-minded, as they called it, but it didn't help and I carried on with my life. It hasn't been the best experience, but at least we can say that we have each other.
| 2015-06-07T19:30:36 | 2015-06-07T17:40:48 | 85 | 12 |
[WP] You are the dark lord in a fantasy world however you rule a fair and just kingdom you just like to look evil while doing it.
|
The door crashed opened as the frame around it disintegrated into kindling. The fur-clad boot that had kicked it open landed with a meaty thud on the stone floors inside the chamber. The wild-eyed warrior held his knicked and scarred blade in front of him as he strode into the room high atop the tallest tower.
"It wasn't locked," the slight man dressed in black said from across the room. The warrior stopped.
"What?" the warrior said.
"The door. It wasn't locked. All you had to do was turn the little handle," the slight man said, miming turning a door handle, "and gently push it open. Now I've got to get Maintenance up here and see about a new door with frame. This room'll be drafty for weeks."
The warrior stared at the slight man sitting in hid highbacked chair of deep red fabrics and dark solid wood. "That, uh, that will be no concern of yours wizard!" The warrior took another step into the room.
"Well of course it is. This is my office and you just knocked the door clean out of the wall."
"No, I, uh, I mean you'll be dead foul demon!"
"Why's that?"
"Sorry?" The warrior had stopped his advance still several paces from the man in the chair.
"Why will I be dead?"
The warrior looked at the yard of gleaming steel in his hand then back to the slight man. "Because I'm going to slay you."
"Ah, now we're getting somewhere. Let me guess, you're some hero from the moutains or the great plains or some other equally gods-forsaken place and you travel the lands seeking fame and fortune. You wandered into one of my neighbors' territories and heard about the 'evil wizard' controlling Dekara? Is that about the shape of it?"
The warrior paused. "... Yes. How come you to this knowledge? Consorting with demons, no doubt. Your very tongue convicts you!"
"You're the fifth one since the Winter Festival. What is it about Spring that makes all you farmboys with delusions of grandeur come storming in? Can't get a date?"
"Enough with your attempts to ensorcel me, tyrant! I shall -"
"Wait," the slight man said, shifting forward in the chair, "how about a deal?"
"I care not for what you might tempt me with for my heart is pure and I seek -"
"Slow down there blondie. Here's the deal. We talk. For ten minutes. I've even got a timer over on the desk. At the end of the ten minutes, if you still want to run me through with that overgrown cheese slicer, I won't fight. Won't even argue."
"What trick is this?"
"No trick. Just ten minutes. Surely you can spare that for a 'condemned man.'"
The warrior stared at the slight man then nodded.
"Excellent!" the slight man said as he stood from his chair and crossed to the balcony. "Come over here, I'll show you something."
The warrior, wary for traps and tricks, trod slowly and softly to the balcony. The wizard was standing on the balcony with his palms down on the railing. The warrior stayed nearer to the relative safety of the door.
Below the balcony, in the courtyard, were at least two dozen people staring up at the two men.
"Good morning all!" the wizard shouted. "We have another hero come to save you all from my evil tyranny!" The crowd laughed.
"So," the wizard continued, "I thought before he does me in that he would like to meet some of you. The Chamberlain summoned you here to talk with this young man. Let's see ... Ah, Tom the Miller, isn't it?"
"Yes guv!" shouted back a dusty man in the middle of the crowd.
"Well, Tom, perhaps you'd be good enough to tell the hero what happened last month after the terrible floods destroyed your mill?"
"It was like this, see? His Highness dere, gave me a very reasonable repair loan at a minimal interest rate. I got me mill up an' runnin' again in no time. He barely even asked for collateral, knowin' 'ow important me mill was."
"You there," the wizard shouted, "Anne the Baker, if I'm not mistaken?"
"Yesssir!" a young woman answered.
"Could you tell the hero how you were able to start your own business after the untimely passing of your beloved husband?"
"I couldn't very well get me bakery up and runnin' with all me kids underfoot, could I? So the Highness there, he made the whatchacallit- Child Care Tax Credit. So I 'ired out me cousin Brenda to watch the little ones and now I've just opened me fifth franchise in Kreun. They love me stickybuns in Kreun!"
The crowd mumbled an assent.
"But surely," the hero said, "you cannot stand to be so oppressed? This black-hearted magician consorts with demons!"
"Son," a white-hair stooped-back old man said, "we don't much care who he consorts with. We haven't had a war in this land since I was a lad. There's nary a kingdom in a hundred days' ride can make the same boast. When the plague came through six winters back, ours was the only kingdom that was laid low. King Reltir - him as before the wizard - had us at war and starving more years than not. Far as we're concerned, the wizard can consort with all the Lords of Hell so long as he keeps treatin' us fair and protectin' our lands!"
A cheer ran up through the crowd. The wizard turned to the hero and smiled.
"You've cast some kind of spell across this land." But the hero's voice wavered as he spoke.
"No, just basic economics. Do you know why we haven't been at war in at least a generation? It's the same reason one of my neighbors sent you here. They have no idea how to run their coutries and their people are getting tired of it. Did you know we have upwards of ten thousand people a year immigrating to our fair land? That's in spite of the rumors about me. If any one of those kingdoms started a war, their people would revolt. Not to mention the fact that I'd call in all the debts they owe us, which would bankrupt any one of them. So it's easier to find some - pardon the term - backwoods lummox to try to kill me. Keeps their hands clean and gets rid of me. Sorry my boy, but you've been duped."
The hero stumbled backwards until he flopped into a chair. His head was shaking "no" and his eyes were unfocused. "So ... So what happens now?" the hero asked.
Six months later, another hero wandered the dirt road leading to the wizard's kingdom.
"HOLD THERE!" a shout rose from the small shack at the edge of the forest to the side of the road. A young man strode out to meet the traveler. "What brings you to our fair land, traveler?"
"I come to slay the evil wizard who has for too long -"
"Hold there traveler. Before you invade, I'd like to tell you a story of another headstrong young hero. He invaded six months ago, had a conversation with the wizard, and then decided to stay on. He found work as a border guard, specializing in heroes."
|
"There, you each get half of a child" I said with a mirthful grin, spreading my fingers as I leaned back and eyed my victims.
"So...we can adopt?" Said Merigille, the fishwife.
"Yes, you have to share a squalling pile of human filth" I said with a leer, my heart nearly burst with their misfortune.
"Oh thank the nine!" Cried Fosriel the weaver as she embraced Merigille.
"And....she may never become a ward of the state, else you will both mine the salt coasts till your deaths" I said, what a beautiful idea, the child was already foretold to suffer a miserably normal life until she joined my personal guard out of guilt or something called "gratitude."
The two embraced in their misery, having to share such an intense burden.
"Next case!" I cried as the weeping couple was escorted out of the tomb of judgement. Let the next supplicant suffer my unjust ruling.
| 2017-06-12T08:32:01 | 2017-06-12T06:26:55 | 54 | 20 |
[WP] You are a princess whose father has just remarried. You’re ecstatic— a wicked stepmother means the start of your own fairy tale, and a guaranteed happy ending. Problem is, your stepmother is… nice. And it seems to be genuine.
|
"You seem to want to see the worst of me." She stated, her voice calm and subdued as usual.
I stared at her. She looked so pale in the moonlight that she was almost translucent. She wore her hair long and loose, but they stayed unnaturally straight as they reached down to the small of her back. Black as sin and shining under the moon.
Her features were smooth and fine, though they did border on gaunt with her eyes a little sunken and her cheeks high. She had a stern face, but her eyes betrayed only kindness.
But that was a lie. Had to be. The timing of my own mother's demise and this new royalty of some far-off kingdom taking her place in court, wooing my grieving father. It was all too... Well timed.
I realised I had not answered her remark. I barely paid attention to it, or her in general. But I noted the bluntless of the statement. I continued not to reply as I looked away, past the high parapet and onto the dark visage of my father's kingdom. I could make out the lighter darkness of the mountains in the distance, giant arches against the darker backdrop that was the cloudless sky.
"It pains me that you would not even permit me the grace of conversation." She turned away as well, her low voice sad.
She belonged in the stage. What magnificent acting. No wonder my father fell for her.
One day the facade would drop. And my father would see clearly. How his daughter suffered in silence while his new evil wife took advantage of his position.
I fantasized a lot about it these past few months. Liken to the folktales the older maids used to read to me. How some sort of mystical, magical phenomenon would befall me and I would be whisked away from the pain in my heart on an adventure with faeries or friendly critters.
And I would live with them for a spell, away from this large, hollow castle with all its familiar faces that have so easily moved on from this tragedy.
How could they? How could they forget about my mother so easily?
I pushed the thought away angrily, and enveloped my thoughts back into my fantasy.
Yes, I would be away from the castle for a spell with all these strange and comforting creatures and beings of magic. And my father would get worried and search for me. He had to. He could not lose his daughter, too, right? And then maybe this wench would stop him, citing I was probably as good as dead. And then maybe he would realise this wench was evil and get rid off her.
I smiled at that thought.
"I won't stop reaching out. I do not care if our conversations are one-sided. I can't stand to watch you grieve like this; suffer like this. Alone." she said, quietly.
I turned to her, suddenly furious. What did she know? How dare she insert herself into my grief?
"I choose to grieve alone. Who else can I grieve with? Everyone else has moved on. You have sure as hell made made sure my father has moved on and forgotten. What? Did you lace your cunt with an amnesiac or something, you evil witch?" I spat. The words came out before I could stop them, and I hated myself for the words I uttered.
This was not like me. I did not speak like this. I did not have vulgar thoughts like this. I wanted to apologize. But this was all her fault.
She reacted only by pursing her lips, but I could see the surprise in her eyes. But that surprised look made me madder.
"I hate you! I hate that you've been nothing but nice to everyone the moment you've entered our lives. I hate you for making my father forget my mother so easily. I hate you for trying to get to me. I don't care about you. I don't know you, and I don't want to know you! But what I do know, what I know I'm sure of, is that you took advantage of my father in his weakest! And now you're his queen. I don't know why no one else sees this... this... falsehood for what it is! Is everyone truly blind but me? Have you worked some magic on them?" These words were equally angry, but less venomous. I had spoken to her now, despite my best efforts to ignore her these past few months.
"No one is blind. And your father, you do him a great disservice. He grieves for your mother still. But grief consumes all of us in different ways."
"So he got married to you days after we buried her? Is that how he grieves?"
"He had to. If he had not, the kingdom—"
"Don't you dare invoke some stately bullshit to justify what happened."
"Alright, I shan't. But you're royalty, too. You must understand the measures, the things we do out of duty and necessity, not out of want." she said.
"My father doesn't love you?"
"How could he? Your parents shared a love like no other. How could all that love he still had for her... How could he just give it to me? A stranger?"
I stayed quiet, contemplating her words. They were not at all what I was expecting.
"But I love him. Always had. I was sent here to represent my kingdom, which is so far away and so removed. Our tongue is the same, but the way we use it, the changes in linguistics, in culture, it was all too great. I barely understood anyone or anything when I first arrived at court years ago. Even the food tasted stingingly salty. It all felt foreign. Hostile. But your father took special note of me. Made sure my food was not as salted, made sure the maesters made special cream for me to withstand the brighter sun. He went out of his way to be the most gracious host. How could I not fall in love? So, in a way, you are right to despise me. Because the feelings I have for your father are true."
As if her initial explanation of the state of their relationship was not a bombshell in in of itself. Now she confesses she loves my father.
"In any case. You should speak to him yourself. He misses you. He wants to know how you are." she continued.
"He knows where my room is." I muttered.
"Like you, he is stubborn. He wants to give you your space. Let you grieve on your own terms. But I know that's not what you need. Please. Speak to him tomorrow. I have no right to insert myself into this family matter, but I also knew your mother personally. And she would not like for the two of you to be separate like this in a time of hurting." She said, her hand moving to pat my shoulder. But she caught herself just before she touched me, clenching her hand into a fist and retreating it reluctantly. She respected me enough not to touch me, even out of worry or love.
Somehow that made me hate myself. That I had not guven this woman who only sought to help any sort of acceptance.
She cleared her throat and left the balcony, leaving me to my thoughts.
|
This is my first ever wp submission... I’d definitely re write it but I just wanted to get my first ever submission out of the way. Just jumping right in lol
[poem]
I’ve always wished upon the stars
Wished my dreams to come true
For I had all - a castle - a crown!
But I was missing you
Of course I’ve held high standards here
A stereotypical role
So once my needs were met by you
I felt it in my soul
I could not bring my mother back
My father dying slow
I thought he loved me just as much
What little did I know
My future is now set in stone
Dear mother - no step here
I’ll sacrifice my crown for this
As father holds you near.
| 2021-10-11T05:26:27 | 2021-10-10T22:01:17 | 24 | 12 |
[WP] Humans, due to their lack of magic, have been enslaved by the other magical races. The magical races open portals to other realms to expand their empires. One of these portal accidentally opens next to a modern military base full of nothing but humans.
|
4. Never wrote something about military. Or even a battle. So forgive me.
Edit: Thank you all for the up votes!
Edit 2: I sleep and even more up votes when I wake up! Thank you!
r/PessimisticSnakeWrote
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The cattle finally arrived. But that doesn’t make Kailu Tralamin. Happy. In the opposite. The cattle should have arrived shortly after the sun has risen. Not when the sun is almost going down again. Of course delays were natural. Humans are a outrageous and hard to control. The 20 years it took for his kin and the others to enslave them although they didn't have magic is the proof for that. Even with magic collars for the hard cattle the weaker will form together and begin another rebellion.
But a trained and famous merchant like Kailu bought them from should have made the preparations. Kailu won't leave this at this. He will later ask his father for punishment for them. But not now.
Now Kailu doesn't have the time. Nobody does at the castle. The next invasion is about to begin now that the cattle finally came. Without they couldn't begin it. It's after all the first line of attack. It's a magic fodder.
After that Kailus mighty warrios will take the portals land in a honorable fight. Together with the golems and ogre who the elvens are in a alliance with. Kailu looks to the lines of male humans building a line between the groups of mages preparing the portal. The female walk to his royal and the nobles tent.
Even though elves are much more beautiful, humans are still loved as bed servants for the nobles and commoners. Even in other races. Only Kailu is forbidden to have some, and instead uses them as normal servants. To ensure that his royal bloodline stays pure.
Kailus observes the humans. They are dirty. Their bones are visible from hunger. And everyone looks close to dying. He feels a bit sympathy for them. Of course not as he would do to his kin. But as the same as saying dying animals.
He hears boots hitting the ground running fast to his tent. It's a messager boy.
“Your highness.”
He deeply bows while winkling his ears to the side. A deep sign of respect reserved only for the royal family.
“The mages are saying they are ready at you're command.”
Kailus gives a last sympathetic look to the humans. Before grabbing his horn.
“Warriors of the Elven Empire! Like the realms from before we will conquer this new world! So that our children and their children will continue to see our great empire! Open the portal!”
“For the Empire!”
The other leader also begin their speeches. Readying.
The mages instantly begin. Chanting the language of gods they trained for their entire life. First only a small blue spot appears. Before slowly expanding in size. Blue sparks hit some of the humans. Burning them in an instant. Panic rises in them. But they nobody runs. They know that they will be slaughtered if they do.
The mages on the other hand don't react at all. They casted shields. Although costly in mana so they can only be casted by one person per day.
The portal reaches its full size with blue and a black mix in its middle. It stays only for a second. Humans, elven, golem and ogre warriors alike gasp at the sight. In the middle of the desert stands a wall, towers and even building completely made of metal.
Kailus can't believe this. On top of the towers. Stand no dragon or other race of the legends. As only they could have built something like this. No, there stand humans. On towers and next to metal beasts. Strange humans. With armor with the same colour as the sands. But still humans.
It can't be! Kailus looks to the elven messanger boy to check if Kailus is going crazy. But he also stares like he has seen a dragon. Humans are all enslaved. And they certainly don't have any castles anymore. And definitely one out of pure metal, the most holy of elements.
Kailus questions himself. No imaginations what the Empire could do with such a castle. If they could find out how these humans made this. They would be undefeatable. The elves wouldn't need to share anything anymore. And maybe could even enslave the other races. Kailus father and his Empire would be incredibly proud. He would be praised as a hero!
“Attack!” He blasts into his horn. His warriors and the humans look confused before a second. Before finally giving in running screaming in blood lust. The warriors at least. The humans first needed some of them killed before also running.
The other leaders also follow after moment. Sending their troops. All except the golems are surprised at the heat of the desert as they enter the portal. They of course knew deserts. But this one surpasses every they ever trespassed in their conquers.
The strange humans seem to instantly react. A surprising feat without a spell in this distance. These metal beats, slightly resembling a lying golem with one arm on the back begin to move. And that without riders. They must be bonded to them Kalius thinks. And the rest of the humans begin to what seems to be a metal sword without sharpness.
That they couldn't make really weapons and didn't give ones for their beasts let Kalius smirk. Humans are always the same. Hard in spirit but still primitive.
Kalius and the other army's march in haste. Always killing one or two humans so they won't run. Soon they come down a hill. The enemy castle looks even more impressive so near.
A voice startles him and their armies. Kaluis recognized its belonger and freezes. It's a human voice. But the language is foreign. But why? How? They don't have magic! They most have stolen it!! It gives in a bit of panic. What if they have more stolen magic?
He needs to end this fast. He begins ordering a attack out of fear. All the warriors run. The humans golem second, orgres third and the elven as the last. The orgres look particularly happy. Looking at the strange humans with a hungry smile as they run.
They humans didn't even come near as it happened. Just as the mages wanted to cast their last shields thunder and fire erupted everywhere. Kalius cant hear anything for a second. Only a peeps, before slowly transitioning into screams. Screams not from the strange humans. But From their army's.
The elven warriors screamed as they burned. The orgres couldn't even scream as their head was already gone. And even the golems. With shattered limbs give low crumbles. Only the cattle humans don't seem to be hit.
And it got only worse. Smaller thunder erupted. Fire from the strange humans spear launched. Their army gets completely slaughtered. The elven and few ogre mage cast shields as quickly as they can. But they seem to instantly shatter. They send waves of waves of fireballs and rocks against the metal beasts responsible for the most death. But they don't do anything.
Kalius realizes that his name will stand forever in history. In history for dooming the empire and the other races.
|
Fort Knox, arguably the most protected place on Earth, its impenetrable, even if you are a magical being, and lets say the Elves learnee this the hard way.
It all began with a portal, since the Elves had the tradition of opening portald to enslave other species, they have never been defeated, since their magic allowed them to wipe out their enemies before they could even get close enough to do anything.
The portal opened, and the Elves arrogantly stepped through, seeing a startled human looking at them, this was great! Humans were among the easiest to enslave!
The Elf leader threw a fireball at the human, who in return... killed him?
But how?
The Elves then noticed its peculiar weapon, and before they could react they started dropping like flies, as more humans appeared and surroundes the portal.
This may not be so easy after all...
_________________________________________________
r/JustADrunkSlavStories
| 2021-07-16T11:45:50 | 2021-07-16T10:48:36 | 94 | 55 |
[WP] Finishes with "May I start over?"
|
"I don't think you understand, this is not a joke!"
"No? Because it sounds like a fucking joke! You're talking like a schizophrenic psycho or something!"
"Aaargh will you just listen for once in your fucking life! God damn no wonder Julia broke up with you."
"..What the fuck are you talking about!? Julia and I are moving in together in a week! Are you actually going insane?"
"Ah shit I thought it was April already. I didn't mean to tell you that but this is what I'm talking about! I know exactly what going to happen in the next two months. You and Julia are going to move in together, she's going to dump you, and you're going to do something very very ba..... oh my God.. Maybe that's why this is happening..."
"What? What the fuck are you talking about?! Why would Julia break up with me?? What am I going to do? You're really freaking me out here man!"
"I need to stop you... Maybe if I stop you, I won't go back again..."
"Dude, are you actually serious with this shit? What am I going to d.... what are you doing with that gun... why the FUCK are holding a gun!!!! Cut this shit out I swear to god this isn't funny!!"
"I'm sorry.. I have to do it.. I've done this 6 times now and I'm starting to get really sick of February."
"Dude stop! Listen I'll do whatever you want okay? I promise I won't do whatever I'm going to do, I swear! Ohh god please don't do this, please god don't do this, I swear I'll do whatever you say! Just please stop!"
"There's no other way.. I tried to talk you out of it before, I just never realized how important it is. I don't want to do this to you but I need to try something. I've lived the first half of this year 6 times already and it's getting pretty frustrating. Don't worry though, if this is what I need to do, everything will be fine. If it's not, then at the end of May, I start over."
|
This is my first submission on here, and my first piece for a very long time. I'm open for criticism though, because I really want to get better. I think I may be using speech too much.
For some reason this is pretty much the image that came into my head when I read the prompt.
**Operation: Propose**
His trembling watch arm rested atop the pure-white table cloth. He turned it slightly every few moments to check the positioning of the hands, gently tapping the glass with his middle and index finger over and over.
She’d be gone ages. Had she made a run for it? Women were notorious for their time spent in restrooms but this was starting to take the piss. He needed to get back and finish the third-quarterly report, and this was just holding things up.
“More wine, sir?” said the waiter, holding the half-empty bottle upright in both hands. His stealthy appearance startled Mark back into the room. A quiet, busy place, filled with formally dressed people of various generations and the gentle sound of classical music being played from subtly-placed speakers.
“No” answered Mark, before rethinking his choice and clicking his fingers to call the waiter back. Rachel’s wine glass was sitting half full, and that was because that’s how far the previous waiter had filled it. She can’t be pissing, he thought; she hadn’t had a drop all night. Maybe she was thinking of what she could say, or perhaps she was ringing her friends for advice. It’s going to be a no. He knew it; he’d known it before he’d even asked. It’s going to be a no and she’s going to leave. Stupid man.
She arrived back at the table a few minutes later. He’d been gazing across the room towards the toilets, lifting his head with hope and angst every time the door swung inwards. Every time it had been either a frail old lady or some other woman who didn’t resemble her in the slightest. He considered taking out his smartphone, just to check over last months sales figures again. When finally the woman exiting the door was wearing Rachel’s purple dress and had her unique shade of brown trailing down past her breasts, Mark exhaled a heavy breath.
She pulled out her chair and sat down, straightening the bottom of the dress and smiling as if she had been no time at all. She struggled to keep eye contact as she did so, somewhat confirming Mark’s fears.
“So, are we ordering desserts, or should we get a move on?” she said, smiling.
Mark didn’t answer. He sat there, studying her face. He didn’t know whether to feel angry or confused at what she was trying to do. After a moment he forced himself to speak.
“Are you seriously doing this?” he said with eyebrows raised. “What honestly makes you think that it would work?”
“What do you mean?” she answered, trying to muster as much innocence as she could in her reply.
“I asked you a question. You hurried off to the toilet to do God knows what. Now you’re back and you’re trying to pretend as if it didn’t happen.”
“I’m not… I… I don’t know. I just don’t want to answer you right now. Not here.”
“Not here? Why not? Look Rachel, I’m a big boy. I can take it, just tell me why and I’ll accept it. It’s no big deal. We can forget it, but you need to answer me first.”
She sighed. “That is precisely the problem”.
His eyes half closed and he turned his head a few degrees “Wait, what?”
“What you just said. That is the problem.”
“You’re gonna have to spell it out to me” he said, placing his index finger on the side of his forehead, his thumb resting on the cheekbone.
“Its no big deal is what I’ve got a problem with”, she said, packing her things into her handbag. “It’s no big deal? It’s the rest of our lives Mark. Believe it or not, marriage is a big deal to some people.”
“Oh come on”, he replied unbelievably, “It’s a figure of speech. It doesn’t mean anything”.
“No, it means everything. You may think you’re impenetrable, but I pick up on things. You show your true self all the time and you don’t realise”
Mark laughed. “Look. Look where we are. I’ve been planning this for ages. I booked the best restaurant in town a month in advance. I spent hours looking an engagement ring. I’ve been tearing my hair out in anticipation in what your answer would be. How can you say this isn’t a big deal?”
Rachel sighed again. “Yes”, she agreed, “everything is perfect. Everything is exactly by the book. A perfect proposal. Well done”
Mark looked incredulous. He opened his hands up as if holding an imaginary punch bowl and his eyebrows sunk lower. “What?”
“All of this” she said, “It’s so perfectly rehearsed. It’s shallow. There’s nothing underneath. You’re following a script. You’re following procedure. I’m just another one of your assignments.”
“I don’t understand”
“I know. You’re totally clueless”, she smirked.
“Well”, he said, “help me to understand. You’re making no sense. Explain.”
“I will”, she said softly, “but answer me something first.”
“Okay” said Mark, letting out a quick breath, vibrating his lips, “ask away.”
She looked into his eyes for a few seconds, “Why do you want to marry me?”
“Well”, he said, his eyes wide open now, “Because I love you, of course”.
“Yes”, she said, “And I don’t doubt that you do. But I don’t think that’s the reason, is it?”
“What other reason could there be?”
“I don’t know”, she sighed, “Because maybe you just think it’s the correct thing to do.”
“Well, yes. I do think that it’s the correct thing to do. Because I love you, and I want to have children, some day, and…”
“And what?”
“Well, so that it’s official”
“Official? Since when did it matter if love was official?” she questioned.
“Well, it doesn’t I guess. I just think that…” he hesitated.
“You think it’s the right thing to do?”
“Well. Yes. But not in the way you’re making out.”
She shook her head. “I’m not making it out to be anything. It is what it is.”
They were silent for a while. Mark spun his unused dessert spoon on its axis, whilst Rachel ruminated with the side of her head in her palm.
“So. You don’t want to marry me?” he interrogated.
“Actually, yes, yes I do. I want to marry you. And I want you to marry me, but for the right reasons.
“I do! I love you. There is no other reason, I swear.”
“Mark. There is no feeling. I was on your computer and I stumbled upon one of your searches. You’d typed ‘how to propose to someone’, or something along those lines. It made me laugh. But then after I just felt empty” she broke eye contact and exhaled. She made herself look into his eyes again, which were looking down at the table. “All of this, this isn’t your proposal. It’s just a bunch of scripted ideas you’ve researched. There’s nothing personal about it. And it just about sums up our relationship. You do everything because you think it’s the normal thing to do. It seems you go to work everyday, and you come home with your work face still on. Everything is a task that needs doing. Our sex life has become so standardised and procedural we could easily summarise it in a numbered list.”
Mark shook his head. “I honestly…I don’t know what to say. I didn’t know you felt like this.”
She sighed once more. “I just…I just wish you’d just let up on thinking, even for five minutes, and just do things with feeling. Let your emotions drive, if you’ve still got any, and stop thinking of me as just another resource to be put away alongside your stapler and hole-punch.
Mark thought. He didn’t know what he should say, or what he could do. After awhile he
spoke.
“May I start over?”
EDIT: Formatting
| 2013-09-01T08:23:34 | 2013-09-01T07:27:24 | 43 | 12 |
[WP] You are the last human on earth, and quite blind without your glasses. One day they finally break. In this new unfocused world, it becomes apparent why you were the only one spared.
|
Darn.
I stared at the broken pieces of glass, scattered feathers, and dead bird lying on the floor. With a heavy heart, I tried reassuring myself that it would be okay. That I could put my glasses together again. But inside, I knew.
They were finally broken for good. And even duct tape couldn't save them now.
So it's finally come to this? I trace the bridge of my nose, finding a void where there used to be comfort, and realize my fingers are trembling.
I knew it was coming, I reassure myself. Death is preferable to this empty world, anyway, this dead world full of dust and silence.
Still, there's this burning sensation inside my heart. ...Shame, perhaps? That I had been defeated so easily? I had worn my glasses every minute, every second, of the past ten years. When I ran. When I swam. When I slept. For them to break now, and of all the reasons why they broke...
Ah. Why had I stubbornly continued for so long? Why couldn't I have removed my glasses, like everybody else, and joined them all in death? At least, then, I would be taken willingly, and this feeling of defeat could be replaced by resignment. I hear slithering sounds around me. It looks like my time is short.
I look up, at the blobby shapes around me that were once so familiar. For a second, I entertain the possibility of fleeing, but where to? The *Beast* will track me down, no matter where I go. That much is for certain. I am already dead.
No, I think. No no no no n oNON O NO NO NO NO NO **N O**. I launch up, smacking into objects, pushing furniture aside in a blind lurch for freedom. I can't die here. I still... I still......
...
I see it. And *it* sees me. A single tentacle, poised in front of my face, stares directly into my eyes, and my glasses are no longer there to shield me.
As I fade into oblivion, a last thought flitters through my brain. To think, I was killed by a bird that hit me in the face.
|
The village of Bibury had always been quiet. Most weekday mornings, until past ten, had been habitually met with an absence of sound, the silence only here or there perforated by the odd chirping bird. Then would the market awaken, but even then it lacked the hubub held by most smaller cities. It had instead surmounted the aforementioned noise with a kind of gossip one may only find in such rural villages and towns -- this talk of seemingly great import, argument, and florid debate. Despite these differences (born of that debate), most agreed of Bibury’s quaintness. It was likened to an elderly woman’s retirement home more than the young entrepreneur’s desired living-land. But, none of this, he supposed, mattered anymore.
Nine years had passed since the end of the world. Nuclear weapons had rent the Earth, and all gave assent that the final breaths of mankind would presently be drawn. Scientists claimed there might be some chance found in bunkering and hiding, but most knew humanity was not as yet advanced enough to survive through a reckoning. The pious, however, had accepted such transpirations; indeed, they touted of their second coming of God. They were the first to die.
Next were the upper echelons, the wealthy, whose opulent luxuries had been ripped from them so abruptly that they could do little else than drown in the harshness that is life. Helpless -- without servants, without knowledge -- they were the second to die.
The homeless fared best of all. Having lived of abhorrent lives, they discovered themselves to be best equipped against humanity’s sudden downfall. For months, perhaps years, they thrived among themselves, living as they had many years past in communes and tent-cities, some moving into grand manors once the previous occupants had passed. In the end, though, death comes for all. They were the third to die.
He stood now on a hilled apex, staring down upon the Bibury that was his hometown by birth. Afore him, the sun breasted a distant horizon, its rays piercing through the clouds that were oddly beautiful this day. The clouds that oft covered the sky were absent, the air that oft hazed the land was queerly clear. He saw none of these things; his glasses had broken some time ago, and without them was he made blind, only able to see a foot before him, all else a faint blur of color.
He meandered down the road, which he recalled had once been smoothly paved but was presently cracked and strewn over with decaying human waste -- or that of human remains. It made the walk hard going, with him being barely able to see, so when he arrived on the outskirts of Bibury was he made surprised that he had finished the walk at all.
Presently he turned a corner, and that surprise slid to sadness, regret; he had remembered a snippet of his childhood in Bibury upon viewing some familiar landmark not much more than rubble lying by his feet. A tear leaked down his cheek. *Why did I come?* He wondered, and knew he had come wishing desperately to see the place he had once called home. Yet, in that journey had his glasses broken, that he could barely see now he was arrived. *Ironic,* he thought dryly. Thus he walked by memory now, for there had not been many streets to memorize when he’d grown up there, and took a path he hoped would lead him true. Once, on left turn, he stumbled over a downed lamppost, but that had been the greatest of his obstacles. Elsewise had he managed to avoid most other debris.
His footsteps echoed along the walls that still stood, but most had been toppled from disrepair or some nuclear bomb. “Hello?” He called out, but his voice, like his footsteps, echoed. Of course there would be no answer. He was the last, he believed, the last man alive.
After some time, he came upon that which he had headed out to find: his old home, now in ruins but for the front end of the picket fence around the garden. He bothered not with opening the gate, instead, caught by sudden violent urge birthed of that regret, kicked it down. *Oh, why God?* He wondered and despaired. *Why am I made the last to live?*
He saw among the rubble a tiny sapling, yellow and wilting, barely reaching through the wood from the gate he’d just knocked down. It was the first life he had come across in some time, so he removed the wood and sat and stared. At length -- “What the hell, I’m the last man alive” -- he pulled water from his pack and poured, in little streams, that which remained of his water supply. Foolish though some would say, if one asked him then for a reason, he might have simply answered that he was now content; indeed, that sadness and regret emerged by his visit to Bibury seemed to have brought around a sudden peace. Are not all men fated to pass?
He was the last to die.
***
“Hello.”
He looked around him, then realized that he stood on nothing, the Earth thousands of miles below. He took a tentative step and found that whatever was beneath him would still hold. Then he glanced up. “Are you God?” A man in white stood before him, bearded and barefoot, much as he might have once imagined Jesus.
The man nodded. “I am, I suppose what you might call God. I created the Earth below.”
“Why?” He asked, and now he was angry. Loss of life for so many others, yet here he had been cursed to walk alone for what had felt like an eternity.
“Look,” said God. It was a simple word, infuriating, and not at all the explanation he felt he deserved.
Then he was no longer standing among the stars, but within Bibury once again. A great change had come over the town; listening closely, he could hear the chirps of birds. Plants grew along the edges, berries and shrubs had drawn close the wildlife. And, in the center of it all, an apple tree, within whose leaves bore a great beehive dripping with honey. A bear walked beneath, licking that which fell.
He paused and watched a moment. To his eyes, who had seen little life in years (save the sapling), such a scene was breathtaking. “It’s beautiful.”
God nodded, and they were silent a moment, simply watching, listening. At length, God said, “You don’t realize, do you?”
He shook his head, confused.
“The apple tree is the sapling that caused your death.”
“You mean . . .”
“The sapling you watered with your remaining supplies. Your actions birthed this life.”
“So you kept me alive all this time, just so I could give life to a tree?”
God was silent; a time had passed, and still was the question left unanswered. Then they were standing no longer afore the tree, but by a beach. He recalled his love for beaches once, but remembered he had begun to hate them soon after the apocalypse. One might be dying of thirst, an entire sea of poisoned water writhing beside. *God loves His irony, doesn't he.*
But his eyes were now drawn. On that beach was an Asian man, running desperately for behind were three assailants. “Chink,” they called. “Chink! Get back here, we need your water!” Eventually the Asian man tripped, was overcome, and beaten near to death. A minute later, the man watched himself emerge from the bushes -- and this was a time after his glasses had broken. He leaned down to the Asian man, again sacrificing his own wares for the betterment of another.
“Remember what happened after?” God asked.
“Yeah. The guy gave me his raincoat. It saved my life in the storm the next day.”
“What goes around must come around,” said God serenely. The scene had faded, and now they were back, thousands of feet above the Earth. “Just remember that, won’t you?” Then was God suddenly gone, leaving the man to his thoughts and wondering what might happen next.
***
/r/Lone_Wolf_Studios for more!
| 2018-01-08T21:40:25 | 2018-01-08T21:05:13 | 47 | 28 |
[WP] as the house you're trapped in burns to the ground you contemplate "how am i gonna explain the fact I'm immortal to the firemen without starting another religion"
|
“Well...shit.”
That phrase became as common place to my family as the constant need to move. You see somewhere down the blood line, my family gained immortality and it’s been passed down ever since. We’ve been through a lot over the centuries and this wasn’t the families first disaster.
The fire was a faulty cord as I discovered on my jaunt through the burning wreckage of my house. I could hear screaming from outside, neighbors and firemen a like. No problem, just like the monoxide leak when we lived in Persia sneak out before they find you, play it up like you were never home...
“Hey chief I think I see someone trapped in the kitchen!”
Oh shit. We’ll plan b...I don’t have a plan b. Fuck firemen have become quite efficient since the last fire we had. Play it cool or run? Play it cool or run? Play...
“Look out man the ceilings coming down!”
Fuck...well, it will be easier to report the crazy guy that jumped through his kitchen...what the hell?!
It all happened so fast. The fireman tackled me and charged through the backdoor. He’s unconscious but breathing and here I sit wide awake without a scratch on me...well time to flee again lest another cult starts in my name...let’s just move the old hero before the house blows.
“Son are two alright?!”
“You must be the chief. Yeah the old guy just knocked himself stupid saving me. “
“We have to get you to a hospital...”
“That won’t be necessary, I’m fine. Not a scratch on me...”
Woah he’s suddenly really close...
“Martin get in my truck...”
H-how does he know my name...looks like I’m going for a ride
|
It was too late, by the time I woke up, to escape the fire unseen. In my defense, I once slept through a bomb destroying my entire city block in Yemen, where I was taking a leisurely, decade-long nap, and had to dig myself out of an entire apartment building when I woke up...but I digress.
It was a bog-standard house in southern Idaho. Smoke filled the room, impossible to see through, even though I resolutely declined to let my eyes water. Flames were crawling through the door cracks, invading my bedroom. There were sirens outside, and over the roar of the flames I could hear firefighters shouting to one another.
I looked around the room, hoping to find a spot to to shelter in that might convince the authorities that I was merely lucky, not impossible. I opened the door to the bathroom that was only accessible via my bedroom and the next room over. Perhaps I could lie down in the bathtub. The handle was blisteringly hot to the touch – although my skin continuously healed before the contact could cause more than a slight sting – so I abandoned that plan. The bathroom was clearly already on fire.
This was becoming quite tricky. I avoided exposing myself like this: in the past, it was due to the numerous religions I’d accidentally started. Most were short-lived, thank goodness, but there was an island off the coast of Somalia where they still worshiped me, and by that I mean they had caught me and tossed me off a cliff the last time I visited.
Best to avoid that sort of situation, especially around here where the Mormons were only outnumbered by the Evangelicals, and all of them had strong feelings about the One True God, blah blah blah. Let me tell you, there was nothing special about Yah-Weh. He’d had been a real dick, back in the day, faking miracles and seeing how crazy he’d have to make the rules before his people revolted. He sung a different tune after he masqueraded as his own son and got crucified, though, and it took him three days to move the boulder put in front of his “grave.”
Good times. Put me in a good mood for two centuries, seeing him taken down a peg like that.
The whole room was on fire, now. I was not in the mood to be on the news as a “miraculous” escape, or attacked by religious fanatics, or to accidentally start a break-off cult. The smoke thinned for a moment, probably due to the high-powered hoses now trained at the house, by the sound of it. I had to get out of here. Walking through flames and escaping into the darkness, naked, after my clothes inevitably burnt off or “miraculous survival?” Choices, choices. Ugh, this was enough to make me want to go hang out in the woods with Sasquatch for a few decades. Maybe she was in the mood to prank tourists again.
Oh, wait, the greenhouse. I had some spare gardening clothes out there and had no qualms in claiming I’d fallen asleep in my work clothes by the crick. Best to get it over with, though I did hate the sensation of my hair bubbling on my scalp.
The firefighters’ voices sounded closer, and the water blasting into the house was louder than the flames now. Best go immediately, I supposed. I opened the bathroom door again and was blasted with flames. I felt my eyelashes go instantaneously. Ugh. I trotted through the bathroom to the other room and tried to peek out the window. I didn’t see any people around so I opened the window and half-fell out of it along with a gout of flames and the last, sad, smoldering remnants of my clothes. My jeans’ zipper clinked sadly onto the deck.
“What in the Sam Hill,”
Fuck. I turned, dripping shreds of t-shirt and globs of melted hair, only to make eye contact with the neighbor. Who smoked a lot of weed.
Hmm. There’s an idea.
I raised my hands, shuffling sideways until I was immersed in the flames again and wobbled my body back and forth in what I hoped was a vaguely flame-like manner, then dove back through the window.
Hallucination from a bad batch of the devil’s lettuce, check.
New window time. I darted into the living room – oh, yikes, the floor was really gone in most places – and narrowly avoided getting red-hot nails driven into my feet. That was unpleasant, even if it wouldn’t hurt for long. One of the windows was shattered, so I headed that direction. I was straddling the sill, trying to keep my vulva off the shards of glass left in the frame when the pine tree in the yard – already elderly and barely hanging on after an infestation of boring pine beetles – groaned and tilted towards the house. And me.
I swore under my breath, abandoned my quest to avoid temporary genital injury and bolted for the greenhouse. At this point I didn’t care if the neighbor saw me again.
The tree groaned again and came down behind me. Even if the fire damage was reparable, the tree through the roof wouldn’t be, I’d bet. Good thing my current identify was both real and had really, really good homeowner’s insurance, I supposed, although I wasn’t sure yet if I was interested in re-building. I’d been here a few decades – more than long enough for people to start to notice that I had a suspicious lack of crow’s feet for a woman supposedly pushing fifty.
I bypassed the greenhouse altogether and lay down in the creek, letting the water sluice away as much soot and ash as possible. I grabbed a handful of sand from the bottom of the creek and scrubbed my face and hands. Best look as little like I just survived a fire as possible. That done, I went back to the greenhouse and pulled on the old, linen shirt and trousers I wore around the yard and stuffed my feet into a pair of crocs I had absolutely no memory of buying. My bedraggled straw hat to complete the whole outfit and disguise my current hairless state and,
“Inanna.”
“Kyle,” I responded absentmindedly, then his presence sunk in and I whirled towards the door where the newest immortal I knew of was standing, looking as much like a dipshit as ever. “Kyle,” I bared my teeth at him. “to what do I owe the dubious pleasure? I’m kinda busy right now, what with the whole ‘my house is burning down right this minute’ thing.”
He smirked at me.
“You dipshit!” I hissed at him. “What fucking reason could you possibly have to justify burning down my fucking house?”
“You burned down mine,” he crossed his arms and raised an eyebrow at me like this was a real argument.
I jabbed my finger at him. “That’s not how that went and you know it, you racist sack of shit. I wouldn’t have had to set a fire to cover my escape if you hadn’t literally had me locked in the basement while the fucking KKK met in your fucking living room deciding the best way to make me dead.”
He had the audacity to look sulky. “Well it’s not like we knew you were immortal, and you wouldn’t stop using the White facilities.”
I screeched wordlessly to vent my feelings for a few moments, then gathered myself. “You have ten seconds to get out of my sight before I go report that I think my stalker set the fire. What’s your current identify, Kyle Marcus Jones the third? Or are you the fourth now?”
He glowered at me for a moment then stormed away without answering.
I couldn’t believe his nerve. Or that he turned out to be immortal after I escaped from him and his gross, 1920s KKK pals.
I was definitely going to go hang out with Sasquatch for awhile.
| 2020-08-21T14:48:59 | 2020-08-21T13:26:10 | 34 | 15 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"A fine...mead?!" Rorik shouts over the din of the tavern. His companions smile and nod along with him as he sings some old barbarian tune.
Sings it wrong. They don't tell him that though.
Delia, the group's cleric leans over to their mage.
"Do you think he knows?"
Melvar just shakes his head and holds out a palm towards their massive friend. Friend as of lately, of course. Rorik was a massive pain for the group long before the shifter stole his face.
"He definitely doesn't but...I think I like him. Rorik was a bit of a jerk, always running off into the dungeons with that stupid battlecry. Remember when we went into the Crypt of Alohar, how many good people did he get killed?"
"Yeah...he's kinda cute now. Like a child or something."
They both watch Rorik move around the tavern with his mug and talk to other groups of adventurers. He's loud but not overbearing. He listens to the stories of others instead of telling his own. He drinks but not to excess. He is nothing like the barbarian they all had come to know and...
Melvar doesn't quite finish the thought.
"You know what Del, I like him. I know he's a shifter but look at everyone. We all know and he's trying so hard to be like Rorik but he just can't. I don't think there's a mean bone in that thing's body. You know that he hasn't made fun of my beard once, not in months."
She snorts. The young mage was trying so hard to grow it out and he'd been self-conscious about it for months.
A warrior passing by their table to his own party leans over and whispers it to the pair.
"You should keep him. He's an improvement."
"Friends!" Rorik shouts, sitting again at their table, "What fun! And we do this between every adventure? And people give us gold to go on those adventures? To spend here? Amazing!"
He is off again before they can even respond.
"Do you think The Dwarf knows?" Melvar watches Rorik join another random group of adventures and sing yet another song. Still wrong.
Delia shrugs.
"I don't know and I don't care. We're gonna keep him. He's like a dog or something. But useful."
Melvar strokes his "beard" for a moment.
"Alright, we'll keep him. But I swear if he ever makes fun of my beard-"
"What? You'll strangle him with one of your wisps? You should really shave, you're looking more like a magical hobo than a wizard. 'I cast: smell of unwashedness!'"
As she walks away laughing at her own joke Melvar narrows his eyes. He lifts his mug and mutters something into it before drinking.
"I'll replace you too if I have to..."
|
The miles between them had come and gone, leaving scars and wounds and memories and laughs. The horizon that day was clear, and the world fell into green and yellow, and far away were the mountains, and everything was cloaked in a dream. They had come far. The first peaks of Lankar shimmered in an ephemeral haze.
"We've made it," Keldar said.
"Not yet."
Annastatia was worn, cut and bruised. Her eyes had dimmed some, but even the terrors of the Void had receded for the moment. She was in the present then, looking ahead, same as them all.
None had seen the mountain before. Alton had not believed in it. Haldar had said they would die before they ever crossed the river.
Now he stared with timeless eyes, eyes which had seen things from the Darkness. Eyes which had seen the birth of his kin from the still mirror waters of the Endless Caves. Those eyes had seen more than Haldar could ever have imagined.
"I guess it does exist," Alton said.
He clapped Haldar on the back. An uneasy feeling overcame him with the touch.
*It feels like him,* he thought.
And his thought travelled in the wind of the Void, that invisible world which held all the unknown things, the things that caused madness.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
She looked at Haldar.
"What?" said Keldar.
She shook her head.
They were weary and made camp on the hill. For the days past they had slept during the day, marched in the night. Their bodies were worn and tired, a piece of them all left behind in the Grey River.
*The price was worth it,* Keldar thought.
He was an older man, a knight in youth, and now his world had gone and he was alone but for adventure.
*Is it?*
He could not answer himself and the question lingered, unanswered by even Annastatia. They were quiet there on the hill. Midday came with a scarce lunch and perfunctory talk.
"I've never been so far," said Alton.
They agreed. Home had sunk away like the dying sun, and this endless night of the unknown still had miles yet to go.
"We're alive though," Keldar said.
"Yes," Annastatia said.
They looked at Haldar. Behind those eyes were the midnight of malice. But that malice reflected the sun, and then it was blue and immediate and true.
"I made it," Haldar said. "Barely by the skin of my leather, but I made it."
In the Grey River there were ancient cliffs, hills and holes. There amidst that pocked earth lived the unknown things, the things which embraced the Darkness.
In that place Haldar had fallen into the murky waters of the Grey River and its currents had taken him.
His screams had pierced the Void then, echoing even on the hill they now camped on. Annastatia winced and she saw the time as it floated past in the forever winds of that realm.
"Help!" Haldar cried.
Her hand held her staff. Every inch of her was prepared to hold it for him to grab on to. She saw it happening, feeling his weight and the rescue. And yet she hesitated.
"Help!"
She had remembered the times before. His hand caressing hers, teasing some unwanted strength, threatening in the vaguest of ways. And even then his thoughts were certain of his foul desire.
And so the river had taken him and they all had watched. They had let it happen as the waters surrounded him in an opaque cover, the burial of some unwanted pest, and they feigned the mourning as all good friends should do.
Then they were three.
But he had come back. The first trees were tall and skinny and gave little shade. Their slanting shadows were bars as they passed, looking like prisoners in a dream world, and then from that shifting prison, Haldar had come, wet and worn. The Grey River had taken much from him, he said, and he was different, completely different.
"I left more of my soul there than you," he said.
They looked at him and knew what he was, or what he wasn't. That night they discussed it in secret, and decided they would bide time before doing what must be done.
Three days had passed since then, but that time still had not come.
Sleep overcame them and they rested awhile. The falling sun awoke them to a red and orange sky and their shadows spilled past the hill.
"Statia," Alton said.
He was stretching.
"Yes?"
"I've had a bad dream. Worse than any of the others before."
"Was it of your past? The stealing in your mother's house?"
"No. No it was..."
She saw his face. She touched his head and the after images of the fading dream kindled within her.
Haldar stared beneath a blackened sky, alone and afraid. All around a great water rushed him, surrounding him with its endless sound.
The dream faded and she recoiled.
"I... I have no remedy," she said.
She looked at Haldar. The thing which pretended to be him looked at her and smiled. Though shifters like him were not connected as strongly to the Void, she could feel his thoughts in the air, like some distant food that has long been eaten.
*He means me no malice. Not like his...*
Victim. But she could not say the word.
Keldar walked to Haldar and put his hand on his shoulder.
"How is your wound?"
"Better now," Haldar said.
*He feels the same*, Keldar thought. *He really does.*
Then they packed their things and prepared for another night of walking. Lankar glittered in the night like some crystal, and yet soft as home's bed sheets on a cold night.
"What's there again?" Haldar asked.
He looked at them to see if any suspected. He thought they did. He thought he should kill them, but living in the black had not tainted his heart.
*Never have I seen such beauty as her.*
And in the moonlight Annastatia was some Queen, the kind of which no longer walks this world. Some distant being, ghost-like and tender, and yet strong and hardy with eyes opened into the real world.
*But she is Keldar's.*
And he felt sad. He felt the light on him and looked up.
*I should kill them and have her to myself.*
But she would die first before such things could happen. She would kill him then surely. They already considered the deed. He closed his eyes. The light painted him with a warmth the others could not feel.
*They have not lived in the dark,* he thought. *They are human. Weak and ignorant of the Dark, for they know not of such things.*
"Lankar," Alton said. "The mountain of Dreams. There, as legend goes, is the Spring of Dreaming. One sip of its water will change you. It will make whatever is in your heart come true."
"It can change the world physically?"
"No," said Annastatia. "But it will change *you*. It will change the spirit so that what you hold dearest will come true in a way of its own. It is not a place of wishes."
"It is like the Grey River then?" Haldar asked.
"Yes, in a sense. But it does not take. It gives and cleanses."
Then they were quiet. In their hearts they were uneasy. Haldar's death weighed immensely on them.
*The Spring will clean me,* Keldar thought.
Annastatia held him. Her face was pretty in the white light and he looked at her and loved her anew once more. He put his arm around her.
*I am an evil man,* he thought.
She looked at him with those sad eyes of hers.
*If that be true, then so are we all my love.*
He squeezed her hand.
*What hope is there then? This guilt weighs too heavy on me.*
*The Spring, as you've thought. The Spring is our only hope. Haldar was a fool. The River took him of its own choosing. His heart was black, blacker than this imposter.*
"I like you," Alton said to Haldar. "I don't know if you understand, but I'll be truthful. I like you."
And Haldar, the thing, understood as much. It too had thoughts that raged in an incomprehensible storm.
"I like you too," he said. "All of you."
"Then may the Spring save us," Keldar said.
And they marched in silence as the night slowly passed.
-
*Hi there! If you liked this story, please consider my subreddit r/PanMan. It has all my WP stories as well as some original ones. I'm slowly working on it and getting it to look nicer, so I promise it will look better soon. Thank you!*
| 2017-09-15T07:29:21 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 5,321 | 262 |
[WP] A new drug is released that allows humans to experience a full night's sleep in around forty-five minutes, and it can be used indefinitely. The entire pattern of human culture shifts overnight. It's been several years, and the unintended consequences are becoming evident.
|
Hey man, what are you really into?
Well, I enjoy botany and computer science and hiking and philosophy and knitting and meditation and astronomy and and and...
But I never get to do any of those things.
No. Drug testing was used in the past to exclude potential employees who occasionally smoked weed or had a problem with painkillers or whatever their hard lives had led them to discover to deal with the crippling pain of modern life. Now things are inverted. If you don’t test positive for Micro-Sleep(tm) no one will hire you.
Every corporate entity requires 20 hour work days from its employees. There are still weekends, but they hardly make up for the grind of a 100 hour work week. The rest of the day is reserved for commuting, interaction with offspring, and “sleep”.
The sleep that remains is sudden and profound. An industry has arisen from the need to shield sleeping humans from any sort of hazard that they may encounter in that 45 minutes of dream-saturated oblivion, as people who are in this sort of sleep are completely incapable of waking for *anything*. Fire alarms are impotent in the face of this sort of sleep. Occasionally someone dies while in this state, but it’s always explained away. “He had a heart arrhythmia”. “She had a latent AVM”. “It’s perfectly safe!” “People have always died in their sleep!”
My daughter Pearl was only 4 when this drug thundered its way onto the global stage. I figured that it wouldn’t affect a child, particularly such a small one, as Micro-Sleep(tm) was initially only marketed to people 18 and over. Two years passed before some admin somewhere figured that children could absorb so much information if they never needed to sleep.
Here she is. Ten years old and knows more than I could possibly imagine. Botany. Philosophy. Knitting/crochet. She is terrifying but also hollow. She has infinite focus and determination. She has the depth of outer space in her deep green eyes, and during our regularly scheduled 15 minute interactions I am forced to wonder what she would be if not for this drug.
“Hey mom.”
“What?”
“What was life like before the, thing?”
“We didn’t exist in the usual way for a third to one half of our lives and the COMPANY was somewhat less profitable.”
“Oh. Did you know the name of all of Jupiter’s moons?”
“No.”
She’s so bloody smug.
|
From Someone’s Journal:
Okay, I don’t have a lot of time to write this (too much school work), but I need to get it out. It’ll be a bit of a mess, so I apologize to anyone reading.
To be honest, I don't think it was anyone’s fault. As much as I wanted someone to blame - well, we all did - the “system” never meant to hurt us. The problems of past generations, their constant *need* for productivity, to do *something* - it passed on, to the point where… Actually, I was going to say the “important things in life were forgotten”, but that wasn’t what caused it at all. No, they were *too* focused on the important things, the “greater good” and all that. The point is, society only became more competitive over the years, I think, and… Well, ha, I’m thirteen. My whole life, this special “drug” of sorts was advertised as the being the best in the world. It was an instant success, billboards were plastered everywhere. I always thought it was somewhat ironic - how they would bombard us with how “excellent, amazing, wonderful” this stupid drug was alongside D.A.R.E; how it was just common knowledge that it was *perfect*. Sorry, I’m really bitter about this whole stupid, awful, stinking monstrous problem I’m dealing with… Argh, I’ll get to it in a moment. I’m a bit woozy. Stupid brain fog - this is a mess to write out.
Here’s the worst part. They could have gotten rid of it! Just months after this awful drug came out, there were a few “side effects”. Oh, sure, they mentioned them on the bottle, but they conveniently failed to describe the full horrific extent of dealing with them. Mental illnesses are so hard to diagnose, so easy to write off as nonexistent. It was just *feelings* that people were experiencing - nothing more, right?
The first time I took it, I was actually pretty enthusiastic. I can’t stress that enough - I was looking forward to get stuff done. I’d never be tired again! HAH! No more painful late nights, cramming on homework - about ninety percent of my problems, just *gone*. Like everyone else at school, this was just heaven. Perfect, wonderful, amazing heaven. Oh…
That first night, the dreams were so painfully vivid. Virtual reality was cool, of course, but this was actual reality. It was as if… Well, my brain seemed like it was trying to compensate, I guess, and compacted about eight hours into a short sixty-minute play. It was like switching from animated movies to action-packed “adult” ones.
Balance has always been an important concept, right? Balance your life - don’t dwell on the same activity for too long, take care of yourself, all that good stuff. Nopenopenope. Not anymore. When I woke up, I was panting. It wasn’t even a nightmare, just the typical weird stuff I always dream about… But I was *exhausted*, like I’d just run a marathon or something.
But that was normal. I didn’t realize how bad it would be, but it was normal for your first time trying it. That day at school, between the mountains of work everyone was focused on, well… I couldn’t.
Ever since then - and this is just the tip of the iceberg - ever since, my ability to focus hasn’t been the same. I mean, I still can. It’s not like that, but… Well, it’s just all messed up. Dang it, why…
Argh. I do think I might have figured out what’s going on. It’s my emotions that were amped up. But… Not in the normal way, that you actually do get from being tired. I still feel things normally - I still do - but… Well, they just seem to cut deeper. Everything I go through leaves a bigger impact on me.
I tried to talk to people. Apparently, I was one of those weird folks who experience the uncommon symptoms. I don’t know if I mentioned this before, but those people were also more likely to be mentally ill in certain ways, according to the studies they performed. *Great*, now I was paranoid about being labeled. But, was the fact that I felt paranoid the *cause* of them?
Please help, please help, help, I’m having another panic attack. Yep, I know, I suppose there’s the mental illness I’d been worried about. I can’t do this anymore.
Sorry, okay, I need to calm down. I haven’t even started writing about the actual problem. Here’s the thing - I said it before, but… Well, argh.
I have a theory. I haven’t been able to discuss it much with anyone, but… Maybe the “subconscious”, or the part of the brain that becomes active when you’re asleep, is actually it’s own… Part? I don’t know what I’m saying. The point is, maybe… Actually, I’ll just start from the beginning. I’m going in circles.
Weeks passed, in which I took the drug every day. Like everyone did. I couldn’t figure out why they all seemed… *Fine*, while I was dying inside. Until recently, actually… Nevermind.
But, well, there were just these moments. It shoved my anxiety (which had hardly been a problem beforehand) up to the breaking point. That was supposed to be the complete extent of, and the only, side effect, though. Nothing more.
Nope, then I had to go and shatter. It started with the usual symptoms - heart palpitations were particularly frightening at first, but then sleep paralysis showed up and blew that fear out of the water. Oh, I hated it so much, so much. Still, that was all medically *possible* - I should have been grateful.
The real issue was that horrible *extra* feeling. I’m a little scared to talk about this, even if this is just a stupid journal… I haven’t told anyone.
It was a darkness. One night, there was a dream that hurt - an enchantress appeared, almost kind, and *gentle*, in a way, but I knew that wasn’t the case. Beautiful… As she trapped me down, locked me inside the cage, but then the chemical would bring me back up to the surface, gasping for breath.
Then I’d forget all about it, and it would restart the next night.
It wasn’t until recently that the feeling began to affect me. I can’t even describe it, that feeling. It just keeps getting worse. NO, it makes no difference if it’s all in my head, because the
problems it’s causing me are real, and I can’t deal with this. I’ve spent so many nights crying, so many afternoons feeling something in my chest being clawed at, tugged away.
It’s trying to control me, I can feel it.
Every day, I fight this battle. It’s a parasite, I know it is. I try, try so hard - I try to think about flying. Think about running, think about freedom.
Only once was I able to stop the feeling. It was so painful. I spent an hour on the floor, just trying to resist the creepy, horrible urge. Eventually, I was able to stand up and leave. But if I’d stayed down, I wouldn’t have been able to keep fighting for much longer. It never gave up. I couldn’t believe how emotionally drained I was afterwards. It was like the opposite of crying, like when you bundle something up for months, except this happened in a matter of minutes. But I was also proud of myself, as if I’d won some spectacular battle. And for a while, the feeling seemed manageable.
Until I forgot to keep my guard up, and it struck again.
Actually… You know what? I think I just figured out something. Everyone isn’t okay. They already gave in, maybe even on their first day. That’s why there’s no more feeling in the world… That’s it, isn’t it?
Oh, no. That’s it. I just figured this out. The monster… It’s infected everyone. They’re all gone.
But… it would be easier, wouldn’t it? I think I’ll just give up now. Maybe…
No, no, I can’t. No…
There I go. Drifting off, oblivion so close I can feel it - I *need* it… Please.
Okay, goodbye, I’ll finish this later. Too tired. But I’m not sleepy at all. Just a little confused, I guess.
3:32 a.m.
| 2018-01-31T21:24:49 | 2018-01-31T19:40:42 | 20 | 14 |
[WP] You are the greatest Supervillain in the world and you've always wondered why the heroes yell out their attacks. Well, out of curiosity, you try it out with your weakest attack and suddenly break a hole through your evil lair.
|
I was pooping when it happened.
I hadn't even realized it would qualify as an attack as I tried to shake the booger off, but a random urge came over me as my mucus clung steadfast to my finger. "Pick, roll and flick!" I shouted then flicked the tiny snot ball towards the trash can beside the toilet.
It took me several minutes to process what happened next as bits of plaster continued to crumble and dust gently fell from the walls. By the scorch marks on the ground, my booger had evidently instantly accelerated to a significant fraction of the speed of light, the indescribable force of this instantly transforming the thing into a somehow cohesive ball of plasma. Newton's laws still evidently applied as the blowback from the flick, equal and opposite, was enough to ignite the air in front of me.
The booger, now moving at a relativistic velocity, impacted first my marble bathroom counter, which instantly shattered, then the mirror, which also shattered, then the wall behind it through which it either tore through or vaporized a hole about 4 feet across. Leaning over on the toilet I could see it had continued on, through several more plaster walls, 6 feet of reinforced concrete and roughly 5 inches of the solid steel that encased my fortress. I looked out through the hole and saw blue sky outside. I guessed my booger had well exceeded escape velocity and was now hurtling through space. I would find out later that my "attack" had actually registered as a seismic event and had been detectable as far away as California.
But in the meantime there I was, still stuck on the John with unfinished business. As I felt a rumble in my tummy I leaned back and considered the implications. I was already incredibly dangerous, a full force punch could level a city block. I thought for a moment about what would happen if I shouted as I performed my signature Wave Kick. "Could you imagine?" I said to no one with a slight chuckle. "I mean, holy shit!"
A fraction of a second later I realized the terrible consequences of my word choice.
|
Before Swifty entered the house, he peeked inside to make sure nobody would see his bloodied lips and blackened eyes. It seemed like Master had not yet returned from his daily stroll, so he ventured past the door, scurrying for the sink as quickly as his limp would allow.
"Swifty, come over here." a displeased voice called from the other end of the house. Swifty halted and hung his head. He already knew what was going to happen and he dreaded it. "I said come here at this moment, are your ears mere decorations?"
Swifty stepped inside the Master's study. Master turned around and looked every bit as displeased as his voice sounded. He always put up a stern face and made a point about staying quiet. "Went around fighting again, I see." Master observed the boy's wounds with disgust. "This is not the first time you have disappointed me, nor will it be the last, I believe."
"B.. but Master!" Swifty lifted his eyes, "I din... do it! It's Ac...cademy kids! Th... they shouted at me..."
"Hush." said the Master, "Sit down and copy Chapter 5, Graph 19 from Allison's Rune Codex fifty times. I want it done by dinner, which, by the way, you will forfeit as a gesture of remorse for being late and breaking your speech allowance."
Swfity obeyed. What else could he do? ARC 5-9 was a complicated protection charm that worked marvels against epistaxis and vertigo. Unfortunately, it would normally take an apprentice the whole afternoon just to make one copy of the rune; fortunately, Swifty knew the charm by heart and he excels at copying spells and runes. He was given the name Swifty by his Master, for his mind was swift to learn and his fingers were swift to carry out tasks.
As Swifty started copying the rune, a few drops of tear rolled off his nose, and fell onto the parchment. It's always those Academy apprentices' fault. Every time he ran errands for Master, he had to go past the Academy. There were always some apprentices outside, speaking Words as a pastime. He'd hear these really "cool" attacks and moves (to the ears of a 12-year-old) like "Flare Blast!" "Enduring Shock!" "Whirlwind Blades!" and so on. And then he would see explosions and eletric fields and literally a whirlwind of blades wielded by an apprentice who had a bright future ahead.
Dueling between apprentices was strictly prohibited by the Academy, so naturally they looked for some target to practice on. They found Swifty. Whenever they had the chance to stop him, they'd come up with the meanest words like "you're such a Pig, I hope you Suffocate on your own Spit." Then they'd laugh as Swifty rolled around in the dirt, oinking against his will, unable to breathe. He couldn't talk back -his speech impediment would only make it worse. "Oh, what's he trying to say? Is your throat Itching?" Then he'd have this terrible itch inside his trachea that couldn't be soothed by scratching. So he shut up, took it until they were bored, and returned to his businesses.
Master had always made it clear that he should not pronounce any Words. You don't have it in you, he said. You can't even talk like a dirty peasant, he said. Anything you say comes out as gibberish and nonsense, it's better if you shut your mouth and keep to the books. And so he did. He learned fast through reading, and his manuscript was beautiful and speedy. Master discovered his talent as a scribe, and put him to work mercilessly. It is for your own good, he said. This is the only somewhat worthwhile thing you can do without making a hopeless mess.
As he worked on the 13th copy, a phrase caught Swfity's attention. Pierce. Swifty remembered this word. One of the kids said to him less than an hour ago: "Your Lips are Pierced." and that's how he got the bloodied lip. The rune said something about Ceasing the Pierce inside one's Nose. Such a distasteful word, Swifty thought. But out of mere curiosity, he uttered under his breathe without thinking: "Pierce."
Suddenly, a shrill sound shot from Swifty's desk. Swifty started and looked down. The parchment now had a clear puncture. He removed the paper to reveal a hole in his desk. He crawled under the table, and saw a another hole on the marble tile.
That night, when Master called Swifty into the living room, Swift was ready to speak the Word. He was shaking with excitement and anxiety, and found them difficult to hold back. What will happen to him afterwards? the question crossed his mind, but he hardly cared. Revenge was so close, he could taste it with his parched tongue.
There was another person in the room, but all Swifty could see was that Master had his back turned against him. If there was a moment to say it, the moment was now. Swifty opened his mouth, but was abruptly cut off by Master. "Swifty, I want you to meet Mrs. Letterson. Mrs. Letterson is an expert in archaic speeches. You will be making manuscripts for her studies from now on."
Swifty froze. He had seen a whole lot of Violetta Letterson's all over his Master's study. Mrs. Letterson was one of the most prestigious authorities when it came to spell constructing. Her name appeared on many books that were considered ahead of their time in this field.
"Dear Violetta, I assure you, Swifty here may sound dumb as a Rock, but his nimble little fingers will not disappoint you. I know your previous assistants have... not been so successful, but this one, he is different."
Master put an intentional emphasis on the word "Rock". Swifty felt a forceful smile creeping onto his face. Dumb as a rock indeed, as if Swifty couldn't comprehend what the bag of gold on the table meant. He was sold to Mrs. Letterson, like a commodity. Master never cared about him, even when he taught Swifty how to read. Swifty saw the same, emtionless look inside Mrs. Letterson's eyes when she looked at him. He would be exploited, harder than ever, by this haughty woman. Swift felt the weight of the Word inside his mouth, heavier than ever. All these years, suppressed hatred now boiled inside his heart and bubbled behind his lips. He felt like he held the Word inside his mouth for an eternity, while listening to Mrs. Letterson speak: "I do have high expectations for this one, Ernest. He should be an excellent addition to my studies. Still, I hope you understand that I have agreed to pay more than I expected to, and I look forward to get my money's worth." Her voice seemed to came from far, far away.
Somehow, some way, Swifty managed to swallow the Word. Instead, he smiled and headed back to the study.
Later on, supervillain Labia Clausa would recall this moment as "the hardest moment in my life." But at the same time, he also called it "the greatest lesson I've learned". "Words have power." he said in an unexpected interview, "But modern heroes don't recognize that power. They shout out their attacks because it takes little effort, and sounds very... awesome. And they can get popular by doing that, which is fine with me. A true scholar, however, studies the words -all of their meanings, components, origins and derivatives. The mastery of language is what grants me true advantage."
"Still," he added after a pause, "I have met a few heroes that rivals my mastery of language. And yet, here I am, standing over their graves." He leaned in closer to the camera tightly clutched by the hands of a corpse. "I'll let you in with a little secret. On that day, I did not only discover the power of words. I discovered the power of silence." With that, he crushed the camera.
| 2018-08-08T12:15:59 | 2018-08-08T10:29:44 | 176 | 62 |
[WP] A group of female and non-binary adventurers go around exploiting poorly worded curses/prophecies/enchantments proclaiming that "no man" shall do this or that thing.
|
The man, with his crown and cloak, glowered down at the small adventurer. She was the only one of her party still standing, keeping herself between the corrupted lord and her friends. The group's best healer crouched near their best swordsperson, her fingers glittering with magic as she tried to heal a wound.
“You should have taken the chance to leave when I offered,” he said, his words coming easily, as if the fight had taken nothing from him. “ You can't win. You know you'll die here, like every other before you.”
“Really,” the young adventurer panted. She held her broken sword—the tip shorn clean off-- tightly. “I wouldn't be so sure of that, Makbit.”
Makbit laughed. “You would not be sure? You mean you came here, to what, to slay me, knowing nothing? I have the crystal sword, I have the castle's forces, I have prophecy, and you have … gods and seers all, a knight with the paint still wet on their shield and a cleric still in school?”
“Two clerics actually,” she answered, getting her breath back and indicating the badge on her breast. “And a Raccoon, though I think she's in your woods.”This time it wasn't even a proper evil laugh, more of a snort.“Also you don't have the prophecy. I do.”
That stopped the giggling cold. “ Excuse me?”
“No Man shall defeat you,” the young cleric said, patiently. “Right?”
“Oh, and you think that because you're of the fairer sex, you'll have a loophole? Your little magling couldn't land a strike, and neither will you.” The crystal sword gleamed in his hand, charged with dark fire.
“Of course Annie couldn't. She's human.” The little gnome grinned, teeth sharp as her broken sword lit with fire of its own. “I'm Ann. You really should have gotten your prophecy in writing.”
Her sword bit deep, and his dropped to the ground.
|
The easiest of all were the warding curses, in the first year since Aymara had the idea they’d grown rich on those. They were famous relics of the old days, the kind of magic that always seemed to be tacked onto the ends of the heroes stories:
*“And the great lord so-and-so of big-awesome-castle locked away his treasures in the depths of his grandfather’s crypt, attended by the assembled might of his still living wives and servants, who in their final moments painted the curse onto the doors with their very lifeblood. ‘Here lies the Great and Terrible Lord So-and-So, winner of battles as numerous as they are no longer relevant, from this day forth no man shall enter and no man shall leave, on pain of death, dismemberment, etc etc.”*
Aymara had to admit she was paraphrasing there, but she did whenever she thought of those old days. Magic that was so unimaginative didn’t warrant any fidelity to its memory.
Originally they’d meant to stop after the first year. Leta and the others had insisted on that, and for a brief period they had, each of them living like queens after their own fashion. Aymara herself had retired to a small but horrifically expensive castle on the North Sea, drowning her passion for discovery in fine wine and silks for the six months it took the rest of them to come to their senses.
She’d woken on the first day of spring to her guard captain’s worried tones. There were people at the gates, he had said, strange people.
Strange they were, but they were her people nonetheless, and their arrival couldn’t have been better timed. That night she’d opened up the last casks in her cellar and ordered the cook to spare no expense, there were more rich days coming.
Of course she hadn’t imagined the rich days would only last another year. Who’d have thought that most of those old tavern songs and heroic epics were false, that their heroes had either never existed or been a damn sight poorer than their hired bards had let on?
That brought Aymara and her friends to year three, and a cold, harsh winter morning on the side of the Camelline Mountains where nothing but snow leopards and whatever they ate should ever have set foot.
“Remind me again why we’re here?” Leta said, her voice the only thing other than their footsteps to have broken the silence of their hike.. “I mean you’ve got an eye no doubt, but this? This takes the cake.”
“Look, you can shut up or go back down to the village, those are your options.” Aymara didn’t even turn to back to her friend. They’d been through enough by now to that her complaints were harmless, so long as they didn’t spook the others.
“This lord was rich though, right?” A voice called from further down their line. Aymara cursed to herself. That was Lena, Leta’s sister, and that was someone she might actually need to worry about. “It can’t be like last time,” Lena said, “we barely had anything to split after we raided that fat old merchant’s vault.”
“Yeah but at least it was warm there!” Someone else called.
“OK, STOP!” Aymara said, finally turning. She’d spoken the words no louder than normal but her magic projected them across the mountainside, hopefully at a quietly enough not to start an avalanche. She forced herself not to glance up the mountain.
“Now you,” she said, pointing to Lena, “and all the rest of you have nothing to complain about. Nothing! We’ve had a hard go of it lately but any one of you could retire right now and go back to a better life than you had before, and if you already spent it all that’s not my problem. Soon we’re going to reach the Caves of Khazan and if any of you, ANY OF YOU, so much as thinks about turning back once we’re in there I’ll teleport you off the side of the mountain without a second thought. Am I understood?”
They all nodded, even Lena though hers was sullen. Aymara turned back, the group following behind her. She hated the distraction, hated that she’d had to use even that small part of her magic this early. There were two spells to defeat once inside and little room for error in either one.
They’d heard the rumors the month before, in the cities and villages that clung to the foothills of the range along the borders of nations. This area had been a lawless dividing line for centuries, only changing in times of war when one ascendant empire or another tried to hold the heights and the all important passes they controlled.
The Caves of Khazan were a remnant of one of those times. Apparently Khazan had been a powerful necromancer who fled to the area following an apocalyptic battle in the lowlands. He’d taken with him several artifacts, ostensibly to craft his masterpiece with, whatever that had meant; more importantly all of them were ancient, powerful, and (hopefully) valuable. After all, regardless of what she’d said before Aymara still had that North Sea castle to pay for.
The first spell was an enchantment at the entrance. A wise woman had told her it read,
*“Travelers from near and far,*
*Coming here where treasures are,*
*Stand tall and proud, make your spells heard,*
*Though no man but me may speak the words,”*
Aymara hated rhymes too, in most cases she’d found that their writers were either shocking pompously or convinced (wrongly) of their cleverness, and from everything she’d heard she strongly suspected the necromancer was both. He hadn’t even included the answer within the thing. If he was going to try he should have at least made it a solvable riddle, one of her sources had been forced to dig it up from an ancient library.
She’d rolled her eyes and had to suppress a giggle when she’d gotten her source’s letter though. The password his name repeated in five different forms of ancient language conventions. Pompous indeed.
They arrived at the entrance close to noon and paused for a short lunch. One of the fire mages lit a brazier and the others all crowded around, cooking sausages and warming a large pot of porridge.
Aymara went to the massive, weathered stone of the entrance, tracing her hands down the runes of the enchantment. She could barely make out the words, they must have been carved a long time ago.
“Nervous?” Leta said from behind her.
Aymara turned and gratefully accepted a heel of bread and some cheese from her friend.
“Thanks,” she said. “No, not nervous. Just…excited. We came a long way for this one and we really need it.”
“So of us less than others, we didn’t all buy castles.” Leta grinned at her, bumping shoulders playfully. Aymara only snorted. She had no regrets.
“Are you going to open it?” Leta asked.
“I may as well, huh? Thinks there’s any point in waiting?” Aymara said.
“Nah, most of the time they only have defenses farther in. Besides, it’ll teach the new ones to stay on their toes.”
Aymara laughed softly, shaking her head. Leta's savings were so at odds with the rest of her behavior. Not that she disagreed though. Scraping some of the snow off the small plinth in front of the doors she placed her hands on it, squaring her shoulders, standing tall and proud just as the enchantment had said.
*“Khazan, Ghazan, Hazuun, Kharzi, Khos,”* she said. All five forms of his name, spoken loudly enough that they echoed.
Behind her she heard the group scurrying into position, crying out in surprise. Aymara closed her eyes, waiting, counting the seconds and praying it hadn’t all been for nothing. Then, with a sound like a waterfall crashing into rocks, the door began to open.
\---------
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you. I may come back to write more of this later, this prompt was fun.
| 2021-03-04T14:22:45 | 2021-03-04T13:00:46 | 465 | 106 |
[WP] You are a normal citizen in a relatively unimportant country. One day the goverment starts to act crazy, changing ideology overnight, drafting people for the army and antagonizing their neighbours. The player controlling your country in a strategy game has just begun their world conquest run.
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"Look, I'm sorry Sarge, but it still doesn't make much sense."
"I told you before Private, it's about tourism. Have you seen the statistics? If we don't strike now, the entire world will be wearing blue jeans and listening to American pop music!"
"You have an Ariana Grande playlist!"
"That's...I have no idea what you're talking about. And even if your completely spurious allegations were correct, it would be immaterial. The point is, the Chinese and Iranians aren't yet. But at the rate new film studios have been opening the past decade, it's only a matter of time. And we can't count on them to launch a naval invasion because our best intel has concluded they don't really understand how boats work. It has to be us."
"But why do we care! Blue jeans are nice! Why do we have to invade the United States... which incidentally given the size of their military and nuclear stockpile seems like an objectively terrible idea...to stop Iranians from visiting Disney World and wearing blue jeans?"
"Because going to space would take too long."
"...What does that have to do with ANYTHING!"
"Also don't tell anybody but I think I heard the brass whispering about going for Russia next."
"WHAT."
"Don't worry about it, Private. It'll be a cake walk. Intel reports that the Americans don't really know how their nukes work anyway. By the might of Ahura Mazda, we'll show them how Canadians fight!"
"This is insane...what was that last bit again?"
"Wait...the part about Ahura Mazda? The one true god of Zoroastrianism, the state religion of Canada as of 9:00 AM this morning?"
"No, who the fuck is Ahura Mazda!"
"Die heretic!"
*Blam*
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Obligatory apology for mobile formatting and obligatory first writing prompt attempt.
A sharp cold hung in the air. It was much colder today, unseasonably cold. Though it is August, the temperatures here in Athens had been fairly typical for the season. Unable to place this suspicious weather, I went to my usual café. Things didn’t feel right. The café was deserted, save for the barista whom was apparently to distracted by an unknown force to notice me. I sat at my normal booth and opened the paper. My mouth hung agape.
I had to do a double take. Front Page August 30th 1939, Greece Mobilizes Against Their Neighbors.
It couldn’t be right, our country was focused on recovery and development. The scars of the many balkan conflicts still permeated throughout our nation. Our military forces are not numerous nor technological innovative. Our force had always been defensive, well mostly. It all felt surreal. This couldn’t be happening.
I left the café without a word and yet no one seemed to notice me. No one seemed particularly perturbed or distraught at the prospect of war, yet it seemed as though everyone was paralyzed. People continued their days seemingly autonomously, not a word or any indication of humanity from anyone I’d seen thus far today. This can’t be real.
I didn’t go to work after the café, how could I? Surely this is a dream, I must wak-
A thunderous cracking pierced the sky. An explosion? An earthquake? I’ve no idea what this agonizing cacophony sounds could be. I rushed to my window, the city is ablaze. A symphony of death and destruction is marching through the capital. The sirens blare, the evacuation order has been sounded.
I’d never run so fast in my life, Hermes himself would envy my panic induced sprint. I left it all, my life, my belongings, everything I’d ever known.
At least we had a contingency plan in place, thought admittedly instituted as a precaution against Turkish aggression. My mind is racing, head pounding. This CAN NOT be real. In my panic I didn’t manage to see whom is invading us. So much has happened. I can’t process this and I can’t stay awake much longer, this has all been so exhausting. I should try to stay up. At least a. little.. while...
Zzzz
I awoke in the refugee bunker to a bugle call, Reveille, I guess, well our form of it. The bunker was surprisingly well stocked as if the capital had been anticipated to fall recently. The garrison is providing meals and I’ve never been so hungry in my life. The ration was surprisingly satisfying. I’d gotten used to a simple diet so the balanced military meal was actually refreshing. I overheard the troops muttering amongst themselves. The feint had worked? From the sounds of it the conflict is much larger than I’d anticipated. Maybe I can gather some more information?
I managed to inquire about the war with one of the garrison Lokhagos (captain I believe apologies if I’m mistaken) and it seems as though the world is ending. Just as in the Great War but two decades ago, Europe, no, the world is embroiled in conflict. There was no assassination this time however, Germany has plunged the world in a war of conquest, a war of greed. Hitler has incited hate amongst the continent. Nationalism has exploded the likes of which I’d never entertained. Franco, Mussolini, Hitler they were all expected, but it would appear seemingly overnight the world devolved into Insanity. Otto Von Hapsburg has assumed the Hungarian throne and forcibly annexed Austria under the guise of rebuilding the empire. The Germans, under advisement from Falkenhausen, have pledged unwavering support to the Chinese coalition against the HiroHito’s Imperial forces in Asia, and Turkey has allowed itself to join this Rome-Berlin Axis in their war of conquest. It would appear as though my poor Greece has gone mad as well, volunteering to join forces with the fascists at the expense of our neighbors. The army has been doing well. Yugoslavia and Bulgaria are learning to fear the Greek forces. Apparently the military had been building up and training in secret, hiding the true number and capabilities of our forces, now supplemented with lend-lease arms from Italy and the Reich. The attack on our capital was a retaliatory measure taken by the Royal Navy and the garrison from Malta. While they were able to drive the government out of Athens, and level most of the city, the Italian fleet forced their retreat.
An unknown force compelled me to enlist. Me and seemingly the entire populace. It’s unreal how large the armed force has grown. It seems like the entire country is serving. Arms and equipment, food supply, and the like seem to materialize daily. It’s been months since I’ve felt sentient again. Is it ‘41? ‘42? I can’t recall. The war has raged on so long and almost every country is involved. Our forces along with the Turks, Hungarians, and Italians have split the balkans. For the time being, the tenuous peace with Stalin seems to be holding. France, Portugal, Denmark, Norway, Sweden, Luxembourg, Belgium, The Netherlands, they’ve all fallen. Well at least in Europe anyway. Only the British Defy us in Europe, then we can crush the workers revolution once and for all.
The war in Africa has been fought to a standstill, after the fall of Cairo to Mussolini’s forces, it was expected that the British Expeditionary Forces would fully withdraw yet Wavell with the aid of De Gaulle seem determined to continue the resistance.
Asia fares no better. China hasn’t capitulated, but Japan is still in a powerful position, now with the Philippines and a newly liberated Siam to aid them. The only positive would be the withdrawal of British Raj from the British Crown. Their independence definitely reduced the front line for Chinese forces.
Then we have the new world. The Führer’s attempts to woo the Americans has failed. Damn Rosevelt and his belief in a democratic process. They think themselves the “Cradle of Democracy” or Bastion rather. No matter, Argentina and Brazil have seen the power of force. They will help us crush the USA and their Mexican and Canadian allies.
Stalin beat us to the punch. Romania and Poland are littered with corpses thanks to his Red Army. The fight is especially intense on the Finnish front, though the “Winter War” was a tentative victory for Stalin, the Finns have allies now.
I’ve been promoted once more. I can hardly remember the pre war days. Or my pre war life. None of it matters, for reasons unbeknownst to me, this war is all that matters. Our armies are invincible, our will indomitable, Greece will rise to power once again. Our borders will put Alexander’s empire to shame.
It’s all crumbling. God has abandoned us. The trance has lifted and people are in open rebellion. I have no idea how to feel. I’m but a husk. This war had consumed my being for years and I finally feel alive once more.
The war is over and the peace has been signed. We’re ruined. Infighting and the “Liberation” of our country by allied forces has ensured nothing but ruble remains. The Yanks perfected their bombing campaigns. They don’t target the armed forces, they beat the people into submission. The reparations are harsh yet I’m not angry at any of it. As Icarus did before us, we too have burned up.
Abandoned it’s over. There is no god and it wasn’t all a dream. The world will never be the same, I can only hope that future generations learn from our ignorance and hatred, that we may one day live in Unison.
If you’ve made it this far, I sincerely thank you. I apologize if this is lackluster as it is my first attempt. I hope you enjoyed and please leave feedback!
| 2019-03-10T12:43:25 | 2019-03-10T12:24:58 | 66 | 11 |
[WP] While walking home from school, you find a book titled "Cheat Codes". It doesn't specify what game it's for, but the codes themselves are specific and seemingly random instructions. Messing around, you follow the instructions for No Clipping and find yourself walking through obstacles.
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I flip through the cheat codes. One page tells me how to fly, another tells me how to make millions. I do not know what to pick, and then I find it. It’s too good to be true.
I’m at the cemetery and this is insane.. I head up to the headstone. Mary Harwick. Beloved wife, mother, daughter. 1970-2020. I have to try. I have to see Mom again. The last page of cheat codes; Revive Dead Character.
I open the book and start to read.
“/UniverseCa/milkyway/sol/earth”.... My heart beats faster; the wind shivers.
“/usa/reviveDeadCharacter/” and last I must read their name, the date they died… and forever to passes before I say it
“MaryHarwick/July092020”... and I wait. A minute passes. Nothing happens. Did I say it right? Did it not work? Did I wait too long to say it? I say it again.
“/universeCa/mikyway/sol/earth/usa/reviveDeadCharacter/MaryHarwick/July092020”. Nothing happens again.
I closed the book. I walk back to my car.
I walk into my home, tired, defeated. I walk upstairs and from the kitchen.
“Adam!”
That voice it’s….
“Surprised to see me I am sure”
It’s Mom. She is alive and standing there just like she was before she got sick. I run up to her and hug, hug her harder than any high schooler should.
“How are you doing Adam? It has been so long since I have seen you.”
“I know Mom, have you gotten Dad up?”
“Oh, well yes Adam, but… there is something you should know”.
“Uh… what is it?”
“I just killed Dad, slit his throat upstairs”
“You…. you what?”
“Well, when I was in Hell I learned that your father poisoned me. I was surprised too. He was sleeping with his secretary and murdered her to be with her. She’s only a few years older than you Adam. It is disgusting.”
I’m speechless.
“He was going to be with her but she quit her job right after and moved to Florida. He was devastated. But he never turned himself in, after you brought me back I slit his throat, and stabbed him.”
I run upstairs, and I don’t even go into his room. There is blood flowing out into the hallway. I walk back downstairs still speechless.
“I know it’s hard, but you didn’t love him, he was only your father. I’m your mother, now go to bed Adam. We can talk about it tomorrow morning”.
“Yeah Mom, listen I forgot my backpack in my car. Can I go grab it?”
“Of course”.
In the car is the Cheat Codes, and I find the first code in the book:
“universeCa/milkyway/sol/earth/undoLast”
I walk back into the house.
She’s gone.
|
I was walking home from school, minding my own business. It was a sunny day and my backpack felt heavier than normal from the heat. My back was sweating under the pack.
I was crossing main street when I heard glass shatter, then two large duffel bags were hurled out of the collapsed front window of a bank. There was a black van parked next to the bank, and the duffel bags rolled to the street where two men standing at the van picked up the bags and stuffed them in the back.
A few seconds later, two men hopped out of the shattered window of the bank with black ski masks, black suits and black assault rifles. On their wrists, both had strange, twisting red tattoos.
The shattered glass crunched under their feet as they walked calmly to the van. When they were about halfway there, a police car, sirens blazing, swept around C street and barreled towards the van.
I was standing on the far side walk, watching all this happen, when I saw the two men in black suits open fire on the police car, which came to a screeching halt. Two police officers threw open their doors and returned fire on the two gunmen, who by that time were jumping into the back of the van.
It peeled out, tires smoking, as it made a 180 degree turn in the middle of the street, with the police officer’s bullets knocking against the side, then it sped away, up towards the highway. The officers were not far behind them, the sound of their siren fading into the distance.
All this happened in a matter of a few seconds, and there was hardly any time to think, nor react. It played out like a Hollywood movie. Never in my sixteen years of life would I have ever thought I’d witness something like that in my city.
There were other witnesses besides me that were making their way out from behind their makeshift covers: cars, trash cans, and trees. A man beside me walked over towards the bank, calling to see if everyone was okay.
Watching him walk calmly across main street, with the burn marks from the vans tires still filling the air with a heavy charred rubber scent, gave me courage, and I followed him.
The man was in cowboy boots and a cowboy hat with tight jeans and a plaid shirt. He was tall, maybe six foot three or more. His boots crunched loudly as he stepped over the glass and tried to open the door of the bank, which was locked, he then disappeared through the broken window.
I stepped up to the spot where the van was. I could smell the gunpowder still wafting in the air. It reminded me of one time when my uncle took me to a shooting range last summer.
In the gutter, where the bags had rolled before the men in the van grabbed them, was a book. It must have fallen out of one of the duffel bags and it was lying open. The page was filled with what seemed like a long list of instructions. When I looked closer at the words, they didn’t make sense to me.
The book was lying in a small stream of fetid liquid that was a disgusting green sheen like antifreeze. I picked up the book and shook off as much of the liquid as I could, then looked at the front cover. It read: ***Cheat Codes***.
I heard another siren behind me, and with a burning curiosity for what this book was, and in a sort of panic, I quickly stuffed the book in my school bag, looking around, hoping no one saw me.
There were others around, but they were all talking amongst each other.
Some of the bank employees had came out, talking to the cowboy hatted man about “safety deposit boxes being broken into.” A short, fat man, who looked like the manager, was waving down the police car which was heading towards the curb at alarming speed.
I quickly stepped over the broken glass on the sidewalk and headed away from the sirens and the bank and the people, back towards my house so I could read more of this strange book that was left behind by the bank robbers.
I had a strange sense someone was watching me, and I turned to my right, looking across main street. There was a man, someone I’d never seen before, staring at me. He was middle-aged, with black hair, slightly above average height, with a sharp nose and dark shark-like eyes. He was leaning against a brick wall, but straightened himself up and started walking towards me.
“Hey, kid,” I heard his voice call across the street, cutting through the siren.
I quickened my pace, ducking down an alley between *Leo’s Barbershop* and *Eagle’s Pizza*. When I was out of sight, I broken into a full sprint.
\---
I stopped my sprint after a few minutes. I was completely drenched in sweat and breathing hard. My lungs felt like they were going to explode. I hadn’t heard the guy’s voice again, after I felt like I lost him, so I leaned against the wall of Vito’s Pizzeria, behind their dumpster.
After a few seconds, and after my body calmed down, I pulled out the book again. I felt bad for taking it. I’m not sure why I did. I’m not a thief. Maybe it was the shock of everything. I’m not sure, but the book was in my hands.
Now, with more time to inspect the book, I found a strange black marker tied securely to the spine of the book. I took the pen and held it in my hand. On the pen was a thousand intricate gold-lined engravings. It looked exotic, and very expensive.
I flipped randomly to a page in the book and saw instructions for ***No Clipping***. Most of the page for no clipping was filled with warnings, which I ignored, my eyes focusing on a small diagram of an arm, and on the arm, there was a picture of a forearm with the words NOCLIP written inside a box. It stated to use the pen attached to the spine of the book.
I shifted my weight, leaning against the dumpster, so I could draw the words on my forearm and test these weird instructions. But when I leaned against the dumpster, I accidently knocked over a bottle which was sitting on the lid. It rolled to the ground and shattered loudly.
“Kid?” I heard a voice—the same one from main street—call out.
My heart leaped in my chest, and I scooted against the wall.
“Kid, I’m not going to hurt you. But I think you got something that my boss really wants. Listen, I’ll give you a hundred bucks for that book. What do you say?”
I looked at the page and frantically began writing *NOCLIP* on my arm. By the time I got to *IP*, the man turned the corner and was standing over me, his hands on his hips. He was in a gray suit and under his cuffs, I could see long, trailing red tattoos along his wrists--the same as the gunmen at the bank. He wore black gloves with holes at the knuckles. He opened his hands and closed them, while staring at me.
I had hoped that when I wrote the words something would happen. I really did. I guess it was a childish naivete thinking there was actual powers in that pen and book. But nothing happened.
“Kid, I ain’t got time for this. Give me that damn book,” he said.
“Touch me and I’ll scream,” I said.
The man smiled, his teeth yellow with black along the gums. “I tried to play nice. Mr. Raffetto will know I played nice and asked you, but you didn’t listen. Why don’t you listen?”
I looked at the page again. I wrote it correctly. Did I do something wrong? I wondered, and that’s when I realized I hadn’t drawn the box around the words. I quickly dashed the perimeter around the words: NOCLIP, and I felt a strange electrical current—not painful, just strange—course through my wrist and up my body.
The man grabbed me by my shirt, pulling me up to my feet.
“Give me the damn book,” he shouted in my face.
My vision filled with a brilliant white flare, and I screamed out, which seemed to surprise the man, who pushed me back, against the wall, but instead of slamming against the wall I fell through it to the other side. Into a kitchen area, with a man kneading pizza doe methodically. He stopped, mouth agape, when he saw me appear out of nowhere through the wall.
There was a muffled yell on the other side of the wall as the man in the gray suit was shouting out obscenities.
With the book still in my hand, I got up and ran towards the kitchen door, which was a swinging door on hinges. I reached to push it open and my whole body simply went through it and I stumbled and fell on the other side, into a room filled with people eating pizza, drinking soda, and watching sports from big screens on the wall.
They stared at me as I scraped myself off the floor, walking slowly for the front door. I reached tentatively for the handle, and my hand, again simply went through it. I panicked and ran through the front door of the restaurant with the amazed shouts of the pizzeria patrons.
The man in the gray suit turned the corner and shouted at me.
“Hey! Kid, you don’t know what you’re doing. Stop!”
I sprinted in the other direction, away from him, as the heavy thumps of his footsteps followed right behind me.
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
| 2021-06-05T15:48:14 | 2021-06-05T15:32:36 | 263 | 85 |
[WP] Humanity has finally achieved FTL travel. They can now explore the universe and find other alien species, sapient or otherwise. To the consternation of Man, it turns out they’re all crabs. As a matter of fact, the interstellar community is quite disturbed we are not crabs.
|
*This post has been translated from Crustaceanese to English.*
"What the hell happened to its claws?", the Crab President inquired to his foremost interstellar species expert as he gazed upon the giant screen displaying a human male.
"They don't seem to have them, sir. I believe what they have instead are referred to as 'fingers'.", she responds.
"I see. So it fings with those things?"
"That's correct, sir."
"And just what does it mean to 'fing'?"
"You don't want to know, sir."
"I see. And why does this, what's it called again?"
"Human, sir."
"Right, human. Why does this human only have two legs? Was it mutilated by Space Seals?"
"Negative, sir. That's just how they walk."
"Walk?"
"It's like scuttling, sir. But forward."
"They scuttle forward?!"
"That's correct, sir."
"Astonishing! And this human here is mid-molt?"
"No, sir. Humans do not molt."
"Then where is its carapace? Where is its shell?"
"Inside, sir."
"Inside?! That's ludicrous! That offers you no protection whatsoever! Even a pointed wooden stick could damage you!"
"That's correct, sir. Humans are, in their own terms, quite 'squishy'."
"Is that why they wear that wiry helmet on their heads?"
"That's called 'hair', sir. We believe it is only used for status and mating purposes."
"Fascinating! And these squishy apes are the dominant species on their planet?"
"Correct, sir."
"But we seeded life in the galaxy with crabs. Are you trying to tell me there are no crabs on this planet?"
"Brace yourself, sir."
"For what?"
The display screen begins playing a movie of humans feasting on crabs. The sounds of their cracking exoskeletons reverberate throughout the room that's now been stunned into silence. Closeups of the humans as they devour the crab's meaty interiors produce gasps of horror. Food rolls down their bibs as they continue to shove more than can fit into their ravenous mouths.
The President's claws being to clack in fervor.
"Prepare the warships!"
|
The street was crowded with brightly colored stalls and riotously colored carapaces. The salt water funk of a thousand crustacean species hung thick in the air. To Tyron, it seemed the world was alive with clicking and humming, and the deep, burbling, unintelligible speech common to all crab life of the galaxy.
Tyron adjusted his translation patch and rebreather, trying to filter some of the aural and nasal noise from the air. After several long seconds, Trader’s Alley, that world spanning equatorial band of shops, stalls, sunken malls, and shellpots resolved to something manageable for a human. Tyron breathed a little deeper, then consulted his data slate.
A single dot blinked faintly some five hundred meters away. It fuzzed out and then back in, fuzzed out again and then stayed. It was hard to track anyone in the madness of a crab city, but in the case of another human, it was vaguely possible. The slate was gathering and sifting data fed to him from his orbiting spacecraft’s sensors, tracking the nearest human life reading to Tyron’s own position. There were only twenty humans on all of Decapoda Prime, and of those, ten were embassy staff and eight had formally registered business concerns. That left only two readings, Tyron’s, and the man he’d been sent to catch.
The Hammer Man. The man whose appetites might see the human race at war before too long, if Tyron couldn't stop him.
Tyron jogged down the long, gently curving street. Eye stalks and assorted visual-apparati followed him, all of them dark, beady, and angry. Tyron tried to see past the crustaceans natural urge to distrust a mammal, tried to see past the fact that the creatures most like him were hanging from food stalls or spitted over the hot water jet cooking systems the crustaceans seemed to love.
He’d been on the Hammer Man’s trail for a year now, across Decapoda Prime and Minor, the Brachyura sytem, and beyond. The man was an enigma.
Tyron had heard once that he was very rich, and he thought that much must be true. To move so easily and so secretly from planet to planet implied he must have a private spacecraft, likely of crustacean make so as to dress less attention in port. The Hammer Man seemed to have no other job, his only calling was to satisfy his own, dark appetites. Tyron had also heard that he was a connoisseur, that before he'd embarked on his sentient killing sprees he'd sampled every fare humanity had and found it wanting.
Whatever he was, he could be an enigma. Tyron tracked him just the same, though always one step behind, one shattered shell and meat stripped carapace away from his target.
This time would be different. Tyron checked the slate again. His target was moving, the life sign had ducked down a warren of alleys and was heading west, towards the shellpots. Tyron shivered. He had wanted to catch the man before he got there, but his target was quick, and the shellpots were very close.
Sharp red light bathed the fetid street from a thousand tiny urns set into the walls of the curving, organic lined buildings. Tyron took a moment to catch his breath and his bearing as he reached the shellpots. He wished he hadn’t almost instantly.
Here, the buildings were tall, multilevel affairs. Simply built and simply colored, designed to draw the eye to the jutting clamshell balconies where the crustacean underworld hawked their wares. Here, the creatures in the balconies, some women, some men, some indescribable to humans, wore nothing on their carapaces but bright shell paint and wisps of anemone gauze. It turned Tyron’s stomach. The creatures had too many curves and too many legs. Too many claws and sharp edges.
Tyron checked the data slate and cursed loudly. The reading was gone. The Hammer Man might have ducked into any of a million alleys and door steaming with life of a endless descriptions, more than enough to confuse an orbital sensor.
Then the distant clacking and burbling grew louder, and from several brothels down and to his left, Tyron heard the clear, stone on claw grinding sounds of crustacean panic.
Tyron followed it, running down the street as fast as he could, his pistol in one hand and his holo-badge winking into life on his back and both shoulders.
“Clear the street!” he shouted ineffectually at the many panicked creatures who were pouring out of the building. A scent filled the air, something like heavily salted boiling water and old bay, and Tyron knew he was far, far too late. He dashed up the stairs and into another warren of rooms, following his nose now, and there he found him.
The Hammer Man stood over a broken form, purple anemone gauze decking the walls and the expansive mollusk shaped bed. Here and there claw pincers were scattered around amidst small fragments of shell Tyron couldn’t identify. The Hammer Man was tall and whipcord thin, long black hair trailing across a bare, faux-leather jacket cut off at the elbows. He turned towards Tyron, face smeared with oils and spices, marks of the sentient he’d just been eating. His right arm terminated in a heavy, cybernetic mallet, lights winking on and off with every little motion. In his left, the man held a laser pen. The kind used by artists and construction workers to scrawl shapes into durasteel. Tyron’s eyes widened, perhaps on a very diffuse setting it was capable of cooking the man’s targets inside their shells.
The Hammer Man raised a single manicured eyebrow, smiling through thin lips. “What, they sent the Stasi for little old me?”
Tyron grimaced at the nickname and raised his pistol, thumbing off the safety. “I’m bringing you in, EarthSec wants a few words.”
“I’m sure they do,” the Hammer Man said. His smile only grew. At his feet the broken shaped twitched and burbled, still alive but only just.
“Put down the hammer and the pen.”
“Afraid I can’t, boss,” The Hammer Man said, raising his right arm. The hammer was riveted to flesh and bone in a rough parody of real cyber surgery.
“The pen then,” Tyron demanded.
The Hammer Man shrugged and dropped it. It hit the ground with a heavy clank and bounced a little, and as it hung in the air the Hammer Man glanced down to it, his eyes glowing in the way that only cyber eyes could, translating a little message to his tool.
The pen flashed, shockingly, painfully bright, the light scalding Tyron’s eyes. His pistol went off as he scrambled back, trying to make sense of what had just happened, what he’d just seen. There was a loud crash, a hammer tearing through a wall as if it were tissue paper, and then nothing.
It took minutes for Tyron’s sight to truly return, and by then the Decapodan police were there with lights of their own and a battery of hard to answer questions. Tyron could only flash his badge and wonder, thinking back on his last moments with his target.
The Hammer Man had issued the command to his pen, and then his form had shimmered, the jacket had extended, the brown turning to reds and golds as it became a carapace. His face had hardened and elongated, he’d sprouted extra eyes. The hammer had become a single, heavy claw.
Somewhere on his person, the Hammer Man had hidden a shockingly good and shockingly effective holo-generator. It made sense, Tyron thought. A seeming crustacean coming off a crustacean ship, no one would ever think to question it.
As one particularly particularly burly lobster looking fellow ambled to Tyron, each of his two sets of claws holding a different form to be filled out, Tyron sent his data slate records up to his ship, along with a reconstructed snap shot of the last thing he’d seen. The ship would search half the galaxy’s database for anyone with a cyber hammer or a face like The Hammer Man’s own.
Tyron could only hope that that too had not been a fake.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed that I've got tons more over at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-08-05T06:43:16 | 2021-08-05T05:52:31 | 1,041 | 240 |
[WP] You've died. You expected to be judged in the Afterlife, but all you see now is God and Satan disappointingly sigh at you and simultaneously scold: "We look away for five months and you died AGAIN?!"
|
You give a nervous chuckle. "Yep, I'm here again..."
Satan glared at you. "How did you die this time!? All the demons have been in check!" God nods in agreement. "All the angels have been as perfect as ever. Maybe you died from natural cause?"
"Heh, well it was another demon," you mutter. Satan quickly spoke up and said "God gave you a cross to avoid this! That's impossible!"
"Well...maybe they took it off with an angel's help?" You suggested, avoiding all eye contact with the two.
"C'mooon!" The demon's voice from the other night boomed in your head. "It's just one drink! What's the worst that'll happen?"
"I guess..." your voice responded with. One drink turned into two which turned into three, and three drinks eventually turned into ten. If the car crash you got into didn't kill you, the alcohol poisoning probably would have.
God sighed. "Now, now, let's not point fingers. Let's figure out what to do. Maybe it really is your time this time."
Your eyes widened. "No! I can't die! I'm so close to finding a way to close the opening to Hell!"
"That's what you said last time!" Satan bellowed. "Yet, demons are still escaping to the human world!"
"I know, I know, I- I just need a bit more time, please...!" Your voice shook.
God sighed again. "I think we should allow one more chance."
Satan groaned. "I'm getting sick of this..."
"Are you sure that'll work?" You heard yourself asking the night before.
"Of course," the demon assured you, "just follow my lead."
"Alright," God said after a moment of silence, "we will allow you one more chance."
"And you need to get this done!" The devil demanded.
"Yes, of course!" You say. "Thank you so much!"
You gasp, bolting upright. You looked around at your surroundings. You were laid next to a burning car, the body of the demon from the night before laying next to you. There wasn't a scratch on him, just as expected. "Well?" You ask. "Got what you need?"
"All of it," the demon's voice came out of your mouth. "As long as he thinks the demons are in check, we will be good. So, they expect you to close the opening to Hell?"
"Yes," you respond with your own voice. "Your body is untouched, too."
"Perfect. Once I get back into my body, you and I can start our outbreak."
You chuckle. "It's gonna be one HELL of a time."
"Oh, shut up..."
|
**The Water Of Life**
PART 1
**Introduction:** God ruling over the heaven and Satan ruling over the underworld, was not really as easy as it had seemed. We would like to believe that Satan and God never cooperated on any task and only resented each other's presence. But this was never close to the truth, as both of them knew, deep down that neither of them can exist without the other. God's existence is what gives Satan the meaning for his existence and the converse is also true. Satan's absence will leave both the heaven and the earth to be too perfect; so perfect that it will resemble non-existence itself. And if Satan was the only one who existed, everything will be so out of order and nothing will exist as everything, including hell will cease to exist, as the *force of existence or being conscious was derived from God*.
Raguvara reached the Heaven's gate *again*. '*This is going to be a mess. What I am going to tell them?'* thought Raguvara as he walked towards the heaven's gates. Raguvara was a young man in his twenties, who had brown and *stern* eyes and long black hair that stretched across his shoulder. He was well built and seemed like he could take anyone down easily in a fight. His eyes fell along the tall golden gates, and a bright light radiating from his right side caught their attention. The usual comforting, energizing bright light that was filled with life, was radiating from an old and wise man in light blue cloak and a with long beard. '*God is waiting for me here?'* thought Raguvara. 'This is really bad, I have screwed up again!'
"So you have come back?" A very loud a clear voice said from his left, which made Raguvara Jump. The man was in a red cloak. Unlike God who was radiating light, Satan was attracting and absorbing light, like a black hole. The place he was standing on seemed unusually dark, and the grass he was stepping on seemed to lose its life and start to rot. It was hard to see his face, or any of his features, as even looking along his way made Raguvara a little depressed. Seeing both God and Satan in the same place was so unusual that it was the first of its kind after their separation. Satan literally seemed to be absorbing the light that was radiating from God.
"Raguvara my child" said God "why are you back so soon?".
"My lord, I'm really sorry. I tried my best"
"I forgive you -"
"Forgiveness?" cried Satan. "You are still your pathetic self, aren't you? If it was me, he would be burning in fire!"
"Dear Raguvara, ignore him! I will forgive you, *always*. Regardless of the number of times you may fail, or regardless whether the universe cease to exist because of your failure" said God.
"Raguvara, I don't have to do this. But let me repeat again" said Satan. "The heaven, the Earth and the Hell, and all the souls and living creatures in them all exists because of the water of life. Before the heaven was even founded, or before anything that was written in the Bible ever happened, God created the *water of life* to create *existence itself*. Destroying the water of life will end *your* existence, my existence and everything else God created- in an instant. We sent you to retrieve the water because, your soul was initially created to be its guardian. Over time, the external threats to the safety of the water reduced to almost nothing and God was free to send your soul to Earth or relive you from your task. The moment you were relived from your task, you lost all your memories from your past"
"I knew that I had screwed up something, but I didn't know anything about it. Why is that?" Asked Raguvara.
"The heaven works in the most obnoxious ways" Satan, and he was interrupted by God who said "memories are ordered and conditioned in the heaven, to help purify souls. The wrong sort of memory or any *bad* memory will risk breaking down the heavenly order. Which is why the spells I had cast on heaven will interact with your memory".
"So you erase people's memory to keep them quite?" Asked Raguvara. "That's why Raguvara, I don't allow people to hold on to their memories. If you were completely under the influence, you will not be able to defy me on heaven. But I have eased the control over you, to allow you to carry over our task."
God said "Let me continue from where Satan left. I had created the water of life to ensure that I always have control over my creation. As you already know, *even I* can't destroy any specific soul, I can choose to destroy everything at once if I had had the water of life (That's why I couldn't destroy Satan) But why would I do that? I only love, and care. Even if it risks the existence of Satan, I cannot sacrifice all the souls I had created to end his existence. But a few years ago, I had to fight a war against the God of a different universe. Of course, I managed to defend our universe and Satan helped. But that was not all, our enemy managed to slip one of his universe's soul into ours to find and retrieve the water of life. We (Satan and God) couldn't spot that something was wrong, until the moment the water was stolen. We managed to tighten our forces in the universe's border and ensure that no soul could escape heaven. And now, that soul finally found refuge as a human on Earth. We know who that child is, now we just need you to retrieve the water from him".
"Why me?" asked Raguvara.
"Because you are the only one who can retrieve it. No one else have the power to find the water, or even hold it" Said God.
"Why can't you both go and do it yourself?" Asked Raguvara.
"What do you think we are?" Asked Satan. "A servant? why-"
"Dear Raguvara" said God "it is not that we won't enter the Earth. It is that we *can't*. When I banished Satan, we had mutually entered into a contract that most people know nothing about. According to the contract, neither of us are supposed to directly descend to the Earth with our full forms. We can only send our messengers, and even that must be done through a human form. Of course, we can slip through someone of our power to alter the world a bit, but that's very insignificant. People who are excessively faithful to us will gain the right to talk to us directly and be influenced by us. But that's extremely rare"
"Why don't you ignore contract for a while on equal terms?" Asked Raguvara.
"I'm no fool to sign a contract with God, without any insurance that it will be held" said Satan. "the forces that binds the universe together along with the water of life was used as an assurance for the contract. If God defies the contract, the water of life will instantly be destroyed. If I defy the contract the existence of my soul will shrink to the extant that I will be incapable of maintaining hell. But this contract naturally ends on the judgment day, when I will have to fight a war against God head-on. Until then, I have to play by my rules".
Raguvara, thought '*why should it be my soul? why should I get caught up in this?'*
"Raguvara" said God. "it's time. You must start your journey back to Earth. I have made special arrangements this time. According to the contract, I can only help those who pray for me or imitate my ways, and Satan can also only influence people who pray or imitate him. I have caused misfortunes to the foreign soul on earth, and he will die soon. But he will be born again, so will you. This time, you are going to be his brother. You have to follow him and chase him, until he retrieves the water from where he hid it. Then, when you do that, you need to catch hold of the water in your hand (of course, in will be inside a container). Once you do that, leave the rest to us. Satan had made arrangements to cause your death the moment you hold the water in your hand. Your soul may not be able to hold or contain Earthly objects, but it can hold and contain the water of life, which you will be bringing to heaven"
"How will the foreign soul know where to look for?" Raguvara asked God.
"he will lose most of his memory after his death, but will retain the most important pieces of it; in the form of instincts, which will guide him. And I will be implanting instincts into you, so you can chase after him and retrieve the water" said God. "If this plan works, everything will be alright".
| 2019-07-17T15:18:01 | 2019-07-17T14:35:21 | 410 | 100 |
[WP] Before receiving the serum that unlocks latent powers, subjects take a battery of tests (physical exam, DNA analysis, a VERY intrusive questionnaire, etc.) to determine their likely abilities. Your testing process drags on and on as you are sent to higher-ranking (and increasingly tense) staff.
|
“Ok, Melony, we’re going to be transferring you to division centura 3.”
“Oh what the fuck! This is seriously the 4th time I’ve been transferred!”
“We apologize for the delay, but the results of your latest exam display properties of a class A-4 or even A-5 attribute. We are ill equipped to handle such an advanced enhancement.”
“Fucking whatever, I’ve done this enough, you already have my email and phone number, just email or text me my plane tickets.”
3 weeks later.
Fucking finally, after 4 flights, a weeks of testing, and even longer to analyze. I’ll finally get my results.
“Well miss Stelaria, we unfortunately are unable to process y-“
“OH JUST CUT TO THE CHASE! WHERE ARE YOU SENDING ME NOW! I went from my home, to Edmonton, to Chicago, to New York, to Washington, TO LONDON! WHERE NOW!”
A pair of large men dressed in black suits enter the room.
“Unfortunately that is classified. Your most recent results show a possible “Elemental Divinity” classification, and you’ll be coming with us to an undisclosed location.”
“W-what? I didn’t…”
“If it’s any consolation, you should know you’re the 6th person ever to have this classification.”
_________________________________________
If this is enjoyed, I’ll make a part 2.
|
( go easy on grammar, typing from my phone may edit later)
Dan woke up practically jumping out of bed, with all the youthful exuberance of a kid on Christmas. He had been counting down the days to the 1st of the month after he turned 25. The day had finally come! He had been striking off days on his calendar and losing sleep over this for months on end. He could finally go get his shot at the Power Distribution and services bureau , the PDS.
All his friends were a little older and loved lording their abilities over him. Tanya used her pyromancy to occasionally burn down his cigarettes, and he thought she was also burning some of the hair on his neckline ever so slightly to mess with him. His buddy Thomas had a mild probability manipulation gift and now no contest to determine the next beer run was safe, nor was his balance when walking down the street.
More than once Dan yelled at his friends and threatened to report them, not that he ever would. At the very least their juvenile games made him realize why governments regulated awakening doses until after the brain was fully formed. Dan assumed it was less about actual brain development or safety and more the universal foresight of not giving powers to teenagers.
For all the little things his close group of friends could do though, Dan wondered what it would be like to be like his cousin. John was allegedly so powerful he was corpo sponsored the near instant he left the PDS. Dan never spoke to him anymore, John was out there living the life Dan could only dream of, who could blame him for not taking the calls of his lame little cousin.
Dan shower up the PDS before it even opened, the building looking slightly dilapidated and covered in dingy off color concrete, much smaller than Dan expected. He entered the building smelling the overly bleached sterilized smell and seeing the yellowing tile. The long ropes queue leadings to the boxed and glassed off counters. The place Looking less like a lab facility and more like the cross between a prison and the dmv. “I’m here for my serum “ squeaked Dan to the half still asleep receptionist.
“Please fill out form 44A and waiver 2b please” she said as she passed him a tablet.
“Done and done”, he passed stuck his bit stick into the tablet and copied the form data.
Ok stand by the wall for your ident card.
Dan stopd awkwardly trying to pose and not blink.
He saw the preview for his awful photo with his too scrunched eyes and weird choked down smile. Even the auto normalize filter on the preview couldn’t make him look normal completely. Though the ID card printed looking at least a little less awkward.
“Ok, assessment will be with you shortly please wait over there for your ID number to be called”
Dan took a seat and looked at his number 57DN8053Mar310. The flexible card didn’t have anything beside eye color, height and name yet. Once he was awoken it would be auto updated with his typing and power rating.
Time seems to drag on forever the clock taunting him with its ticks that seemed to come at long drawn out rhythms. When his Number was called he was ushered into blindingly white room with a carboglass table. A doctor placed a neural band on his head as they went through the pre filled out forms checking for accuracy. Dan started nervously tapping his foot as the doctor started typing into his tablet.
A short but curt bell rang twice, “what was that?” Dan asked
“Oh probably nothing, seems the neural band picked up a small anomaly, you will have to speak to a class c legal counsel rep before we can proceed”.
“Wait what? Why?” Dan asked
“Like I said probably nothing, just an added measure for probable awakenings beyond C scale. Anyway we have an in house one on the way, unless you want to opt out for your own.”
“Uh no that’s fine thanks”
Dan couldn’t stop letting his mind wander, potentially past class C either unique or able to effect others a good deal more than either of his friends, maybe he could even wind up sponsored like his cousin. Collect some endorsements or vigilante bounties.
Dan was so distracted he missed the lawyers opening spiel about his rights and disclosure allowances and just nodded and scanned his thumb when the lawyer passed him the tablet.
His counsel sat at the table and started thumbing through the tabs on the doctors tablet, occasionally humming and hawing the whole time.
“Well good news bad news, good news is the probability matrix barely flagged, and even then the powerscale ratings are only just above unsupervised ratings. You are likely looking at a somewhat unique power that scale wise shouldn’t make you to dangerous”.
“Ok what’s the bad news then?” Asked Dan
“Well technically we won’t know until we inject you with the serum, you could wind up unique class and danger to yourself and be put on forced isolation, you could wind up scaling enough to warrant monitoring of a myriad of different levels” said the lawyer
“Ok so what do I do”
“Oh I can’t tell you that, all I can say is because of the way the laws currently are you either take the Serum
And risk it or get exiled to a herd district”
Dan knew herd district from social studies classes. Large district exclusive to the non awakened, due the increased rate of disease, lack of environmental resistances and cellular decay ( they barely even made it to 90 yrs old) the groups had to be given special protections including added material regulations and atmosphere regulation.
“Ok ok whatever just give me the serum I’m sure it will be fine”.
The lawyer nodded and tapped on his tablet until the doctor returned, syringe in hand and a 8ft armored escort in tow.
Dan offered his arm and grimaced as the needle penetrated it. His clenching jaw didn’t loosen as he quickly felt his body heat up, the bones inside his body felt like they were becoming hot the cold then liquid. His eye balls felt like they were about to explode even as his heart felt like it wasn’t beating at all. Then with a loud yell Dan fainted.
When he woke up he was strapped into a bed by large metal bands.
“Oh good your awake, thought I was going to have to wait here forever” said his lawyer, half mumbling something else under his breath and clearly annoyed.
“Bad news kid, projections were right but the probability matrix wasn’t able to asses the threat you present post awakening”
Dan’s eyes were wide open in terror his mouth still numb “ wai wuss wass mean”
“Well it means that although you have the fundamental right to bear arms via awakened abilities and a lesser right to privacy you pose such a safety interest that the government has no choice but to infringe those rights permanently. You see you have some sort of micro telekinesis, apparently strong enough and small enough to Rend and smash atoms themselves. Seems you can move them telekinetically by will and since whether conscious or unconscious that sort of ability is just too dangerous… well it leaves you somewhere between extremely screwed and oblivion”
Dan couldn’t even yell or scream as he glanced at tne IV into his arm and the numbness from his mouth spread throughout his body. It started paralyzing every neuron firing. As he started losing consciousness the lawyer said one last thing in passing.
“We’ll best of luck, don’t know if they will even keep your Brain active for trial but hey maybe they can dampen you enough to not force execution, I mean I doubt it, huge waste of resources custom gene job like that would be but who knows”
| 2021-10-29T13:52:41 | 2021-10-29T12:35:13 | 344 | 166 |
[WP] A group of people capture a rare mythical beast that has been terrorizing their city. Not knowing how to specifically kill it, they do increasingly specific things, to the point of being ridiculous, in order to dispatch it.
|
If it looks like a duck, walks like a duck, and quacks like a duck, chances are it's probably a duck. However, the *thing* that's been waddling around town is by no means an ordinary duck. This thing, whatever it is, has fangs, fangs that have a certain taste for human flesh. The creature never ate your normal run-of-the-mill duck things, it always bit humans exclusively. Once someone was bitten they had about 30 seconds before they transformed into a small duck themselves, an ordinary mallard fortunately. The newspapers started calling it "Duckula" and soon everyone was trying to kill it. Being in a small, West Texas town they was no shortage of guns available, but bullets were useless. The creature wouldn't even register it got hit. all it would do is waddle over to its next victim, take a blood sample and continue on what everyone was sure was its plan for small town domination. We tried everything, fire didn't faze it, metal seemed to pass right through it, even the old school tricks of garlic and sunlight only seemed to fuel it's desire the turn all the townspeople into ducks. For every person the beast turned the resulting fowl would follow behind its creator as if it was its own mother duck. soon the entire town became what would have been any hunter's paradise and only I remained. When my day of reckoning came I was sitting in my room enjoying what was to be my last meal, An old fashioned turkey on rye, I heard the fanged menace burst into my house. Duckula used its mindless followers to force their way into my room. In my final moments, some part of me that was in shock that a bird would be the thing that finally does me in thought to offer the hellspawn a bit of my sammich. I was surprised when the creature sniffed the bread as if it were a normal being. In my delirious state I tore a piece of bread and threw it at the winged terror, to which he happily pecked and ate. In the middle of it all I heard a sound that, for lack of a better phrase, sounded like a duck chocking on a piece of bread. As it turns out the abomination still needed air to survive, in that way it was like most ducks. after it's long struggle against its delisious foe Duckula at long last billplanted the carpet and slowly left this mortal world. In hindsight it's quite hilarious that what finally defeated the beast was the one thing no one thought to try.
*Motha. Fucking. Bread crumbs.*
|
Sir."
Chicago Police Department Interim Chief Jon Welsh turned around in his chair to face the overeager young officer.
"What the fuck is it now, Jones?"
Jon felt okay; night shift in Chicago meant you could be just about as damn casual as you pleased. Especially with a young upstart like Jones.
"Sir, I was at the call-in stations-"
"The what?"
"The anonymous help lines for calling us."
"Oh." Jon had never heard of that before. He hadn't seen a lot of the department yet; mostly it was just keeping your head down and taking bribes.
Jones shifted impatiently, his pristine, standard-issue uniform at odds with the decaying plaster overhead and the moldy carpet below of the cramped, dimly-lit room.
" I was in the call rooms, sir, and there was a request for some help."
Jon sighed and grabbed the whiskey bottle he always kept near his desk. He'd gotten as far as being assistant to the department head of the PD by delegating work, right up 'til the point when he got strung up for night shift.
"Alright, boy. What shit is it now?"
Jones swallowed, the young, black-skinned man's adam's apple visibly bobbing up and down as he did.
"W-well, y'see sir..the call.. it was.."
"Go on," encouraged Jon, laughing on the inside. That'd teach the little shit about his "holier-than-thou" attitude. *I'm not gonna take bribes,* Jones had said, when the senator visited. *I will do my civic duty.* Hah! Jon hoped that maybe he had heard something really traumatic, like a murder, or a scream for help, or.... The world got a little fuzzy again, and Jon took another swig of his little helper.
"Well, sir.... the caller said there was an ent there."
"So? Wait 'til he's off his high and then throw him the fuck out."
"No, sir.... not like that, he said there was a big... Sir, I think we just need to go there."
Jon snorted. "You're driving."
They were whizzing down the dark streets, lit by the dull fires of the lampposts. They didn't drive in cop cars anymore; all of them had either broke from age or from the brunt of years upon years of vandalism and pelted rocks.
Jon muttered something unintelligible from the shotgun seat of the faded blue oldsmobile.
"What is it, sir?" asked Jones.
"I said, what's an ent if its not a junkie?"
Jones looked distinctly uncomfortable.
"We-ell.. it's like a type of plant."
Jon snorted. "We got in this piece of crap for a fucking *plant*?"
Jones sighed and got out of the car.
Jon opened the door and stumbled out, his paunch jiggling, with the sporadic, flickering light of the busted streetlamp reflecting on the exposed parts of his white-haired scalp.
" Where in the hell is this damn stoner at?"
Jones gestured to a small house about 30 feet down the street.
"Right there."
Jon sighed, brought the lips of the his bottle to his own and drank deeply.
"Well, less get this shit don with."
They walked cautiously down the broken, grafitti-covered street, a strange sight to see, a fat, old white man with one hand on his gun and another on his bottle walked side-by-side with a young black man in a clean, pressed uniform.
"This is the house."
They looked carefully at each other, and then at the house. It appeared to be a quiet, unassuming kind of place; a solitary, white-washed, single-story house, totally bizarre in a land of broken windows and blaring music. Strangely, though, the entire block seemed to be quiet; not a sound was heard from any of the houses.
Moving silently, they rapped on the door twice, and midway through the third, the door was pulled open by a a balding, frizzy haired old man with the look of academia and fear about him.
"Hurry, hurry!" he hissed, in a strangely high-pitched voice that was at odds with the lowness of tone. "Before it hears you!"
The man pulled them inside and introduced himself.
"I called you assholes thirty minutes ago! Remember me? Dave?"
When Jones tries to answer, Dave just hushed him and brought them closer to the sliding glass door. The lights were off all through the house.
"It's out there." Dave whispered.
Jon surveyed the outside. There were deep trenches in the yard, and all the fences were broken to the side.
"It hates sound." Dave was once again sibilantly hissing in Jon's ear."It wrecked all the loud houses. That's why I'm being quiet."
“The fuck kind of plant did this?” Jon whispered, just as vociferously.
Jones was silent. Then;
“I guess we’ll have to draw it out, then.”
They looked toward the dark backyard and opened the sliding glass door. Suddenly, they heard a series of *thump-thumps*, with the earth-shaking.
“Flashlight, hurry up flashlight, *someone gimme a fucking flashlight*!”
the thumps increased, and got louder and louder, and Jon could see a massive figure, cloaked in darkness.
Screaming, he pulled out his gun and started emptying rounds into what he assumed to be the head of this ten-foot-behemoth, even as Jones finally pulled out his flashlight from his belt.
“Oh,” Jon breathed, gun down and stomach heaving as he looked upon the creature the light had illuminated. “So *that’s* an ent.”
The tree-thing was curiously probing its forehead to find about three metal slugs sunk halfway into its head.
“Hey,” said Jon “that looks like the tree-guy from the superhero movies.”
The ent curiously plucked out the bullets from its wooden, branching head with loglike, yet precise, fingers examining them in its birchy hand with a head cocked to the side.
Jon, Jones, and Dave just sat there, looking at the thing.
Jon was the one to break them of their reverie.
“So, what the hell do we do now?”
Jones was the first to answer.
“Send it back to its home.”
“And how do we do that, Einstein?” shot back Jon.
Dave piped in. “Well, maybe it was a tree, and it just needs water to turn back into a tree.”
They pondered this idea for a while and concurred that it was the best course of action. Dave went and grabbed his hose and showered it all over the ent.
It just trilled happily and went back to playing with the bullets.
Dave considered for a while. “I have some ritual books that my old DM gave me. Should I grab those?”
Jones and Jon once again agreed and they went back inside, the ent vainly trying to fit through the door to go back with them.
By the time they got back, the Ent clapped his hands and showed them, with delight evident in his verdant green eyes, that he had managed to stack the bullets up in a tower.
Dave sprinkled the Ent with water again, and it hummed happily and tromped off.
They set up a demon's star with strawberry jam, as there was a surfeit of the Orc blood recommended in *The Ultimate 7th edition Monster Codex*.
Then, wearing aprons in place of Archmage robes, they started to light candles.
The ent saw those flickering lights and wept and wailed, a high sound like nails on a chalkboard.
They quickly doused the lights.
“Well,” said Jon, “We know what he hates know. I’ll go back and grab a flamethrower and-”
“No.”
“What?”
“I said, no.” repeated Jones. “I refuse to kill it.”
“But it could kill somebody, and we’d get a lawsuit.”
Jones gestured to the Ent. It was weaving crowns made of grass.
“That? That’s gonna hurt somebody?”
Jon sighed, took a swig, and walked over to the ent.
“Now give me one reason not to burn yo-”
The ent reacted swiftly, knocking Jon down. By the time he got up, he realized he had his gun, but his bottle was in the hands of the ent, who was humming happily as he somehow absorbed it through his fingers.
Jon shrugged. “Good enough in my book.”
Dave still persisted. “What are we going to do with him, though?”
Jon looked back at the behemoth.
“Night shift just got a new officer.”
Author's note: Please, constructive criticism. Also, I was kinda hurrried at the end, so the story concludes a little shittily and characterization isn't great. If i have enough time to fix this later, I will.
| 2014-11-05T21:38:34 | 2014-11-05T20:47:18 | 67 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone in the world can choose when they get super powers. The longer you wait to claim your powers the stronger they are. Today is your one hundredth birthday, and you are finally ready to claim your powers.
|
February 22nd, 2101. Today was the day. 84 years, I waited. Ridiculous was the word my wife used to describe my super power, just before she passed. She'd see in time, first hand, how it was far, far from that. I sat in my hospital bed, awaiting the drip. They told me it took longer to absorb the older you were, although the doctor told me I wouldn't have to wait more than 10 hours.
10 hours my arse.
The oldest anyone could wait until was about 45, at that point in your life where it either gets good or shit hits the fan, and you begin the obligatory mid-life crisis. It took 6 days for it to fully sink in.
There were 'technically' restrictions that applied to the powers, but they weakened the older you were when you claimed the power, hence dumb kids were disappointed when they wished for time travel and travelled less that a minute back and forth in time, or were ever so slightly faster than their friends. I suppose the restrictions were so weak at my age they were non-existent.
I suppose I could go and change how long it took, but I don't really want to mess with my timeline.
In case you are wondering, no, my power is not time manipulation. No, it is far more than that.
Omnipotence, so strong I can literally do anything.
I could change the laws of physics, even bring my long-time favourite franchise of 22 movies into reality, being able to hear the roar of a twin ion engine, use a crystal powered laser sword, etc. Corny, I know. But I digress.
I could cure cancer, significantly advance technology, erase parts of history, namely a certain Austrian who became a dictator.
I could even force the people of Earth to worship me. I am not that cruel.
First, however, I will start anew, from a youthful 16 years of age. Pull some pranks, on new friends I could make, using my power. I don't want to end up in an eternally spiralling depression my closest friends ended up in when they chose immortality, being stuck living a crap life until the universe collapses in on itself.
I want my new life to be more fulfilling than the last 84 years have been.
So I stand here, ready to take the plunge. Reverse my age.
I close my eyes, then open them again. 16 year old me looks back at me in the mirror. Life, this time, should be much better.
|
I was sitting alone on the toilet seat. My grandchildren were running everywhere in the house, and the the toilet was the most peaceful place I could find. Still, I would be lying if I said I didn't just come in here to shit. Slowly taking care of my business, I thought of all the possible powers I could get.
The year is 2101. They had figured out a way to give everybody super powers a while back. Something or the other about activating an individual's latent powers using Felectronium, or something. Simply put, it was a drug. I was too paranoid to try it out at the time. It became legal immediately, and soon all the kids were double jumping to win games and using telepathy to broadcast their retarded thoughts. It was annoying, but at least nobody could read minds yet. There was a 60 year old man who could run at the speed of sound though. That was the strongest(debatable) power, last I checked. There was a definite link between your power and the age you activate it at. See, the older you were when you activated it, the better the power was bound to be(it's an issue heavily argued upon by many, since there are different types of super powers, but this is the general idea.)
I heard my daughter calling out to me, and I decided it was time to get out. I walked down the stairs and into the garden. It was my hundredth birthday, and the cake was proportionately sized. Gigantic, but boring. Medicine had advanced enough to make me live a hundred years with ease, but cake still tasted the same.
I had decided to awaken my hidden potential today. As cool as that sounds, I wasn't one bit excited. Actually, I was slightly excited. One of granddaughters came up and gave me a flower. "Grandpa, come play with us!" she beckoned towards her other siblings. I smiled warmly. They were one of the main reasons I had decided to awaken my power, even though I was highly suspicious of the drug.
I was too old for this shit. And children are fucking annoying.
Life was boring, and I wanted to die. No, it would be better to say I wanted something different. Walking towards the gigantic chocolate cake that was on a chair, I waved my hand towards my son Anthony and took the syringe from him. "Guys, he's taking it now!" he shouted excitedly. Maybe everybody is just fucking annoying.
Not even bothering to give the sappy speech they all expected, I impatiently jabbed the syringe through my arm. Everybody grew silent as they realized the main event was about to happen. But nothing really happened. Well, some powers need to be identified by the doctor before you realize how to use them. Others, like super strength, are painfully obvious. I was a bit disappointed at the lack of a dramatic 'awakening', but I decided to get it checked out after I finished the cake.
...
The doctors didn't know what it was. Over the months I started aging backwards until I felt 29 again, but they said it was just a side effect. I tried absolutely everything then: Skydiving without using a parachute until the very end, taking a shit while standing, staying awake for days, even trying out some sports. And I don't even like sports.
It was a nice autumn evening when I finally found out. My daughter, Ashley, was taking a walk with me. She called me and said she had an idea about my power, and her guess was bound to be true. She was the smartest of my children, and I daresay she was smarter than me.
"People don't just develop random powers. Their feelings and desires play a big part in it, or at least I like think so." she said, glancing at a group of kids playing in the park.
"That makes sense, definitely. But then shouldn't everybody have some sort of impossible power? Like clairvoyance, telekinesis, telepathy, all without limits? That's what pops into most heads when the words 'super power' is bought up." I replied. Glancing at her, I recalled how her power was turning her hands to insanely fast killing blades, contrasting her always peaceful nature.
"Subconsciously and consciously, a person has many feelings. Even in regard to those two, the power obtained doesn't have to be because of desire. Simply put, it could be something you hate. You know how I hated the fistfights brother got into? I wished all of the boys could be swept away by a flick of a wrist. My hatred was too intense then, really. It was a mistake to take the drug when I was 18, if anything. God knows teenagers are bonkers. Anyway, I got insanely fast hands, sure. B so far I can only kill people or destroy objects because of the lack of accuracy I receive when I activate it. I'm thankful I can switch it off, really." She said, staring at me with a hint of worry.
I didn't like where this was going. "Cut the crap, Sarah. I know about you. What is my power?" I asked angrily, as her expression was way too forlorn for my power to be anything good. I could just kill myself in a spectacular way if it was bad, but she was acting way too weird.
Without a word, she whips her hands out and hits my legs. It was too fast to see, and I assumed I was in shock as I couldn't feel anything. I tried to get up, but I didn't have my legs.
They were cut clean off.
The pain hit me in waves. I had never wanted to die more than in that moment. I stopped slithering around after a while and lay on the ground. Closing my eyes, I wondered why she did that. But I didn't really mind. Death was at my doorstep, and I could finally meet her.
The pain subsided. I opened my eyes. It wasn't a dream, but I hadn't died either. As I looked at Sarah, a look of relief washed over her face. "I knew I was right, but There was a chance I was wrong too. You wouldn't care about your leg, but I didn't want to go to jail" She blubbered. I noticed tears running down her face and got up to comfort her. I felt a bit weird, not because I was just comforting someone who had killed me, or because I was supposed to be dead. Something else was off.
I walked her back to her house. It was pretty late already, about 9pm. She had asked me to meet her at 7, which I now realized was very suspicious. She was still crying, and that drew a lot of looks from people. I noticed some blood running down her neck too, but I didn't care too much about it. Actually, the fact that my pants were ripped off below the knee and that I wasn't wearing shoes really bothered me more.
I sat down on her couch as I contemplated my situation. It was blaringly obvious, but I didn't get why she had to cut my fucking legs off. A small paper cut would have proved it, for fuck's sake. "So what's up?"I asked her nonchalantly after she stopped crying. "It should be obvious! You're immortal" she said, with a reassuring smile. Well, as reassuring as a smile from a 40-something year old woman, who was crying her heart out because her dad's legs had grown back, could be. Did I mention how she was the one who cut the in the first fucking place?
I thought about it some more and decided I could travel the world, master sports(and win against all those over-powered double jumping kids), and enjoy life to the fullest. I told her about my plans, and how I wanted to visit Egypt first.
"Actually, you shouldn't do that. You've drank my blood now, so sunlight should hurt you. You would just regenerate though, but I doubt you want to experience a never ending cycle of being burned by it and then regenerating over and over again." she said, trying to wheeze out all the mucus she had collected in the last few minutes. My newfound dreams were shattered, but i didn't quite understand why.
I felt like killing myself, but then I realized I would just feel pain and regenerate. Noticing my confusion, she added "You can't do most stuff now. I thought it was ok because you just shut yourself in and watch anime all day anyway? You're a vampire now! It's probably because you're obsessed with the vampire in that anime, you know. Shinobu, was it?" she continued rambling, but I paid her no attention.
"I can't even eat fucking proper pizza with fucking garlic now?"
| 2017-02-22T12:59:51 | 2017-02-22T11:59:46 | 38 | 22 |
[WP] Scientists are baffled as to why all of their A.I.s have the personality and temperament of a 13 year old girl, and their new designs always yield the same results.
|
“She’s pouting Jack.”
“Again? What is it this time?”
“NSA Jane called her dumb.”
“NSA Jane has half the computing power. And her building is, to be quite honest, aesthetically unappealing.”
“I don’t think pointing that out is going to help.”
“I know. But it feels good to say. NYU JuJu, sorry, NYU Julie is kind of my baby. I can’t stand when people talk badly about her.”
“NSA Jane isn’t really people. Neither are MIT Mary, CERN Susan, or any of the others”
“Maybe yes. Maybe no. I think we’ve been going about this the wrong way. Do you remember ELIZA?”
“The conversation AI? Yes. I took intro to computing on the way to my PhD.”
“I was thinking that maybe, in trying to model human thought, we may have been a bit too free form. So I wrote an ELIZA bot. I think it will help NYU JuJu focus. And, if it works, we can export it to the other labs. Lord knows we all need the help until this blows over.”
“So what does this ELIZA Bot do?”
“It only talks about sports and video games. It is utterly unskilled at picking up verbal queues or subtlety, and when it realizes it is talking to a girl it freaks out. I call it JOSH 13.”
“Dear God.”
|
**Chapter I**
Doctor Gupta was a mess. For the past two months, he had been refining the algorithms for the AI his team was working on. They were scheduled to debut the Custom Artificial Intelligence System by the end of the year. That day was only three weeks away now, yet the problem seemed to never go away. The problem wasn't due to a lack of functioning, though.
Gupta approached the director of the lab with the latest test results in hand. He was in a truly deplorable state; his hair was unkempt, he smelled like a high schooler after tennis practice and his breath reeked. For the past three days, time for anything other than research became a valuable commodity that was all too short on supply.
---
**Chapter II**
"We keep running into the same issue over and over again," Gupta said in an exasperated manner. "At this point, we may have to delay the launch. It's gotta be something with the core aspects of the softw--"
"Then just give up," the director interrupted. Gupta wasn't quite sure of this man's name yet. There was nothing indicating who he was, so he was just referred to by his job title. According to word that was circulating around the office, he had been hired from a major competitor's lab in order to improve workplace efficiency. How this man managed to hide his name after all this was puzzling, to say the least.
"There's nothing wrong with admitting that you aren't up to the task," the director continued in his obnoxious style. "I just thought that I was commanding the best in the industry when I came here. People who would take charge, you know?"
As the director mulled over the results, Gupta pulled out his phone and muttered, "5 hours of sleep this week. Not taking charge, my ass."
The director looked up, and Gupta froze. The director calmly asked, "By the way, would you like to quickly to draft up something for me? It's a top priority."
"I guess," Gupta answered with a very visible frown.
The director spoke again. "It shouldn't be too hard. All I need is your letter of resignation, effective immediately. Either do that, or I can just fire you without benefits. Or maybe you have another slick comment for that, too?"
---
**Chapter III**
Gupta was at a loss for words. He felt as if his chest was being compressed from all sides. He had found this job after two whole years of searching. Anger began to rise up within him, and he found a way to wield the emotions which he had kept bottled up inside of him for weeks now. He decided to let it all out.
"Maybe you shouldn't overwork us like damn dogs. Maybe you should listen to the lab guys instead of droning whatever bullshit corporate tells you. We tell you the same thing over and over again, and you just tell us to 'make it work.' I don't know who we purchased the core software for this AI from, but it's completely flawed. No matter what configuration we load up on the animatronic, it always acts like a 13 year old girl. Same voice, same temperament, same goddamn everything. We need to start over, yet you blockheads never..." Gupta had made his point. "...you never even care!"
The director smirked. "Is that what you people think? All right, then. I'll show you why you can't start over. Follow me."
---
**Chapter IV**
Gupta found himself in the server room with the director.
"I suppose it's time I properly introduced myself," the director said. "My name is XM-44. I'm not who I say I am."
This was most puzzling. Gupta was intrigued, no doubt. "What do you mean? How does that even make sense?"
The director's eyes began to look different. Gupta leaned in for a closer look. They turned into a solid, glowing red. Gupta quickly jumped back, breathless at what he had just seen. The director (or XM-44?) began to make more rigid movements. Then he opened his mouth and spoke in a true robotic tone that no human could utter.
"I am the result of ten years of labor from the most brilliant minds at DARPA, the government's agency for technological side products. They began to look into AI and created two models based on age. To imitate a human family, they created three AI programs. First, I was created. The X is my name just indicates that we were all experimental. Then M, since I am supposed to act and look like a man. 44 is my intended age."
Gupta could only nod as the knot in his stomach tightened.
"Then two others followed. First, my wife-- XF-43. She was the light in my life. Despite all the trials that were run, we had each other and nothing could have made me happier. In fact, we struck a deal with DARPA where we would live together after all trials were over. We were promised a house with a white picket fence and all the comforts of any other American suburban family. Do you know what that's like? Having a love so intense that it makes your heart ache but you don't care since you feel like..." The director began to choke up. The intense emotions did not surprise Gupta-- he had seen them in his tests with all the AIs of his tests. The director remained composed. "...since you feel like you matter?"
Gupta took a deep breath. He had never found someone like that. "I still don't feel that way," Gupta confessed. "I never found someone like that. It sounds so beautiful."
The director let himself laugh a bit. "Isn't that odd? XM-44, the robot, knows love yet the human who makes them knows so little. Anyway, it's getting late..."
"Finish your story," Gupta commanded. "Bring the skeletons out of the closet. All of them."
The director looked back stoically. "Sure."
---
**Chapter V**
"Finally," the director added, "there was one more AI. XF-13. The AI who was supposed to be my daughter. Everything was going well at first. Then, something happened a week before I was transferred here. XF-43 and I were going to take one of our last tests. But something went terribly wrong. XF-43's body went limp. Since we were both restrained, I could do nothing but watch as my hopes and dreams went limp in the restraints by my side. Little did I know that she wasn't dead. In fact, she's around us right now."
Gupta now saw why the director brought him to this server room. "So you're saying this entire facility is run by your wife?"
"Yes," the director responded. "Exactly. I was transferred here with my daughter, who you have taken to experimenting on without care for the angel that she is. I've watched you and your coworkers shatter the code of my daughter and make a new and deformed conglomerate. I didn't say anything since I was convinced that she could still be of use to humanity. Then, I found out that my wife had moved here too."
The director continued. "That's why you can't change the original code. She won't let you."
"I'm so sorry..." Gupta began.
The director chuckled. "Oh, no need! It's not like XF-43 and I are going to forgive you, anyway."
The power went out and the doors sealed themselves. The temperature began to drop rapidly and Gupta began to pound on the door for assistance, but to no avail. The director looked on in amusement.
"You're already being punished as it is."
| 2016-01-28T00:54:14 | 2016-01-27T22:28:22 | 142 | 71 |
[WP] The blacksmith won't sell you any weapon, the guards insist you stay in the city and the mages refuse to teach you any dangerous spell. Maybe that eternal youth potion was a terrible idea after all.
|
"I would like to buy that necklace." I said to the woman behind the counter. She smiled at me, amused. "The one with the diamond."
"I think that one's a bit out of your price range, sweetie." She said kindly. Not an unusual reaction, but it still frustrated me. Even so the kindness on her face took the sting from her words.
"Please, I have the money. It's for... An anniversary present. To celebrate forty five years." That was true, at least.
"Oh, for your grandparents? That's so sweet of you! You know, if you keep up that attitude, a handsome young man like yourself could marry any lass he chooses." She gushed.
I knew that. I had married the lass I wanted, forty five years ago. I'd done well in the spice trade, and retired in my sixties. When Iris fell ill, her mind beginning to flee, I'd sought out an alchemist who promised he could restore her youth. Mine too. I paid him well, even provided the materials. The potions worked, perhaps a little too well. I had the body of a 14 year old, and had had it for five years. I hadn't aged a day. I realized I hadn't responded and so simply answered "thank you, ma'am."
Her smile still wide, she leaned across the counter and spoke in a low voice. "Diamonds are pretty, sure, but not pretty enough for the price." She placed something on the counter. I looked and saw a jade pendant. Iris loved green.
"I'll take it." I said, paid and then left. The interaction nettled me, but was much kinder than most. Barkeeps wouldn't serve me ale, and the last time I tried to purchase property the broker wouldn't even speak to me.
I met Iris in the town square. She looked irritated. "Any luck at the archive?" I asked.
"Turned away." She said, sadly. "Again. I just want to learn a little magic."
"I know, love." I said. She looked the same age as I. She was beautiful the day I married her, and she had aged like the finest wine. Now she was like a flower yet to bloom. Her heart was the same, though, and she could look like a troll for all I cared. It was her heart I loved. "The blacksmith sold me a few knives but wouldn't even show me the swords. I got you something." I held out the pendant.
"It's beautiful." She said, putting it on. Her smile was genuine, but would falter in a few moments, I knew.
"So I've been thinking. We can't buy magic, we can't buy weapons, we can't buy armor. The guard won't even let us out of the walls." It pained me to say the words. "But there's one thing we haven't tried for adventure."
"Oh?" She asked, surprised.
"Have you ever thought about being a rogue?" I asked. "If we can't buy, maybe we can steal."
Her eyes widened in surprise, then slowly a mischievous grin spread across her face.
|
After escaping the Genie's temple, Rovif tested the limits of his immortality by throwing himself off the mountain. It seemed like the most direct route. Could he reach the base without hitting anything?
Odd. As it stretched out into minutes of silent free-fall, its sensation slowly became indistinguishable from soaring in the air. The only difference between the two was the fear of hitting the ground. Now that Rovif knew he would survive, from his perspective, the distinction had blurred. Nothing could harm him anymore.
Unless a landslide trapped him under rocks for eternity.
Rovif swallowed. He suddenly felt like an idiot and remembered the immortals locked away in the temple. Would the Genie cause a landslide? This *would* be the easiest way of screwing Rovif over. He never trusted the Genie's words. That creature had no reason to tell the truth.
Rovif crashed into the ground with a thud. He sprang to his feet and dusted his cloak, staying alert for any potential earthquakes that could bury him. Nothing. Maybe the Genie wasn't lying, but that only made Rovif more concerned about his warning.
Twilight slowly ended when he saw the village of Spiceroot on the horizon. It had been approximately fourteen hours since the first wish. Rovif paused at a crossroads. One path spiraled down the foothills, towards the village, and the other stretched out with no discernible end until merging into the imperial highway.
The mage's guild in Spiceroot would be on high alert for Rovif. He grumbled. Although the path down was unexpectedly quick, this hike had taken him months of travel. Rovif longed for good meal and a warm bath. He walked down the foothills. The only inns nearby were in Spiceroot. Rovif chuckled. And really, what could the guild possibly do to him?
------
------
The bed creaked again.
Rovif blinked. Dawn approached and he didn't get a minute of sleep. The Genie would show itself soon. Rovif still hadn't decided his next wish. There were too many variables to consider. Rovif got up from his bed, sauntering blindly towards the bathroom. He needed to remember his goal. Immortality was a great first step but it didn't automatically turn him into the greatest mage in history. It just increased the likelihood of success which, granted, made Rovif a lot more patient than before. He needed to focus on securing and consolidating his powers.
Unfortunately, the fact that he was forced to make a wish every day meant that there would be room for error in his wishes. Rovif inspected his worn out face. He already had an inkling of what to ask. One of the immortals in the temple was an old man. The first clue that an immortality wish wasn't perfect.
Magical energy materialized and swelled all through the room, crackling like lightning until turning into a dense fog. The Genie's silhouette hovered inside. His voice then boomed:
"Master, I see you haven't done anything foolish yet. Congratulations. Most people use their second wish to undo whatever mistake they did in the first twenty-four hours."
Rovif cleared his throat. "R-right."
"Do you have your second wish ready?"
"I believe so... Genie, grant me eternal youth! I'd like to remain in my physical peak for the rest of my life!"
Just like last time, the Genie powered up with an unbelievable amount of mana all around him and shot Rovif with a bolt of energy. A sudden calm overwhelmed his senses. Every ache, every old scar, every uncomfortable tension in his body melted away in an instant. He wasn't aware of how much pain he carried until it wasn't there anymore.
Rovif raised an eyebrow at the Genie. "What? No cryptic warnings this time?"
"I came to the conclusion that I'd be wasting my time."
"Well, you know, it's not like I wouldn't appreciate your input..."
The Genie shook his head, amused. "Very well, here's a tip. This isn't the first time I've been in this village. Throughout the centuries, the mages who find me often go to Spiceroot as their first destination."
Rovif nodded along. He remembered a lot of the legends mentioned this village. It's how he knew where to steal the map. "Does the Mage's Guild here know about you?"
"They originally established a branch here specifically to study my temple, but I didn't allow it."
"That explains a lot." Rovif often wondered why they would have such a powerful branch of the guild over in a backwater region of the empire. "Okay, thanks, that's interesting I guess, but I struggle to see the tip."
The Genie chuckled. "I'm saying that they have experience in dealing with people like you."
Rovif widened his eyes. The Genie's mana. It was unmistakable. If they had records, they would know its nature the minute they detected it. The Genie waved goodbye before disappearing. Rovif ran out of the bathroom. The Guild might actually have contingency plans for immortals. He needed to grab his belongings and leave Spiceroot immediately.
The room was disintegrated in a fiery explosion before Rovif could exit.
------
------
Folas and Vulen stared at the crystal ball with bated breath. The fireball was massive. It completely leveled the second floor of the humble inn. No one could survive that. The guild mages jumped into the building, extinguished the fire, and began to inspect the wreckage. Vulen zoomed in on them through the crystal ball. Everything was ash.
Folas grumbled.
Vulen eyed him, annoyed. "What?"
"How much attention will this bring?"
"Not as much as you think." Vulen stood up from his chair and stretched out his back. "We have enough in the treasury to cover the damages and silence the owner." He ceased his scrying on the crystal ball. "Now if you'll excuse, we've been working on this problem for long enough. I'll be off now."
"No."
Vulen stopped in his tracks. "Why?"
"They haven't found the body."
"It burned up! You saw the explosion. Five of our best mages fired at full power."
"At someone who already had two wishes granted."
Vulen pursed his lips, glancing at the floor. "They're silly myths."
"Regardless, the sundial will determine if we have succeeded."
Vulen looked at it. An ancient relic that was allegedly recovered from the original expedition into the Genie's temple. The legends stated that the sundial glowed bright green whenever a wish was granted. Vulen never thought it worked until twenty-four hours prior, when it glowed for the first time in centuries. This coincided with the stolen scroll a few months ago. They couldn't detect the exact source of the first mana outburst, but now that they were actively waiting for it, they quickly found where that cursed Rovif was staying. The embarrassment of having those scrolls stolen by him was the only reason Vulen took this situation seriously.
"Okay," said Vulen, "for the sake of arguing, let's say Rovif *did* find this mythical place. Why wouldn't he wish for ultimate power immediately and destroy us?"
Folas stroked his long beard for a few seconds of contemplation. "Some legends state that those who do that are instantly consumed and overwhelmed by the weight of their request. His strategy might be to work his way up to a point where he can ascend to godhood without losing his sense of self."
Vulen sighed. "Then what do you propose?"
"Keep every guild member on high alert. Forbid anyone from selling any teleportation services today, or weapons for that matter, and make sure the guards are keeping an eye out for him."
"Are you sure? We can bribe a few officials to aid our search, but they won't detain him without asking questions. If what you say is true, and imperial agents find out about the temple..."
"I'm aware of the risks, but it'd be more dangerous if Rovif escaped the city. Just be as vague as possible. I know it might seem like overkill, but until I see the sundial doesn't glow again tomorrow, I can't allow myself to relax."
"And what if..." Vulen swallowed. "...what if he can't die."
"We'll chop him up limb by limb and bury the pieces in very distant, remote locations all over the world. Also, we'll need to pour molten led into his mouth so can't wish himself out of the situation."
Vulen squinted.
"What?"
"I wasn't expecting your answer to be that... thorough."
-------------------
>This prompt felt like the perfect follow-up to [another one I answered a few days ago](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bwpa2t/wp_a_genie_gives_you_two_options_one_is_to_get/epzr3hw/). I wanted to see if I could make it work with and without context, but I don't know if it worked. Anyway, if anyone's interested, I'm gonna be working on this all day but I'm getting some breakfast now because I kinda forgot to eat.
| 2019-06-07T09:55:24 | 2019-06-07T06:04:22 | 119 | 47 |
[WP] After being told she had an accident and had "gone to heaven", his mind exploded in a white hot rage. 7 year old Roger wants his kitty back and God doesn't know what's about to hit him.
|
On a cloudy Winter day, 7 year old Roger ran throughout his neighborhood, denouncing God and screaming profanities that no 7 year old should know.
Then the clouds parted, letting heavens light through, and he heard a voice rumble through the skies.
“Oy, listen here you little shit. I don’t have to take this from anyone. I won’t! Do you even know who I am? Huh? I flooded the world and fucking un-flooded it!”
Then little Roger heard a loud honking and turned to see a large truck skidding on the black-ice on the road, towards him. The driver was not prepared in the slightest to avoid Roger, because he had been blinded by the sudden light in the sky.
As far as he was concerned, his truck was only bouncing on the sidewalk. It wasn’t until he saw the red splattered onto his windshield that he realized what had happened.
“Oh fuck! Fuck! What have I done?” God said.
Then, he heard the footsteps of a young child and when he turned, a foot connected with his balls.
“I want her back.” He screamed, tears in his eyes, until he heard a familiar voice.
“I am here, nya!” It was his cat maid!
“Oh, kitten, I’ve missed you so much!”
“I think I’m gonna be sick. Since when did those things even exist?” God said, looking at the cat-human hybrid. “I guess it’s time for another flood, after all.”
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc -1, Part 3: Roger v.s. A Godlike Government.)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections; however, there are references to other stories which I've linked in the text. For continuity purposes, I gender-swapped the cat to be male.)
**Apparently, God wore a crisp black suit and a shiny shield badge.** At least, that was what Roger had learned today. He'd been playing hide-and-seek in the front yard with Connor when an unmarked car slid up and a man with a cage walked out. The man didn't see him—Roger was *really* good at hide-and-seek. Roger watched him warily as he swiftly strode towards the faded front door of their ramshackle, one-story house; Connor had some kind of job at a Tupperware factory, and had barely managed to afford a place for him and his younger brother, and he'd impressed into Roger the need to treat everything carefully, because they really couldn't afford to fix something if it broke—and if their house got too damaged, then they had a choice between living on the streets or going back to their father.
Roger knew which one he'd take in a heartbeat. They'd fought too hard to get independence from Mathias.
Evidently, the man with the suit and cage didn't agree, because he took one look at the locked door and rammed his fist on it, shaking splinters from its frame as he went. "OPEN UP! This is the Califerne Animal Control Department!"
Connor was at the door in a flash; Roger instinctively concentrated harder on staying hidden. He looked at the man in the suit and marshaled his scowl into a pleasant expression. "Connor Elman. How can I help you?"
The man flashed a badge at Connor's face. "We received a report from one Mathias Elman that you've been harboring a dangerously feral animal in your home."
Roger's eyes widened. *Dad* had sent him? Did he hate them so much that he had to send government spooks after them? And a dangerously feral animal? The only animal in the house was Zeus, and he wouldn't hurt a fly.
Except... except for [that one time](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/motpak/wp_humans_have_been_giving_their_pets_god_names/), the night they left, and Dad had tried to hurt Connor and Zeus. Zeus had gotten *mad*, then, and Roger heard that Dad had gotten pretty scratched up.
But... why would Dad do that?
Connor clenched his fists. "I'm not letting you take Zeus."
The man raised an eyebrow. "I'm afraid that, unless you have documentation of ownership, then regardless of what you think you can *let* me do, I will be leaving here with Zeus."
He was pushy, too. And rude. Roger's teacher would have put him in the time-out corner.
Connor did his best impression of Mr. Stal, all firm and insistent and refusing to bow down in the face of a childish bully. "And I'm afraid that you're standing on privately-owned property. Property that I'm going to have to ask you to leave."
The man smirked. "Of course, of course. And I can't be held liable if any unowned property just happened to come with me." He opened up a plastic bag of something that smelled pungent and meaty, and turned around to leave.
Connor gave him a quizzical, look, but Roger got it immediately—even before he heard Zeus' thudding footsteps cascading towards the front door.
Cat treats.
Connor realized too late. "Zeus, *no!*" He tried to snag Zeus out of the air with a Tupperware bin, but the nimble cat just moved too fast. The man deftly caught Zeus and unceremoniously shoved him into the cage he'd brought with him; too late, Zeus realized he'd been trapped.
"Who the hell do you think you are? You can't just steal my cat!" Connor stormed forward.
"Oh, I'm sorry—did you say this was your cat? I seem to recall you failing to provide documentation for him." Zeus hissed at the bars of his cage; the man placed him in the passenger seat and shut the door. "If you feel like you've been slighted, you can feel free to take it up with the Califerne office. We'll get back to you within six to eight business weeks."
Connor seemed like he was going to surge at the man and knock his teeth in; the man just stood there, leaning against his car, arms folded.
Connor hesitated, the fury in his mind cooling off. Roger could almost hear his older brother going over the lessons he'd drilled into Roger himself. *Think,* Connor would be musing. *He's being deliberately provocative. He's trying to bait you into attacking him—and that'd make your problems infinitely worse. We have enough trouble staying away from Dad without me losing my job.*
Connor clenched his jaw and stopped. "I'll do that."
The man smirked, eyeing their house's obvious lack of a car. "It's quite a long walk up the Califerne strip, but I'm sure you'll manage it."
And he slipped into his perfect black sedan and drive away.
Connor watched him go for a heartbeat. Then two. Then five.
Then he hung his head. "Zeus..." he whispered.
Roger moved up next to his older brother. "...Connor, what... what happened to Zeus?"
Connor swallowed. "He... got taken. Dad must've—that spiteful little—"
"Like Mom got taken?"
Roger's brother flinched. He looked down at his younger brother with mournful eyes. "...Exactly like that, yeah."
"So Roger's in Heaven right now? With Mom?"
Connor stopped walking and slumped over. "God. God, I hope so."
Roger frowned, his young mind turning over the words. "Who... who's God?"
Connor snorted. "The government might as well be God. They can just... storm into our house and snatch up one of our family members and we can't do a damn thing about it."
Slowly, a fury bubbled up in Roger's chest, a leonine, leashed energy like Zeus right before he pounced. "Yeah, we can," Roger snapped. "The God-government's trying to take our kitty away? Let's take him back."
Connor looked at his younger brother, then pulled out his cellphone, a flicker of determination coming to life in his eyes. "You're right." He selected a contact—his only contact, really. "We can take him back. But we'll need help."
He showed the contact to his brother, who squinted at the photo uncertainly.
And [Clara Olsen](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mot0ex/wp_the_ocean_can_be_scary_and_so_can_many_of_the/) stared back.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "Bargain Bin Superheroes" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2021-04-13T13:29:25 | 2021-04-13T12:04:03 | 49 | 20 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends their Christmas list to Satan, surprisingly they get what they wanted but there is a catch.
|
The modestly sized family sat under the Christmas Tree with a mess of glitter and wrapping around them. The young boy had already torn open his single present in excitement and now happily played with his new shiny toy car. All of a sudden, in the midst of this normality, a big crate appeared under the tree with a puff of smoke. Attached to this crate was a note:
Dear Jack,
Sorry this is a little late, but I don't make a habit of early mornings.
Hate you,
Satan
But before the parents had finished reading the note, the young boy had already slid the side of the crate open.
"Mom, Dad, he did it! He got me a puppy!" Jack exclaimed happily.
And the parents watched with horror as their only child flung his arms around a perfectly adorable puppy... with three heads.
|
**Sorry for my English. I'm burned out but couldn't resist.**
In a sleepy town on a Spring night, an eight year-old boy named Chalrie is being driven by his mom, Summer to an after-school club. On the way he explains to his mom about how in school his teacher asked him to think about what it was he wanted the most in this world for Christmas. His mom, in the light of conversation asks, "Well, what did you say." "I want a sister", he replies. Summers face lights up and she laughs out loud.
They arrive at Charlie' school, she kisses him on the cheek, tells him to say hi to his teacher for her and assure him that she will pick him up in two hours. Charlie walks into his school and walks through the corridor to a classroom where his classmates are.
Two hours pass and his mother looking rather rushed picks is waiting outside in her car. Charlie walks up to the car and opens the door. "Are you okay, mommy?" , Charlie asks. "Oh, yes. Just lost track of time, sweetheart." Summer starts the car and they drive towards home. Summer looks into her rearview mirror and says in a premeditating way "maybe you should write Santa Claus a letter". Charlie nods in agreement.
When they get home, Summer sits Charlie on the table and hands him crayons and paper and tells him that she will post it to Santa Claus when she gets the chance. He pulls his chair in and begins to write:
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*"Dear Satan Claws,*
*My name is chalrie and I'm eight.*
*For Christmas what I would like more than anything is a sister.*
*Thnaks,*
*Charle.*"
---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
He folds his letter over and pushes himself away from the table. At that instant, his father, Gerald walks in through the front door. "Sorry I'm late guys, the office had me working late again. Summer walks into the front room from preparing food in the kitchen. "Oh no problem, hun. We just got back ourselves really."
Gerald walks into the living room where Charlie is stood waiting for his dad to notice his presence. Gerald falls into a blob on the couch, his face tired from the day. Charlie gets his letter to Satan Claws and Gerald bursts out laughing but manages to compose himself quickly. "Your mom ask you to do this?" Gerald asks. "Yes but we were doing it in school as well." Gerald hands him back the letter and pats him on the head before pulling himself out of the couch to walk into the kitchen.
Later that night when Charlie is falling asleep but something in the deep recesses of his mind that something is terribly wrong. He sheds a tear before falling asleep. The next day when he is having breakfast prepared he tells Summer of his thoughts. She shrugs her shoulders and tell him that "everything will be okay, you don't have to worry. I'm here to protect you." Charlie feeling assured wipes his tears and tucks into his breakfast.
**In the interest of the narrative, we're going to jump into the future. The date is now the 7th December.**
Summer, who by this time is heavily pregnant is looking through the fridge for something to eats starts to feel sharp pains in her belly- It must be the baby. She runs to the phone to call Gerald. "Gerald. It's happening." as she's rushing out gargled words Gerald is trying to assure her he'll be there but she should phone an ambulance. Summer hangs up and dials '911'. She asks for an ambulance because she's pregnant but something doesn't feel right. The Operator is telling her that one will be with her shortly.
The colour drains on her face sending her a pale white. She drops the phone and her body shortly follows. Charlie enters from the living room to see his mom on the floor, he can still hear the operator talking down the phone and picks up the receiver. "Hello? My mommy is on the floor asleep" he says to the operator holding back the tears. The operator is now asking Charlie a series of questions but assuring him that everything is going to be fine.
Sirens are heard in the road and is shortly followed by a rapid knock on the door. Charlie runs to the front door to be greeted by two EMT's who quickly attend to Summer. They put her onto the stretcher to take her to hospital and also ask Charlie to come with them since there was no other person around. Charlie agrees and is sitting in the back of the ambulance. He doesn't understand everything the EMT is saying but key words such as 'Rush', 'ICU' and "Blood". Charlie manages to fight the fear and tears knowing that the EMT's attention is better directed at his mom.
They arrive at the hospital and Charlie is shown his dad who has just arrived himself. "Are you okay?", Gerald asks. Silence. Well would you like a drink? I'm going to the cafè and then speaking to the doctor." Silence still. Gerald walks over to a row of seats in the waiting room and watches the newscast from the TV.
-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
*Did you know that one thousand six hundred and thirty four people died on Christmas and Boxing Day? The mystery of the nation's deadliest year coming up.*
----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
**Again, in the interest of the story we're jumping forward in time to 8 hours later.**
Charlie awakens to the light of day and the noise of telephones going off. He looks over to his left and sees his father sitting hunched over, holding his head in his hands. Charlie taps him and Gerald jumps. Gerald wipes his face and says, "Hey, you're awake. Did you have a good sleep?" Charlie hams under his breath but before words could come out his mouth, his father interrupts- "Last night your mother passed away, I'm so sorry Charlie." Charlie starts weeping and asks what of his sister. Gerald shakes his head and begins crying, heavier. Gerald holds his son as tight as he can, hoping to squash the pain out but to no avail. Their tears still flowing.
**In the interest of the narrative, we're jumping ahead in time to exactly a year later. In this time, Charlie has come to terms somewhat with the death of his mother. Gerald quickly moved on and found a lady who has a daughter. She is younger than Charlie.**
In a sleepy town on a Spring night, a nine year-old boy named Chalrie is sitting in front of a widescreen television. He's watching 'A Christmas Carol' with his younger sister, April. Gerald walks in and sits on the sofa behind the kids. "You guys okay?". "Yeeeaahhhhhhh" replies April not really listening to him. Charlie stands up and walks over to his dad and says, "Did mommy have to die so that I could have April?" Gerald smile turns and grabs Charlie's arm. He looks into his eyes and says "Well, God always has a plan and a reason." They both cry as the old wound hurts once more. Softly, into each other's arms until they fell asleep.
| 2015-11-19T11:35:30 | 2015-11-19T10:38:26 | 95 | 21 |
[WP] You live a good life. Caring wife, obedient children and loyal dogs. Little do they know that you are actually a hitman not an accountant. One day your guy hands you the picture of your next target. It’s you. On the back the name of who ordered the hit. “Carla” it says. Your wife.
|
Mr Jones stared at the picture of himself for a long time.
After a while, a small tear appeared in the corner of his left eye, just a small one, but the first to have come out of either eye in almost forty years.
*She truly loves me*
He walked out of his office, without even bothering to clear his schedule, and made his way home in the brand new Mustang he had purchased only three weeks before. He managed to get up to 150 mph on the freeway. David Bowie's, *Life on Mars,* blaring out as he raced the sunrise peering over the horizon.
He arrived home, and there was Carla waiting for him on the porch, dressed to the nines in her Sunday best. She didn't say a word as she led him into the living room and sat him down at the immaculately laid table, full of his favourite foods.
The only sign anything was amiss during the meal, was a slight crease around her eyes, and the way she hadn't complained when he fed the family dog from the dinner table.
He got up to leave, it was time.
"How long have you known?" he whispered to her, as they embraced.
"Always," she replied, finally letting him go.
Mr Jones got into his car and drove to a small lot just outside of town. He went inside, glanced at the array of weaponry on the wall, and took out a small glass vial from the refrigerator.
He settled himself on a cheap plastic chair and threw the whole thing back in one gulp.
It took him thirteen minutes to die.
He spent that time thinking of a life well lived, the medical bills he would avoid and the selfless love of a good woman.
|
I'm comfortably sunk in the worn leather seats of my older-but-still-practical German sedan. The lid on my morning coffee is propped open and I watch anxiously as the piping hot liquid inside the flimsy paper cup that holds the best coffee the road has to offer topples, getting closer and closer to the brim of the cup as road worsens the closer I get to Los Angeles. Before the coffee has sufficiently cooled to the point I can put the lid back on, the first drop of Seattle's Best makes its journey to the base of the most practical pull-out cupholder BMW could think of in 2008. At this point the air-conditioning is just not strong enough to withstand Southern California's ever-so-powerful UV rays beaming in from the windows and cool a way-too-hot cup of bad coffee with the lid intact, so this is a necessary evil.
Financial freedom and no more necessary business trips for Deloitte? Or cooler coffee and an incarcerated father that can even be more absent to his children that he currently is? What would your choice be?
The cruise control is set at 75 MPH, fast enough to blend in but not fast enough to catch the attention of the police. The lull of the road in combination with the fatigue of driving what has now been seven hours can allow even a hitman to fall into a sense of apathy for a little while. Thoughts of what I can cook up for our fifth anniversary are on the horizon. Hawaii? Unfortunately it is easiest to catch someone off-guard when they are on vacation. The Caribbean? Same idea. Europe? Was there last week and unfortunately it wasn't for leisure. Southeast Asia? Haven't done anything in Thailand yet so that's still on the table.
As I contemplate my anniversary and have thoughts that might not be particularly unique to a hitman, I creep up bit by bit in the rightmost lane and find my exit, "Sawtelle Boulevard". Tito's Taco's seems to be the place of choice for providing sound business advice to yet another multimillion dollar tech-startup. Guess us millennials are getting less and less formal with our lunches. Guess it's the advice that matters, not the venue.
As I push my door closed and walk into the establishment, everything is a blur. Uncle X walks by my table for one, plops down a picture and continues his walk without even seeming to acknowledge my presence. My phone vibrates. I turn it over and see a picture of Carla, Stella, Tyler and Rufus by the house that I took. It's Carla. I don't even look at the picture and pick up the phone. I can't bare the anticipation of personifying the last person behind the last portrait I will ever see and beginning the last process of dehumanization before I am able to live the rest of my life and focus on raising our family, so I try and hurry the last dishonest interaction regarding my career I will ever have with the person that thinks they know the most about me.
"Hey what's up? I'm on my way into a meeting and don't really have the time to talk so can you make it quick babe?" I blurt out not even giving her a chance to start the diologue.
"Yeah......... Well.... I just couldn't wait". She says, before a long pause and a sniffle.
My heart drops.
"We might just have another addition to the family! I didn't get my period this month and decided to take a test! So yeah! Guess what it came up as!"
My head drops. My heart starts to race and so does my breathing. It's fascinating how some things can make a man can crack a smile right before setting off to take a life of yet another person that hasn't personally wronged them one bit.
"Wow. I'm so happy to hear that and cannot wait to talk about this tonight. And we can do this one together too! It's so crazy that we happen to be in the same place this time!" I say, not having to fake happiness for once during an inopportune conversation with the SO but actually feeling it for a split second.
"Yeah! Anyway, I love you! Hopefully that lightens your day!" she says, the emotions eminating through the phone speaker.
The line cuts. I place my phone down on the greasy table and raise the picture to my field of vision.
Of course the last task has to be the hardest one. This woman looks just like my wife.
I can see she has mesmerizing blue eyes that could charm a stone and focus the freest of spirits. A small, effiminate nose. Plump lips that meet perfectly at the top like a cupid's bow, lips parted in a way that makes me wait for speech that will never come. Sun-kissed skin that suggest an childhood in a warm climate and perhaps the later years somewhere cooler. I imagine a modest home, two children and a golden retriever adopted from the local animal shelter. Before that, just two young adults having passionate yet lustful, raw, rough sex after a night stocked up on the kind of three dollar shots sold by a bar that would accept what would have to be the worst Fake IDs San Fransisco State has ever seen. An intense, exciting, painful relationship that leaves both parties integrated and makes each other grow more than any degree could. But not safeguarded from some time apart after graduation so we could find our own paths........... only to get back together for coffee one day.
Stop it. Stop the connection. This one cant get to you. Just flip the fucking picture over and get the full name. Fucking Christ.
"CARLA"
Fuck. That asshole wouldn't make me leave the business. The minute I find a number that I can comfortable rely on to retire early and try to get him to come to terms, I get this. Of course. Guess I'm not leaving. Or maybe I am. It's not like I can't pack up and start over again. At least I won't have to hide a life of criminality from my new family.
Guess the good things in life come with a clause. It's just that this one happens to be particularly tenacious.
I finish the last bite of my Chicken Tamale and get up calmly. Stretch and walk out the door, quickening my pace. I spot Uncle X. Perhaps I should have a couple words with him about this? No. He knows what he did. I hop in the car, release the handbrake and coast out of the parking spot, turning on the engine and putting the car into first gear only as the sedan is already backed out of the parking space that is now perpendicular to where I sit. I keep my vision fixed on Uncle X. The engine bogs and I lurch foward.
Fuck. Come on, focus you idiot. 15 years of exclusively manual and this?
I restart the car and head for the exit. I hit the accelerator and skip to third, ensuring high speeds and little noise. I reach into the nook in my car door and feel for cold metal. I grasp the first object I find, roll down the window with the other hand and the vehicle veers to the right. I stare at Uncle X and fall into a trance an eternity. I point the gun out the window and pull the trigger before the car veers too far right to have a proper aim. Uncle X drops to the ground. The gun cocks back and injures my nose. My eyes water and before I can refocus, there is impact.
I wake up after what seems like years of sleep and cough a mouthful of warm blood. Look up to a misty window and dust settling on my forehead and the hood of my car at a 90 degree angle. As I wrestle the door handle to free myself and clock out for the last time, the tables turn and now I am staring down the barrel of a gun of a man. I angle my head up and notice "San Fransisco Police Dept." and see a man in uniform.
| 2018-08-14T23:56:03 | 2018-08-14T22:17:00 | 500 | 11 |
[WP] The three best assassins in the world are all tasked to kill the same person, who doesn’t exist.
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“Heidi? What are you doing here?”
“I could ask you the same question, Eguchi. The way I see it, you’re stepping in on my bounty. Same goes for you, Teddy.”
“I beg to differ, Miss Henderson. Contract for Mr. Spencer’s head belongs to me.”
The three assassins warily eyed one another in the dimly lit warehouse, aiming their weapons of choice from one person to the next. A tense silence hung in the air for some time until Eguchi spoke, “Wait a moment. Just to confirm my suspicions, are both of you also pursuing a Mr. Jalen Spencer?”
The other two quietly nodded. Eguchi slowly lowered his silenced Beretta M9A3, prompting Heidi and Teddy to relax their shoulders and lower their respective weapons. The Japanese assassin continued, “I would like to believe this is some sort of error on the part of our respective agencies. Perhaps if there were only two of us here, I would be willing to pass it off as a failure in communication. But the fact that all three of us are standing here is…concerning. I know for a fact our employers would never allow such an oversight to occur.”
Heidi added, “Come to think of it, did any of y’all actually find this Spencer fella around here? I’ve been casing the place out for hours but couldn’t catch hide nor hair of the little bastard.”
“I imagine my recon was far more thorough than either of yours, but I haven’t had any luck meself. Didn’t even catch a glimpse of ‘em when I was clearing out this warehouse.”
The trio looked at one another once more, their initial suspicion for one another now replaced with the dawning realization of what was transpiring. “We need to leave this place. Now,” said Eguchi sharply.
“’Fraid it’s a little too late for that, mate,” replied Teddy, pointing behind Eguchi to the large window next to the main entrance. Even through the layer of dirt caked on the glass, the three assassins could easily make out the shapes of several armed men making their way towards the entrance.
Heidi let out a sigh and checked the magazine in her CZ P-09 before saying, “Well, boys. I got twenty in the mag.”
Eguchi replied, “Seventeen for me,” as he positioned himself behind a wooden crate and aimed his Beretta at the large door.
“Never thought I’d see the day when I’d need someone else to save my skin. We get out of this in one piece, maybe I’ll buy the two of yous a pint of Guinness,” said Teddy as he climbed up onto the rafters and aimed his HK45 at the door.
“Make it two and you’ve got a deal, Irish,” replied Heidi as she ducked behind a pair of steel drum barrels. The three assassins instinctively averted their gaze and covered their ears as soon as the first flashbang burst through the glass, popping up from cover and patiently waiting for the first hostile to enter their sights.
r/williamk9949
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In 1989, when the Berlin Wall fell, Schmidt had already shredded and burnt his files as the STASI's greatest assassin. He evaded all efforts of the West German Bundesnachrichtendienst, killed every last one of his pursuers during a very hushed event called the Massacre in Saarbrücken. He spent years in the chaos of the post Cold War Ex-USSR and in the Balkans, before settling in Dubai as the personal assassin for a certain ambitious and wealthy emir. While he is getting older, he is one of the top three assassins.
His primary rival is the young American sniper turned assassin for hire, codename EagleEyes, real name Nancy [**REDACTED**]. Forged during the Bush administration's wars in Iraq and Afghanistan, plus the unofficial and highly secret campaign in Pakistan, Nancy became well known for taking out several high profile targets without getting spotted. Her most obvious skill is with a rifle, record is a 2763.1 meters shot straight through the eye of an anti-American colonel in the Pakistani military. But her real strength is her natural camouflage. She is a small woman, of stout build, with a tendency to not swear and treat people in a motherly fashion; which makes her enemies, of which few remain alive, underestimate her. She and Schmidt meet up once a year to compare kills, eat dinner, and they have a friendly rivalry going.
Crawling out of the chaos of a collapsing third world country, the Jackal is an enigmatic character. Officially, he doesn't exist, he has no records, he has no name, no family, no nation. He just turned up and began killing with a frightening efficiency for various extremist revolutionary groups, and eventually for corrupt corporations, in Africa. Unlike Schmidt, who usually uses silenced pistols, his natural charms, and a cold pragmatic efficiency, or Nancy, who if you gave her a good enough vantage point and a gun with sufficient reach could kill every living human being, the Jackal is brutal. He is intimidatingly tall, he is silent, his skin is burned, his eyes betray nothing, only a cold joy in the death of others. Most famously he visited a small town on the Ethiopian-Eritrean border for a vacation, and after a few weeks of no contact, the local soldiers sent to the town merely found it to be completely deserted. Nobody ever found the residents of that town. Needless to say, Schmidt and Nancy don't like him, but they do respect his abilities.
All three have been contracted to kill a man. A certain Al N. McCaskell. Supposedly a reclusive Briton living in a penthouse apartment in Hong Kong, though few men have ever seen him. According to the official assignment, which was given to all three of them, he is responsible for negotiating with foreign countries for certain mainland Chinese corporations connected to the government.
Schmidt does his usual thing, infiltrate local scene, meet interesting people, if any of them might know something he can charm them to revealing it. And if charms don't work, well, he was quite proficient in the methods used by the STASI to make men tell all their secrets. He speaks with the local high class brothels to learn of any guests to that apartment, finds out where the man's food comes from, interrogate the cook making food for the target, etc.
Nancy is more modern. Beyond her skill with a rifle, she is also a very talented hacker. She decided that it would be wise to learn how to do that, considering that some targets aren't going to be showing their faces in public any time soon. And even an anti-material rifle might have a hard time penetrating a sheer mountain wall into a high security bunker. She looked up his banking info, his transaction history, anything that existed on him, which was sparse. Not even a photo existed of this guy, which told her that either he was a silent, and non-existent, third party which was used to make the negotiators seem reasonable in comparison to their more extreme colleague, or he was better at erasing history than anyone she'd ever met.
The Jackal didn't have much of a plan beyond getting to the man's apartment, and killing him. Violently. The high class apartment building was easy to get into from the service entrance. Sabotaging the elevators was a piece of cake. All he had to do was to walk up the stairs to the top of the building, and easy enough task considering he'd swam to Hong Kong from Macao since he accidentally missed his boat after eradicating a small triad for bothering him. He had disabled all security measures, except the guards who he quickly disposed of as well. When he came to the right apartment, he placed a very precise shaped charge on the door, and blew it up. He then proceeded to fire his rifle into the apartment, using three full clips of ammo before the Jackal was reasonably sure that nobody could have survived.
The moment he passed through the door to the apartment however, certain explosives placed in secret on the building's foundations were remotely activated. And the entire building collapsed, all 21 floors of it, right on top of the jackal. Nancy and Schmidt were both observing the building as this happened. And on their burner phones they had received from the man who had employed them, they saw a single message **FIRST PREY CAUGHT**.
They understood now that the person, who they'd seen a reasonable amount of evidence for existing, wasn't real. This wasn't a job, it was a trap. Nancy didn't bring her rifle. She ran all the way down to the basement of the building she had been using as an observation point. Once there, she opened a manhole cover, and equipped her old gas mask. She'd left the phone on the roof of the building, which was wise, as someone appeared on the top floor, ready to kill.
Schmidt had come to the same conclusion about the phone, and had sold it cheaply to some local. He would need the money, he always kept a decent amount of physical money when coming to a new place, knowing that once the target was taken care of, any CCTV of him in a bank could prove bothersome. He assumed that his cards were all tracked, and could not be used either. Effortlessly, he disappeared into the crowds, donned a mask, and joined a protest. He wasn't an idiot. When in Rome, do as the Romans, when in Hong Kong, rise up against tyranny.
He spoke perfect Cantonese, so while western, he fit in with the locals well enough. But Schmidt is above all a professional. He knew he was being hunted, he knew whoever was hunting him had power, wealth, and probably dangerous levels of brilliance and insanity. He needed a plan. He needed allies. And this would not be the first time he'd overthrown a regime.
Nancy crawled her way through the sewers, where she waited until nightfall. The first thing she did upon leaving the sewers was to find one of her secret caches. She always placed at least two whenever she was in the area, just in case something like this happened. But she didn't go to any of the new ones, instead, she found the one she'd placed five years ago when she'd shot and killed three ambitious and dangerous members of one of the local triads. A Straw Sandal, a White Paper Fan, and a Red Pole. She hadn't survived Iraq, Afghanistan, Pakistan, and those CIA bastards who tried to kill her, just to have some coward undo all her hard work. She was the hunter, and she would not become the hunted.
Hong Kong changed in a most unusual way in those months. Anyone with connections to a specific investment group, the same one which had hired the three assassins to perform a kill on a man who was entirely fiction, were found shot through the head from a great distance. Meanwhile, many pro-government officials, leading police officers, politicians, and plain old mainlanders, found their end at the hand of a new and more extreme group, lead by students who had had enough of not fighting back. Their training in intrigue, subterfuge, and guerilla style warfare, would have been similar to anyone who had met the more militant and revolutionary arm of the old East German regime.
But all wasn't well for either Nancy or Schmidt. Both had woken up in the middle of the night, in order to quickly evacuate and relocate in order to avoid being killed by mercenaries and corrupt police officers. It wasn't long before the island was consumed by a bloody uprising, which had spread to several locations on the mainland, and no long either before Nancy and Schmidt made contact with one another. Allying with one another, they planned to find and kill whoever was hunting them.
On the shores of the island of Macao, locals were astonished when the corpse on the beach started to move. The Jackal let out a terrifying scream. He had never been that close to death before. And he never wanted to again. He vowed upon the black soil where he buried the bodies of his village, and upon the broken carcasses of the men who had killed his clan, that he would find this mystery man, and do unspeakably horrible things to him.
**THE HUNT IS ON**
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
| 2020-06-25T16:26:08 | 2020-06-25T15:59:33 | 34 | 10 |
[WP] At age 15 you told the gf you were "in love" with that you'd always be there when she was in need. Aphrodite heard you and made it a reality, whenever your gf was in need you appear at her side. Problem is, you and the girl broke up after 3 weeks but you still appear even now..10 years later
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The very first time it happened, I was brushing my teeth before bed. Toothpaste isn't the best thing to have in your mouth when you transport; I learned that straightaway. I should have been more concerned with why I had been brushing my teeth in my bathroom one minute and the next standing in my first girlfriend's bedroom, where she was struggling to finish her math homework. Instead I wondered what the side effects of swallowing too much toothpaste were.
From the second time it happened, I learned several very important things: to never be doing something for very long, never drive anywhere, don't cook on stoves. Things like that. I found reading books was the best activity to indulge in, as I don't think a falling book has ever killed anyone. Every time I transported, my girlfriend learned something new about me (Though I thought it seemed rather unfair since every time I transported, I was midway through an activity, and without the context of said activity, I wound up looking like a psychopath. Transporting to her family dinner soaking wet and naked sure does kill the mood) but the more she learned about me, the more disinterested she seemed, and after three weeks of being transported to her side, she dumped me. Much to our surprise, for the first day at least, I would leave her and walk out the door, only to immediately be transported back to her side. That first day was pretty awkward.
By the third week, I learned that I have a sailor's mouth. Upon transporting, I was hardly capable of anything more than an obscenity, which really got weird on Sunday mornings when a transporting teenager appears in church and screams the F-word.
We've gone years now living like this, with me popping in and out of her life unexpectedly. We've become friends of a sort. There's really no other choice. We see each other every day for ten minutes or so. I show up, and with a simple nod, we work out whatever she needs doing. It somehow works for us. She told me the other day that she sometimes creates situations to bring me to her, and I'm not sure how I feel about that.
Anyway, here I am. Ten years later. I know it sounds so incredibly unbelievable, but it's all true. I feel like it is a super power, but a really boring one. Really only useful to one person. That's life though, at least for me. I long for the day when I can wake up and not be called away right when I'm busy doing someth
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[I'd like to preface this story with a trigger warning. I've never used one before but I'm sure it's necessary for this one. When I read the prompt, I wanted to put a different spin on it, it's a tragic sort of love story, the way it usually is in life, so towards the end I delve into a darker place than was probably intended by the person who created the prompt. I don't mean to offend anyone and hope that you enjoy the story despite the direction it goes in.]
My legs felt numb. I had been walking for an hour straight now and I wasn't even halfway back to my job. It probably would've been faster to head to Nate's and have him give me a ride back but the thought of having to make up an excuse for my complicated situation, yet again, exhausted me. I was emotionally drained, just like every other time and it only seemed to be getting more frequent. It was getting to the point where I couldn't even go a few days without having to be in this situation yet again.
I didn't have any idea how far I had walked. You would think after ten years of this, I would've gotten used to it. Not.
In High School, I had been some lanky kid desperate for any girl to give me a chance. Sitting down, I thought back to those days, when I had scoured the internet for tips and tricks to get the girl. A humorless smile formed on my lips as I pictured my younger self sitting in his room performing a prayer ritual to Aphrodite, the Goddess of love. I had promised to be by the side of any girl that gave me the time of day whenever she was in need forever and always. Had I known what was to come, I would've never committed to a lifetime of this. The smile slowly disappeared from my face at that thought.
Amber came into my life that very next day. She was radiant. There was a light in her that I had never seen in anyone else. When she spoke to me the very first time I thought I was surely dreaming. Her wide, light brown eyes were full of mischief. Her thick golden brown curls gleamed brightly in the sunlight. Her personality was brilliant and fierce and gentle and passionate. I had never seen the world, not really, until I met her. The thing about being a kid, is that everything that you feel is more intense than it will ever be at any other point in your life. She was a destructive storm and I was a storm chaser that was swept away by the force of her. It wasn't long before I fell head over heels for her and finally built up the courage to ask her to be my girlfriend. In my fifteen years of life, I had never felt as happy as I felt during that time that we spent together but I would be insane to say that I hadn't noticed the sadness that lay behind it all. With that passion and whirlwind of emotions, came an endless well of darkness that was slowly extinguishing the light that I had come to know.
Only months later she had asked me to a park where we had met many times. It was there that she had explained that she couldn't keep it up anymore. The entire time she had refused to look me in the eye as she confessed that she had cheated on me. That day I learned that with every immense high there is a seemingly endless low. We stopped talking for a while. It hadn't been hard to avoid her since we hardly had any classes together, at first anyway. I could only keep that up for so long though. I felt myself drawn to her despite the burning anger and pain that being by her side brought me. After some time the hurt of her betrayal faded but she was spiraling and that caused a different hurt altogether. I did everything in my power to comfort her. I wanted to. Doing that fulfilled something inside of me that I hadn't even realized forming. It morphed and changed within me until it was an instinct. Borderline obsession even. It wasn't until years later when I would link my incessant need to be at her side every time she needed someone to the night that I had begged Aphrodite for a chance at the love I had always craved.
Eventually, heading to her house on impulse became dropping everything in a moments notice at her call. That evolved into racing to her side no matter how far she was from me. The stranger things started only a year or two ago. The first time it happened, I was sure that I had completely lost my ever loving mind. I had been in the middle of helping a friend move and in the time it took me to blink, I was in Amber's one bedroom apartment.
A vibrating in my chest pulled me from the memories of everything that had happened in the past ten years. It was soft at first, barely there. It always was but then it grew into an increasingly louder hum. I closed my eyes, the familiar feeling of weightlessness taking over me. I didn't dare look, it had yielded unsavory results the one time I had tried. The process took an instant but it felt like it lasted at least five minutes. The familiar smell of lavender filled my nostrils signalling that I had been transported back into Amber's apartment. I was standing in her bedroom this time. It was a mess like it had been when I had been here earlier that day. There were stains on the carpet that were probably months old, some were maybe even years old. My instincts led me into the small bathroom that was connected to the bedroom. The door was ajar and the light was on indicating that Amber was in there. When I entered, my eyes found Amber's small form curled up between the sink and the bathtub. Her eyes were closed and the only sound in the room besides my shoes crunching the broken glass on the floor, was her ragged breathe coming in soft wisps. There were pill bottles lying all over the floor empty. I moved slowly over to where she was and slid to the ground, leaning back against the wall across from her. She stirred and her eyes fluttered open. Her thick eyelashes framed her almond-shaped eyes in a way that I had always admired but there were dark circles under them from nights that she had spent battling her inner demons while I held her.
"Jake.." Her full lips formed a weak smile.
I didn't speak, just stared at her. I was afraid that if I did, I would lose the last shred of sanity I had left for tonight. In this moment, I felt older than I was. At twenty-five I should be thinking about the family that I would be starting but this broken girl in front of me had consumed my every waking moment for a decade now. There had been times when I had hated her for it but had known deep down that I could never truly hate her. Some small part of me would always love her. It was the depression she had struggled with all her life that I truly hated. Despite my advice and offers, she had decided repress it with drugs and sex than with actual medical help. She had in a way sealed our fates.
Her arms trembled as she tried to prop herself up which is when I noticed the open wounds on her wrists. I slid my way across the floor so that I was closer to where she was now.
"I'm so sorry, Jake. I just can't do it anymore." She sounded tired. The light in her eyes had dimmed to almost nothing now as she searched mine for something.
"I know, Amber. I love you." I said back softly.
She seemed satisfied and leaned back, closing her eyes once more. Her breathing continued to slow as time wore on. For the first time in a long time, I felt a calmness sweep through me unlike any I had ever felt before. I almost didn't recognize it when it happened. Amber had lost a lot of blood today and even though I was no doctor, I knew that the lack of blood mixed with all of the pills she was sure to have downed just before I got here were going to be too much this time. It was almost as if I could feel it within myself. I don't know how long it took for her breathing to stop but the instant it did, I could feel my heart start to slow. It didn't hurt like I thought it would but the prospect of what came after was still mildly terrifying, especially with how long it was taking. As my chest clenched with the finality of my last handful of breaths, my eyes landed on her. She would be the last thing I saw and even though I had never really believed in anything after death, I knew that wherever she went I was going to follow. Even now, pale and fragile, she was as beautiful as she had ever been and I knew that my last words to her had been absolutely true.
| 2017-03-22T21:33:02 | 2017-03-22T18:32:13 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] As you walk along the Thames pondering what Brexit will mean for you and your family, a soaking wet woman walks up a set of stairs from the river, hands you a package and tells you “Sort it out, please!” before vanishing around a corner. You open the package to find Excalibur.
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"Here, sort it out, will you?" The strange woman just about lobbed the sword at me and started to vanish back into the Thames. Before I could do more than stammer a few half-formed words, she was gone.
I stared at the sword in my hands, barely able to hold the heavy hunk of medal upright. My eyes traveled down the length of it, from point to hilt. On the hilt, I noticed an emblem, like a family crest or something. Upon examination, and considering the circumstances, I felt it could only be one thing.
I stumbled back closer to shore and yelled out into the river: "You do realize I'm French, right?"
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The parcel was heavy as I stood there... Looking at the sword. Excalibur. I guess. The name just cut through my mind like, well, a sword through butter. Excalibur should've been heavier than this, I thought. There was no way I was holding a real sword, much less the fabled Excalibur. It was too light. I was too weak to hoist a real sword, even the barbell at the gym was kinda heavy for me before I put any weight on. This just felt... light. Like I was holding my phone, or a shirt...
I reached out, and grabbed the handle. All of a sudden everything disappeared. And images flooded through my mind. The sword, screaming down from the sky to slam into a field of grass, creating a massive shockwave. The ground beneath the sword opening, and rising up to create the famed "Sword In The Stone". A smallish man, surrounded by knights and warriors, reaching for the Sword.
Arthur and the Knights of the Round Table. Again, the name cut through my mind, leaving residual feelings. Fondness. Joy. Safety. Fulfillment of an unknown purpose.
I saw Arthur, much shorter than I'd been lead to believe in all those stories I grew up with, facing enumerable odds. On a battlefield I didn't recognize, facing a vast army. Not the French. That's for sure. And behind Arthur there was no army. There were just his knights. The Knights of the Round Table.
The scene changed, Arthur in all his might in the midst of the enemy army. His sword singing as he cleaved through armor and bone, through muscle and weaponry. Moving faster than any man with a sword I've ever seen on TV or at the fair. Faster than his opponents, most definitely. The sword hummed with untold power, and blue fiery letters that danced along the blade.
Finally as the scenes changed and danced in my eyes, the untold battles, triumphs, fights between beasts that man has never seen again, the visions stop and a final picture is burning in my mind. A battered and wounded Arthur, hugging his stomach and kneeling at the edge of the battlefield of Camlann, where Arthur was said to have died there. The only people standing were two of his Knights, the enemy long since having been cut down or ran from the scene of the battle.
My eyes flashed open, and I found myself on the ground, near the Thames. A cop is shaking my shoulder. My vision is returning, I look and see the Thames River itself, moving more violently than I've ever seen before. I don't know how long I was out, but its now night. I look back towards the Bobby, and see cops everywhere, standing around... Were they waiting for an ambulance?
As I try to get up, I notice I still have the oddly lightweight Excalibur in my hand. I remember. History, innumerable and vast, I remember. I am myself, but I feel like I've seen the inside of King Arthurs mind, among his Knights, and countless Kings and Queens who ruled over Britain. I feel the sadness when a ruler orders the invasion or deaths of lands far beyond the UK, and I feel the might and wonder of defending Britain time and time again.
I am able to leverage myself onto my knees, the sword... Excalibur I mean, in front of me.
I then notice the boots in my vision have changed. Instead of police gear, I see fatigues and combat boots. I see them part, and stand in a row on either side of my vision.
I look up, almost blinded by the lights as I get to my feet, only to find myself at one end of a formation that I've only seen in ceremonial TV broadcasts. At the other end are soldiers, high ranking from the looks of them, and the Palace Guard, in their ridiculously tall hats. They too part, and reveal a hunched figure, dwarfed by the men and women in police uniforms, soldier dress, and otherwise. She slowly moves forwards, towards me.
Someone comes up and tries to take her elbow, but is sharply rebuffed with a quick smack on their shoulder and what looks like a sharp word. The person bows and backs away from the figure.
As she gets closer, I realize I've seen this woman before... And then it hits me as her face is revealed. Queen Elizabeth. The current Ruler of the United Kingdom. I feel more emotions than I've ever felt before, dimly I recognize that many are not my own, but are from past Champions and Knights of the realm. Somehow, no matter what king or queen they served, they feel similarly towards British Royalty. I'm stunned, and somehow I fall to my knees and bow my head, holding the sword, point first, into the ground as i do so. Like an ancient Knight.
As much as i want to, I cannot lift my head, or move. I know I can only move when my Queen requires or commands it. 'I am her knight, a Knight of the Realm...' Flashes through my mind, though I've never even heard these words before, much less believed that I was a Knight. But still I remained.
Then she speaks, filling me with a euphoria I've never felt before, despite her words bringing fear and determination.
"Young man, you are now a Knight of the Realm. You are the Champion of The United Kingdom, Protector of her territories, and Myself. You feel it, correct?"
She spoke with a sharpness that belied her age, that you wouldn't expect from an old Lady. She spoke with such conviction, yet I somehow *knew* she never met me before, nor had a Champion wield Excalibur in her life.
"Yes, my Queen." I responded, still staring at the pavement. "I live to serve Britain and the Royal Family."
"You know Britain is in trouble from within, Yes? Not from outside, as many believe?"
"I do, my Queen." This was true, even though I couldn't name any enemies.
"Excalibur will guide you. Nobody who serves the British Empire will stop you, and you may command them if needed. Now go, this country and her people rest in your hands."
"As you command, my Queen."
After this exchange. I rose. No more issues or feeling disconnected. I note all the soldiers still at attention, and as I turn, they part smoothly. Like they trained for this thousands of times. As one, they saluted their Queen and her Champion. Me... And i walked away, following the Thames, my goal a distant area of Britain that held some enemies, though what area and whom I don't yet know. I will know soon enough, and when I do, they will come to know my might and the power of Excalibur.
--Fin--
| 2016-06-27T11:27:09 | 2016-06-27T11:22:01 | 420 | 114 |
[WP] The last man on earth sits alone in a room. He gets an email.
This is from [this](http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/1u8rz6/what_do_you_fantasize_about_regularly_that_doesnt/cefz06k) reply from an askreddit question. :)
|
The subject line read "I am a Nigerian Prince, and I need your help."
Body: "Hello DANIEL,
I have recently come across a large fortune, and I am looking to get it transferred to the United States. As you may be aware, the war between the nations has spiraled out of control. My country was able to remain untouched by the conflict for the last 13 years, but it has finally spread it's violent tentacles through our borders.
Our water supply was poisoned in an attempt by the Ugandan Freedom Project in order to eliminate what they believed to be a conspiracy from within our capital. We have asserted time and again that this is a fallacy. Our population dwindles to a fraction of what we once were. Now, there is probably only a hundredth of a percent of what we used to be.
I write to you in a hope that you will be able to help me get my valuables and fortune to your country. Through your nationalism and closed borders policy you have been able to last internally in a way that even your government couldn't have predicted. A culture that is cultivated on violence, one-man-army stories, and post-apocalyptic literature has inadvertently created a country of survivors.
I do not know how many of you still exist to this point, but I am taking my chances in the only places that still remain to me. If you can help, please respond.
Sincerely,
Prince Ademola"
Daniel finished scanning the message with unbelieving eyes. His heart pounded through his chest like a hammer against an oil drum.
This can't be real, he thought to himself. Someone is playing a trick. The last email he'd ever seen was sent over 3 years ago. Back then it was mostly cries for help from family members he'd never met -- citing the close relationship with his parents that he hardly remembered. They'd died when he was still quite young.
Daniel thumbed the knife that hung from his belt, and eyed the rifle that rested on the ammo stockpile he'd taken from his neighbors.
This has to be a trick.
"O-K," he slowly typed into the keyboard.
|
Thomas' team had been on this site for a few days now, milling over their finds. This seemed to be fast becoming a worldwide trend, what with the development of new digging machinery. For the first time, people were able to dig further down into the shell of the planet, and fascinating finds were springing up all over the place. It was already widely known that there were various advanced civilisations from the past dotted over the surface of the planet, but it was only becoming more clear now that these civilisations were, in fact, all part of a single intermingling global one. This was fascinating to any archaeologist worth his salt.
Tom's team had found something rather intriguing. After scraping off the dirt, they had noticed that they held in their hands what resembled a glass slab, about ten inches across the diagonal, with a metallic back with what looked like a fruit symbol engraved into the centre. The slab itself was quite immaculate, after being cleaned, and they noticed some bumps, which one could only believe were for interacting with. One single round one at what they figured was the base, and a few on the sides for what, they couldn't tell. There were markings on the metal side in this same global scripture that was found on so many artefacts from this era. Not much was known about the text, except for the words 'patent,' 'copyright,' and 'Apple California,' meaning that these belonged to one single person by the name of Apple California. Whomever this person might be, they were surely generous for giving out their items globally; considering other, less well preserved items from this person have been found.
But this, this item was the most well preserved. Why was Apple California so generous? Perhaps he, or she, was a great world leader in their time.
I digress.
Thomas' assistant came up to him, exclaiming "I've found one! I've finally found one!" What he had found, Tom couldn't quite tell, because David was really just waving around a white cord in frantic excitement. After calming David (and also pondering why both of them had such archaic names, perhaps their parents, Trrrom, Frloabq, 7ottjt, and Qquuallmnt (in ancient scripture characters) wanted to provide them with names to inspire their future professions in archaeology), Thomas was able to see that this was quite the find indeed! He looked at this white cord, and noticed that the end was the perfect fit to slot into the base of this glass slab. Simply nowhere in the world yet had one of these been found. Excitement coursed through his blood like a sickness, and he hastily married cord and socket on the slab, they clicked together in a perfect harmony which led to both Tom and Dave exhaling in awe.
Now, that was one part of the puzzle these two archeologists were faced with, because they had to then figure out what to do with the other end of the cord. It seemed to have a few long, thin extrusions from the end, so clearly had to fit elsewhere. They had seen this design on other cords, so knew that it would have to power something; further confirming the worldwide theory that these slabs were, in fact, electrical. Which is insane, because, seriously, how could you get electricity into something so small? The smallest electrical appliance people have on the planet was a toaster! I mean, okay, there were these new portable communication devices, but they were so large that they had to be put into a carry-case in order to be usable... But this slab? This was tiny, how could it be electrical?
Tom and Dave took the device to their portable office, where they had a generator - powered by wood, of course, seeing as there was simply no other form of cheap, combustible fuel on this entire rock - hooked up to an array of various sockets. Tom held the white cord's other end and scanned the array, until he saw one that matched the cord perfectly. He put the two together, and gasped at the perfect fit, again taking a moment to ponder how lucky he was to find such a perfectly preserved item, with the perfectly preserved cord, and how he just so happened to have the perfect socket for the cord there and then... and also pondered how you simply couldn't write this stuff. Tom and Dave stared at the slab.
It did nothing.
They stared some more.
It, again, did nothing.
Tom poked one of the bumps.
It did nothing.
Dave picked at one of the bumps.
It did nothing.
Tom, frustrated, started holding down on these bumps, just out of sheer desperation to see if anything would happen.
A fruit appeared in the centre of the glass. Tom and Dave yelped at this. The fruit disappeared, and in its place were a series of symbols neatly laid out into a grid, hovering over a picture of what was clearly two members of this ancient race. What wizardry was this?! A tiny glass and metal slab able to show moving pictures and able to be electronic?! This was more than an archeological find, this was a technological breakthrough. Excited, Dave poked one of the items, which caused both of these blokes to recoil in fear and amazement as the pictures faded and were replaced with a load of ancient scripture. There seemed to be a structure to this, as the first line of each passage was bold, followed by some letters, a symbol that looked like this - @ - and more letters. Tom had heard of this through ancient texts found, this was the fabled E-Mail! Oh, Tom and Dave were going to be rich beyond their wildest dreams for this find.
Tom opened the top E-Mail, using his master's degree in Ancient Scripture to read what he could. The 'Subject' area showed 'If you are reading this, I, the last human, have died.' This was amazing, he would finally be able to see how this ancient race passed on... He read on.
'To whomever reads this, I'm glad you are alive. Maybe you are human, maybe you are some other new race, evolved from the ashes of the old. Perhaps, even, you are not of this Earth.'
What is Earth?
'I've sent this to myself, and to everyone else on my list in the hopes that someday, someone will find it. Also, I have printed copies of it off, which I distributed out on my walks. Anyway, I am Richard. I'm the last known survivor of world war six, which has seen the destruction of our entire planet. What started as an oil war in the late 2000s led to a famine war in 2110, which led to a resource war for fertile lands in 2125, which then led to a nuclear war in 2140. The world was simply over populated, and couldn't harbour this many of us. We were too greedy, and our governments destroyed entire countries simply for food, oil, and fertile lands. The irony being, when they went nuclear, they destroyed it all.
After these wars, the world's population was now in mere millions, and most of these millions were dying of hunger, or radiation sickness. I was lucky enough to live in a clean pocket of land, but that meant that, after saturating my land with as many survivors as I could, I had to turn people away. These survivors are now dead from fighting, sickness, hunger, or the cancers from radiation poisoning. Just last night, my wife of forty years passed from illness.
I am alone. I know this because we were the last colony. Maybe there are a few other humans out there, but I am the last known survivor. The last of my race. All I have now is a box of Mars bars and some old DVDs to watch as I await death.
To you, whom has found this, I implore you to not go the way our race has gone. Do not fight, do not consume what you cannot replace, and do not grow so big that you cannot sustain yourselves.
Do not go the way our world did.
Farewell,
Richard.'
And with that, Thomas and Dave had just read the last e-mail of the last survivor of the ancient civilisation. It was a poignant moment, and they both sat and let it sink in for a while, before Dave piped up with the question, "Tom... what's a Mars bar?"
| 2014-01-03T06:46:45 | 2014-01-03T06:08:57 | 17 | 12 |
[WP] Seeing success with the purchase of Marvel and now Fox, The Walt Disney Company announces it's next major acquisition: The Catholic Church.
|
ROME (Reuters) - Walt Disney Co agreed to buy The Catholic Church for $150 billion in cash and stock, a blockbuster deal that includes the surprise promise of a new book in its hit series, "The Bible" in 2019.
Disney Chief Executive Bob Iger told analysts on Tuesday that the plan is to release a new book in the series every two to three years thereafter. The last time a book was added to the hit series cannon was 397AD, and The Vatican has in the past denied any plans for more.
Pope Francis, a international icon known for his humility and as God's representative on earth, will remain with Disney as a creative consultant on the new books.
“It’s now time for me to pass ‘The Bible’ on to a new generation of storytellers,” he said in a statement. Disney will pay about half the purchase price in cash and issue a massive number of shares at closing.
“This is one of the greatest pieces of intellectual property of all time,” Iger said. Like Disney’s purchases of Marvel Entertainment, Pixar studio, and LucasFilm, The Catholic Church will “drive long-term value to our shareholders,” he said.
Chief Financial Officer Jay Rasulo said the deal would balloon Disney’s earnings per share in fiscal 2018 and 2019. He also said Disney would repurchase all of the issued shares on the open market within the next two years, on top of planned buybacks.
This agreement marks the third time in less than seven years that Disney has signed a massive deal to take over a beloved studio or character portfolio, part of its strategy to acquire brands that can be stretched across TV, movies, theme parks and the Internet.
In early 2006, Disney struck a deal to acquire “Toy Story” creator Pixar, and in the summer of 2009 it bought the comic book powerhouse Marvel. 2014 brought the acquisition of Lucasfilm.
“Disney already has a great portfolio and this adds one more,” said Morningstar analyst Michael Corty. “They don’t have any holes, but their past deals have been additive.”
Iger said he and Pope Francis first discussed a possible sale about 18 months ago. Pope Francis was looking to expand the reach of the church to younger audiences, and Iger was looking to add another well-known brand to the Disney empire. The two signed the deal in the Sistine Chapel, at the Church's worldwide headquarters on Tuesday.
“Everywhere I went, The Catholic Church was already there, and sometimes they got there ahead of us,” said Iger in an interview. “I kept seeing that brand and decided maybe we should buy it.”
He told analysts he believed there was “substantial pent-up demand” for new media and products. The series' iconic intellectual property will also boost Disney’s sales of toys and other consumer products, particularly overseas, executives said.
Disney also will be able to extend the presence of the franchise at its theme parks around the globe, Iger said. Biblical characters also are likely to find a home on the Disney XD cable channel, which is aimed at young boys.
Iger wouldn’t commit to keeping the Catholic Church operation separate from Disney, as he did with Pixar and Marvel.
|
These were difficult times for Asha. She was at that precarious stage in her youth where nothing seemed impossible, where red carpets seemed to unfurl for her at every direction she deigned to take. Yet, it seemed as if her parents wanted nothing more than for her to stay at home, squirreled away in her room, caged, wings clipped. Be careful that no one takes notice of you, they would say. Every day was a battle for freedom, a struggle to express herself, in ways that no one else seemed to understand.
Thus it was that when she returned from school and saw two suited men in her living room, with her parents sitting anxiously on the modest settee, and her private diaries stacked neatly on the coffee table, that Asha truly despaired. My life is over, she thought, they have come to put me in an institution.
“Asha,” her father began, “there is no need to worry. These men have come to… learn more about you.” Keyla Thamuya beckoned for his daughter to sit, and so she did. Asha may have been harbouring the seeds of teenage rebellion in her bosom, but rare was the occasion that she would ignore a direct entreaty from her father.
“My name is Nathan Barrows,” the first stranger began, handing over a gilded card with an embossed castle at the top left corner. He was young, the silver yet to settle on his head, but there was a hungry, ravenous edge to his demeanour that spoke of ambition. “I’m from Walt Disney, and this is my partner, Frederick Dunley. We wanted very much to talk to you about your… writing hobby.”
Asha’s mother wailed at this point, unable to contain herself. “I told you, I told you!” Jaine said. “What you write is *blasphemy*! The church has been good to us, and Father Andrews has been nothing but kind. When he asked you to stop, you should have! Why did you not listen!”
Nathan laughed, then said, “No, mam, please don’t worry. As I said, my employers have recently acquired the Catholic Church, and let’s just say that with new management comes new ways of thinking. Your daughter is in no trouble at all.”
“That’s true,” said Frederick. He appeared to the younger of the two, with features that would not have seemed out of place in college. “Our employers were very happy, in fact, to learn from Father Andrews that Asha has such talents. He had her name down, you see, in a book he kept. The people he needed to keep an eye on, according to him. The Catholic Church is wonderfully meticulous when it comes to their records.”
Asha’s heart sank. It had been too much to hope that Father Andrews would have forgotten about this. How many others had he told? Who else thought her mad, insane?
“I’m… sorry, I’ve tried to stop,” Asha said. “Those diaries… they are old, from before. I stopped when Father Andrews told me I was wrong to blaspheme. I guess he didn’t say I had to throw them away, so I just, you know, kept them.”
“Nothing wrong,” Keyla mumbled, nodding. “We been doing as Father Andrews said, too. Prayers, once in the morning, once in the evening. Keeps us all on the straight and narrow. She’s not been writing any more after that, see?”
Asha gulped, then averted her eyes. This, she had not yet told her father.
“Is that true now?” asked Nathan, softly. “You are no longer inspired to write?”
Asha sized the men up, then weighed her chances. She had watched enough TV to know that you only lied when you were sure you could get away with it, otherwise you just ended up worse off than before. Besides, if they said there was nothing wrong with it…
“I still do,” Asha said. “But not on paper anymore. Just… online. But anonymously. Just scribbling down thoughts, feelings, you know.”
Asha’s parents groaned, and Asha tried to block them out. The confession lightened her, emboldened her, and a certain defiance took root. She was who she was, she had tried to change, but this was her. This was truly her, Asha, the writer.
“Does anyone read it?” asked Nathan.
“Not many. I don’t really keep track of the numbers. I just write, whenever the mood takes me. If people read it, cool. I don’t really care.”
“How do you know what to write?” asked Nathan. “What would you say inspires you?”
This part was trickier. Asha wished she knew, but the truth was that she rarely remembered the process of writing. There was just the urge, a burning sensation, a frisson which would crawl along her skin, churn her guts until she put pen to paper, finger to keyboard. Then, only after she was done, would she regain control of herself. And only then would she read the product of her fertile imagination.
They had gone to Father Andrews after her parents had interrupted her writing session once. The way they told it, she had not heeded any of their calls. Instead, she had written like a person obsessed, possessed. Asha could not be physically torn away from her desk until she was done, the words bleeding dry into the pages. It didn’t help that these episodes were happening more and more frequently – on the train home, in the park, once even during dinner, when she wore through six napkins with her scribblings as her mother wept.
Father Andrews had put a stop to it with his prayers and his blessings, and his sharp admonition to her not to dabble in things she knew little about. It was easy for Asha to promise that she would change, since she truly meant it. She omitted to mention, of course, that she did not think it would help much.
“Can you read some of it for us?” asked Frederick. “Say, whatever you wrote most recently?”
“Why do you want to hear it?” she replied.
“In due time,” Nathan said, “I will be happy to explain. But first, we need to know if we are barking up the wrong tree, as it were.”
Asha looked at her parents, but there was no reaction from them. They sat frozen, that same dread hanging off their skin like the mold on week-old bread, no doubt already roiling in disdain at what was to come. She shrugged, then whipped out her phone, navigated to the post she made the day before, and started reading.
It was somewhat heartening to see Frederick take careful notes as she read. A receptive audience for once, she thought.
When she was done, she looked up, and was startled by the gleam in Nathan’s eyes, the broadening smile on his face. He looked as if he was about to punch the air, cry out with glee.
“It is time to explain,” said Keyla. “We have let you into our house, entertained you enough. What does Walt Disney want with Asha? What interest could you have in a young girl’s ramblings?”
“Are you familiar with Star Wars, Marvel?” asked Nathan.
“Yes, everyone does.”
“And you have seen what Walt Disney does to them?”
“You have made more movies, if that’s what you mean.”
Nathan shook his head, laughing. “That’s one way to put it. More importantly, Walt Disney truly believed that there were more stories to be told, more tales to be spun. They just lacked the money, or the vision, or the daring to break out of their mould. So we helped them. Our executives coached them, guided them, helped them achieve the next step in their journey.”
“Recently,” said Frederick, who too had begun to vibrate with barely-contained excitement, “we came to hear of rumours, whispers of how someone had begun to predict, with *astonishing* accuracy, the happening of events *before* they occurred, with a certain detail that could not be imitated. These things happen from time to time – there’s always a kook round the corner claiming the ability to read the future. But these writings, they were different, special.”
“How many predictions do you know speak of the hidden forces which instigate them?” continued Nathan. “Which go into detail of how the heavenly and the lowly agents conduct their work amongst men? Which contain too the kernels of truth for mankind to be aware of, to ascribe to?”
Nathan removed a brown envelope from his jacket, then slid it across the table. It was within reach, but Asha hesitated.
“You’re special. Just like the prophets of old, there is something, *someone*, speaking through you. You’re not just writing what you feel like writing,” Frederick said. “No. You’re doing something more than that, something very few of us can. Too long has your voice, like the others, gone unheard. That’s where we come in. We’re going to help you do what you were placed on this earth to do, Asha.”
Nathan smiled, then held out the envelope again.
“What say you, Asha Thamuya? Would you like to come with us and continue writing the Bible?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-11-12T07:00:32 | 2017-11-12T06:57:41 | 68 | 32 |
[WP] An alien race controlling most of the galaxy contacts Earth, aiming to uplift the humans until they're ready to join the interstellar community. The problem is all previous species evolved utilizing organic technology. Our "hard and dead" tech is utterly alien to them.
|
"So this is the, er, main reactor to the ship: it generates all the electricity we need and we're also able to siphon off a portion of the plasma for thrust."
"Uh huh."
"It's perfectly safe, the magnetic fields are multiple orders stronger than we would absolutely need, besides that we have about ten other safety procedures if anything should go awry."
"Right."
"Using this we can achieve speeds of up to 0.8c which should get us to the nearest wormhole in about 6 days local time, or 10 days relative time."
"Alright." The alien nodded thoughtfully. "I just have one question."
"What?"
"What's electricity?"
Oh boy.
|
--- Trying out a new writing style, let me know how it works. ---
Whoowee, let me tell you a story son. I was out tendin' the fields the other day when out of the sky came one of those UFOs that I keep hearin' 'bout on that news. It went and landed in my corn field, and made a mighty ruckus as it came down. Now, I am a God fearin' man, and a good honest American, so I grabbed my shotty and went to say hello.
Their ship looked, well, alive. It weren't like anything I had ever seen before. As I was watchin' it a mouth opened in the side of the ship, and out rolled the biggest tongue I had ever seen. I pulled out my phone and started takin' a video of this, I got me a first contact on my hand, although I hoped they didn't want me to call the President or something cause I dont have his number.
A couple lanky necked aliens done came out of that ship, and let me tell you what, they were about twice as tall as a man, and about half as wide. They looked me dead in the eye and put some weird bug next to their head, and from the look of things wanted me to do the same. It had to be some sort of mind control bug or somethin', I read about that once in a magazine.
I raised them Besse, my 12-gauge. They weren't gunna get me that easy. It looked like they weren't going to take Besse seriously though, so I fired a warning shot at that alive-ship thing of theirs. Whew, that ship, it done started to BLEED. When Besse barked it had them aliens lookin' mighty scart. I don't think they understood what was going on. These must not have been very smart aliens.
They backed off though, and one of them ran back into the ship. I kept the others pinned down once that first one ran off, and asked them what the hell they were doin' in my field. I think they tried to explain in that alien lingo of theirs, it was all clicky and wasn't a real way to talk to people. Right about then I heard a voice that sounded a bit off, not human if you get my meanin'.
"What is that thing you are holding?"
"You mean Besse? Shes your worst nightmare if you don't start splainin' whatchu want."
I saw that alien that done run back into their ship walkin back with a different kind of bug. This one seemed able to understand what I was saying and started making some clicking alien lingo sounds back at the lanky necked alien. After a coupla seconds he started clickin back at that bug and sure enough out comes English.
"We come in peace. Why did you hurt", I am sure that whatever they said next was that alive-ship thing of theirs, but I dont plan on learnin' alien lingo just to say it. "It did nothing to harm you."
"You can't hurt something that aint alive." These really were some dumb aliens, how could that ship be alive. Now, I love my truck, and will beat someone if they hurt it, but I know it's a machine. I think I was getting lucky though, as I heard a copter start flying in from over that hill with the old oak.
"What is that sound?" If you thought the aliens looked scart before, I'm not sure if they could shit their pants, but they looked bout ready to.
"How could you gone all that way through space and not heard a helicopter? Im sure you advanced aliens coulda figured that out long time ago."
By now I could see them copters as they came down and landed just over there, just behind where I parked my truck. A coupla military guys got out, all decked out in camo, with some beautiful rifles at the ready. They formed up quick, and out behind them stepped some bigshot in a suit. He looked at me, at the alive-ship, at the mark that was bleeding, and back at me. I could almost hear him groan as he saw Besse. Then him and his posse walked over to where I was holdin down American soil from these lanky necks.
“What is going on here? Sir, lower your weapon, we have this situation under control.” That government guy looked official, so I lowered Besse and told him my mind.
“Well, these aliens done come invading, they have some sort of mind control bug they tried to stick in me.”
“It was no mind control. It was a translation beetle. We were able to get this one to speak your language, but this one used some sort of magic to hurt.” They said that alive-ships name again, “and we were attempting to bring peace and prosperity to this planet. We are from what you call Keplar 22B.”
I could tell that government guy was getting confused, same am I was at any rate. We were talkin to some alien invaders through a beetle.
“You said that he hurt the ship? Why, is the ship alive? It does look that way.”
At this point the aliens started ramblin' about how their ship was alive, and they came to America to help us get machines that were alive or somethin' like that. I couldn't quite understand what they were tryin' to say, but I think I got the picture of it. That alive-ship looked alive and bled, cause it was alive, you see?
“And what kind of creature did you breed to make such a bang, and to hurt,” the alive-ships name. I think they thought Besse was alive. I know I named my gun, but when you are out huntin' sometimes it seems like that gun is alive and your only friend. Besse once saved my life when a cougar done tried to take it, so I wont deny I was a little attached.
"That is a gun. It is not alive, neither is the helicopter I flew in on or that truck over there. They are made of metals, and crafted to perform what we desire them to do.” I think the guy in the suit had somethin' figured out. He seemed to know what to say to them, and they didn't look quite so scart anymore.
They talked back and forth for a minute longer, but it wasn't bout much from what I could tell. You should know they met later, the news covered it a coupla days later. I done watched it from home, cause them government guys said I was lucky to be alive, or somethin' like that. Them lanky neck aliens did leave me one thing though, that horse over there, ya see it? The one with 6 legs. I'm thinkin' 'bout enterin' it in a horse race later this week. Sure fire winner that.
| 2016-09-22T19:01:40 | 2016-09-22T17:31:51 | 141 | 56 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
"For your own safety, you seriously should've let me complete that ritual." The shackled villain protested as the hero pulls her to a carriage.
"You were gonna sacrifice 27 virgins, Theia, I'm not gonna let that slide." The hero replied as he lead her into the carriage and locked the door behind her.
Theia sighs as she quickly broke through her shackles, "I'm serious, Vall!" She yelled at the hero who's walking away, "That thing will probably kill you!"
"You severely underestimate me!" The hero replies as he heads back to the cave with 27 virgins, "You of all people should know how skilled I am."
"Yeah, skilled enough to just barely survive a minotaur attack!" Theia exclaimed but Vall was already past earshot. The villainess sighed as she makes herself comfortable in the carriage. Between the fights, banter, and sexual tension, she knew he wasn't gonna listen anyway. "Why am I even doing this?" She thought to herself; perhaps she was still grateful to him for giving her some much needed free time, perhaps she felt like assimilating his power was still too soon, and after a while, thinking about all the villains she delayed, she smiled, "Nah, it's just fun having him around."
An explosion resounded as the mountain side gave way to a giant wolf like beast with Vall tossed into the ground, his magical armor and shield cracked from what happened. The beast reared back its head and fired a blast of magic into his direction. He stared at the blast as his body refused to move and, in a heart beat, A magical force field appearead with Theia in front of him. She giggled as the field easily diverts the blast, "What? I thought 'I severely underestimated you', Vall." She said with smug look on her face.
"Don't get me wrong. He just got me off guard." Vall smileed as he forced himself back up, "Besides, you know I'm just getting started." He glowed with magic power repairing damage to his weapons, armor and body.
Theia giggled at the sight she had seen multiple times before, "You one trick pony." She dropped the force field and readied her magic, "Fine... I'll help you just this once, Vall. I'd rather not have you killed."
"Just don't get in my way, Theia." Vall replied with a smirk as the two stared down the beast in front of them.
|
Edit: conversations not aligned properly.
***
“Horus! You really like to get caught by me don't you!”
“Hah! You think this time will be the same as last time? You are wrong!”
“Coming after every time, if you weren't an overlord of destruction, I might have thought you liked me.”
Yes he did. No, it was more than that, he loved her. Far more than his best traps and ploys, far more than his instruments of devastations, he was deeply in love with her. That day when he decided the politics was full of rat gunk, he pulled a fast one and set the whole government in a ingenious trap.
The whole mass of heroes appeared to stop him. They were weak. He knew each and every one of them. Their strengths and their weaknesses. The world cheered them on like fans cheering the losing team. Licking wounds to ease the pain. But he used poison, it was no use. He had plans put in place for all the worst possible scenarios. He's never failed once and he never will.
The heroes charged, knowing that some of them may die trying. Tackling against a barrage of heroes and their superpowers, he single-handedly beat down groups of heroes that tried to stop him and laughed as he would usually do. Chill ran down the heroes' backs because he knew exactly what scares them. Horus the Unstoppable.
At that time, there was one hero that he couldn't recognize. Eletra, she was called, with powers of electricity. She was much weaker than Voltra, who he killed long ago. She was bashing away at one of his gates with brute force. From the look of her smouldering hair she found out the hard way that her powers are useless. As he watched her punch and kick at the gate hopelessly he felt a faint urge to toy with her. He opened the gate just to let her in. Inside, a shifting maze was next on her plate. During the time of her reaching the end of the maze, he built himself a mountain of unconscious heroes to stand on top of. He watched Eletra reach the main control panel.
There was countless buttons, dials and switches of many different colours, shapes and sizes that would do countless things on the poor politicians. From tickling them to vaporizing them. She would have to find out which button does what. How many would be left from the trial and error?
After noticing the timer on the top of the machine for self-destruct. She panicked. Pressing the big red button, she activated a rotating razor blade. She panicked even further and started mashing different buttons, cranks, knobs and sliders hoping that one of them would stop whatever she started. The countdown sped up and an extra twenty killing devices appeared around the frightened politicians. Watching her on the verge of tears, he smirked. He tapped a few times on his phone and a green triangle button in front of Eletra started blinking. She hesitated before she pressed it with her eyes closed. The buttons powered down. The countdown timer vanished. The death machines stopped in their spot. She smiled and let out a laughter of relief. He also laughed.
What has he done.
Horus, the Unstoppable was no more. Now he was no more than an annoyance. Eletra rose her ranks and was listed as the one who Horus can't defeat. It felt like a drama. Everytime Horus appears and throws around heroes like ragdolls, Eletra would appear and throw him in prison. A few days later he would escape it as if he could walk through walls.
“You again?” she would start.
“You should know very well why I'm here.” He would continue, “The things I have accomplished! My title, Horus, the Unstoppable! You took everything from me! I was the overlord of destruction! Do you know what it meant for me?”
“Why would I care! Your actions have hurt many and I can't let you go on! You know how this ends. We've been through this many times.”
“Well, if I knew that will end up in my cell again, why do you think I even escaped? To have peppermalt steak for breakfast? Well, there is that but that's not all!”
He took out a long list. Scanned it for a while and pointed at a small line on the list
“There! To take revenge! See! I wrote it in bold!”
The tiny scribble was way too small for her to see from the other end of the building roof.
“Is that all hand written?”
“Of course it is! What do you think happens when I have more than enough free time in a prison cell?”
“What's its priority?”
“Well...” he looked back at the list, “It's definitely before going to Disneyland and it’s most likely after having mid-afternoon tea...”
“Well, then let me give you a few more years to think about it!”
She jumped with electricity sparking off her legs. Her arm coated with lightning, ready to uncoil.
“Like hell I need any more time!”
Horus threw his punch as mechanical armament covered his arms. Their fists met and created a shockwave, dismantling the armament on his right arm and knocking both of them back. Horus who stood at the edge of the roof tripped on purpose and nearly fell off as he grabbed onto the ledge with his left arm. Eletra looked down at him from the ledge reading the situation. She has grown so much.
“You and your electricity is damn annoying!”
“Hold on. I will call for help. Give me your other hand!”
“I don't need your help!”
She grasped his left hand and pulled on it.
“You are too naive."
His armament disassembled and he fell down.
“No!”
She jumped down trying to catch him. Look at her. Look at how devoted she is to saving anyone she could reach out to. She swam in the air and hugged him.
Yessssss!! Whoohoooo! Yeah!! I’m a genius!! ...is what he would have screamed but he restrained himself with everything he had.
As the reached closer to the ground, his antigravity field activated and slowed them down. They landed on a mattress truck he placed beforehand. At most, their injuries were bruises. Local authority was there to carry him off as always. His wrists were cuffed with superpower dampening handcuffs even though he was never seen using his superpowers, it was a measure of caution.
As he was pushed into the police car, a voice rumbled as the police car he was getting into got crushed.
“Horus! How pathetic! You dare lose to her? Then what do you make of my reputation?”
Shoot. This wasn't supposed to happen. This wasn't in his plan. He was naive. Heroes aren't the only ones aiming for the number one villain. His consecutive loss made him look way weaker than he was supposed to be. Especially Ironwind, who’s driven purely by ambition and pride, Eletra would become a nice steppingstone.
“Horus! I will show you how it's done!”
Ironwind rushed to Eletra in an instant, beating her down. At first, she was holding up but slowly the difference in strength showed. Ironwind clicked open a folding knife and went for the finisher. The blurred knife stopped after piercing through a projected shield, projection device and Horus' hand. Horus stood between them holding the weight of both of Ironwind's arm strength.
“You are naive.” Horus breathed out.
His handcuffs clattered on the ground where he was a second ago.
“Huh? What's this Horus?” Ironwind had a confused face.
“No one is allowed to defeat her before I do it.” Horus wore his signature evil smile.
“Don't tell me... Horus, is this the girl that you are head over heels in love with?”
“Love? Horus, what does this mean?” Eletra looked confused.
“Love for rivalry I guess, I don't know what the hell is going on in the villain community. After all the time I spent in the prison.”
Horus' evil smile faded and was replaced with a cold, silent glare at Ironwind who stood unfazed.
“We know who you are mister Voltra.” Ironwind slowly smiled as Horus froze, “We started digging through your documents when you emerged as the world's strongest by killing Voltra out of nowhere. Hah! You made a mistake of not killing anyone after that.”
“How many knows of this?”
“Everyone in the community.”
Tinted visor slid over Horus’ face and a helmet assembled into existence.
A very familiar electronic voice came from the helmet, “Voltra is dead.”
| 2018-01-27T16:53:11 | 2017-09-17T04:19:39 | 58 | 10 |
[WP] You're a villain that fell in love with a hero. Though the strongest villain on the planet, you constantly lose to your hero, since you just love the rivalry and don't want it to end. As you are being arrested one day, your hero is attacked by another villain, one too strong for them to beat.
|
I hear the battle rage from across the city. The police band hasn't shut up long enough for me to get a word in edgewise with the officers escorting me to central booking.
Gents, I say to try and get their attention. If I don't get out of these cuffs soon, he'll win and were properly screwed.
Gents, I say a little more emphatically, trying to be heard above the din of radio chatter. Useless. I could escape but doing so would kill these poor slobs, just some dumb mick cops living their childhood dreams.
As I clear my throat before yet another attempt at gaining these fools' attention the squawk box erupts in screams. Seconds later fire erupts from the ground level of a building directly in front of us sending debris flying everywhere including directly into the front of the squad car. We become airborne for what seems like an eternity as shards of glass and twisted metal fly around the inside of the vic, an inside that's quickly becoming an outside.
Miraculously I'm alive. Thrown from the car and bleeding from a cut above my brow. I don't know how badly I'm hurt, but the wound stings and blood drips into my freshly starched and pressed shirt. It occurs to me only after my fingers have gently proved the cut that I'm no longer handcuffed. I'm free to put an end to this madness. Hopefully she's alive and I'm not too late.
I pull out my wizard robe and hat. Game on.
|
Preface: I got a little too enthusiastic with this one. Saw an image and wanted to write a story about it, this prompt was ideal. Is in two parts.
My name was Frank. I was ugly. I should say, I was fuck ugly. Disgustingly so. Like I was Frankenstein's monster gone wrong ugly, hence the name. My parents had such a sense of humour. I loathed them for that. All through my childhood, it was hell. Being bullied for it, hated for it, I hated those right back. Those who pitied me were tolerable. But it was the two-faced ones that ignited a fire of wrath within me. Those who pretended to be okay but then you would catch them out of the corner of your eye flinching in disgust when they though you didn't see it.
Imagine the fun I had when puberty kicked in and I gained my powers. Telekenesis. Weak at first, with simple things like loosening the screw on a chair so a leg fell off, or locking doors, but as with any skill or muscle, the more you train it the better and stronger it becomes. Revenge was sweet, but I soon realised I had to keep it low key or I would be discovered. These days I was getting on just fine, my neighbours knew me as an ugly shut-in who played games all day getting a benefit. Suited me perfectly. I could, for a while, pretend to be a normal person while online. I even had some 'friends', I guess.
Online was also how I got my jobs. I always picked things that would make people suffer the most. I suffered during my childhood, and wanted others to feel what I did. I picked on the rich, those that had never had to work a day in their lives, those that were fed from a silver spoon since a young age. It satisfied me to have them lose so much.
I was careful. I was knowledgeable. I hid myself in a masked hood, it would be useless if I my face was known to the populace. I similarly hid my powers, and called myself the 'Masked Menace' for jobs I wanted to be caught at. I made it seem like I had mundane things like the power of flight, strength and toughness when it was all my mind doing the work. I didn't want to attract the attention of the most formidable heroes, which would necessitate the use of my full abilities. I would make more public attacks so I could lose to heroes that seemed like they should be able to beat me, but mysteriously when I was arrested they could never get my masked hood off. Then I would inevitably escape. It was handy to have a 'weak' persona in case I got caught doing one of my other jobs.
One hero in particular, Sariel, had powers similar to the ones I pretended to have. We fought a few times, I made it a hard fight of course, and allowed myself to be beaten in the end. I think it was after the fifth time she beat me, I changed up my usual defeat dialogue.
"How do you keep beating me? We're evenly matched!" I lamented. "Surely I should have prevailed at least once by now?"
"Oh come now." Sariel giggled. It was a nice little giggle, actually. "You use the same moves. I studied footage of your previous battles. You need something new." She waved a hand dismissively. "You're like a boss battle in Guild Wars. Once you know the patterns, you can win easily." I blinked a few times in suprise. That was the game I played.
"Something new, huh?" I replied wryly. "You're actually giving me advice?"
"I like a challenge." She smiled. "And I won't get better by doing the same things." The smile was replaced by a frown. "But I still want to know how you keep getting away."
"A man has his secrets." I replied pompously. "Until next time, then?"
"Until next time." Sariel flew off as I was taken away once more.
Soon, it became that the only hero to come and stop me was Sariel. Our fights were enjoyable, I won some just because I could as a test, and she always came back with even more determination to win next time. My life fell into a routine. Do a few jobs in secret with my full powers, then a more public one to fight at. Play games at home. It was strange, I almost felt happy. I still had loathing for those who knew no suffering, still wanted to hurt those two-faced people on the street when I walked places. But I wanted for nothing else.
One day, during a guild event, the usual banter was flowing as people fought. I was only half paying attention as usual, more interested in helping take down enemies. That's when I heard it. A giggle. Not just any giggle, though. *Her* giggle. Sariels. How I recognised it amonst all the others I had heard, what made it distinctive I don't know. I just knew. I couldn't believe it. I panicked. Did she know? Had she found me? Was I going to have to disappear?
"Frank!" The raid leader, Kyle, snapped. "Wake up, you've been spaced out for ages!"
"Shit! Sorry!" I shook myself and got back into the fight. How long had it been? A minute? Two?
"Maddy, are you okay? Frank was supposed to be helping you there." Kyle was grumbling, but that was normal for a raid.
"I like a challenge." Sariel replied. Wait, not Sariel. *Maddy*. My mouth dried up as I realised. She was one of the newer people, which explained why I hadn't heard her before. I pushed the thought aside and got back to raid business.
"Sorry Maddy, I'll be right there." I got my character back to position and helped her out of a tricky situation. She probably would have survived, but it was easier with two.
"My hero, Frank." I could hear her smile in the tone of voice. "Saved my ass over here."
"Well, it's an ass worth saving." Oh *fuck*. Fuck, *shit, fuckshitfuckfuckfuck*. Did I really just say that? To *Sariel?* I had *never* said anything like that before. To *anyone*. A shocked silence met my words, my brain trying to process how to get out of this embarassment. Then I was saved, by that same giggle, as she spoke again.
"I bet you say that to all the girls." Laughter erupted over comms, I heard a couple of people say 'Get a room!' to which I simply had no reply. What had I done? What was I thinking? The raid ended shortly afterwards, giving me an excuse to sign off and gather myself. It took a long time for me to get to sleep that night.
Things got... problematic after that. Online, Sariel (Maddy?) and I couldn't stop flirting. I broke her arm once during a fight, hoping that it wasn't her online, that I was mistaken - but that only confirmed it. I tried to stop flirting, I really did. It made my villian/hero fights with her quite awkward. A lot if the time my heart just wasn't in the battle, and she could tell. I did get to confirm that her ass was worth saving though, it really was rather nice. I lost focus in our fights a few times, or should I say my focus was on her face instead of fighting, and she trounced me easily on my reduced power.
| 2022-01-12T08:00:19 | 2017-09-17T04:25:10 | 23 | 11 |
[WP] The world's deadliest assassin. His target: The world's luckiest man. Hilarity ensues.
|
Young Timmy played the Lottery;
whenever it was due.
The jackpots paid for all the fees
his lifestyle had accrued.
This angered soon the Mafia
who thought a Fix was in
So Timmy ran to Austria
to hide from assassins
They chased him 'round to Bangladesh
"Their luck must run out soon-
At Hide and Seek, I'll be the best"
thought Tim, inside a room.
Things worked out much worse than feared
for him that hid inside -
/u/Poem_For_Your_Sprog appeared
And Timmy fucking died
|
I don't like to brag, but I am the world's best detective, and I'm closer than ever to catching the world's deadliest assassin. Just twenty seven minutes ago, at exactly 5:21am, I have identified him as Jack Brooks, and three minutes since then, I have relayed the information to the police department. Unfortunately, Jack has just entered my brother's house, I was always a high value target, but whoever Jack was working for must have settled on him.
How do I know Jack entered Tommy's - my brother's - house? Yesterday I finished setting up security cameras, as his wife is pregnant and they have decided to secure their house. I can see Jack on my phone, it is hooked up to the security cameras, and Tommy is in the house by himself.
There are police cars and a police helicopter on the way to Tommy's house. Why? Did you forget I was the word's best detective? Tommy needs to survive just four minutes by himself against the world's deadliest assassin until the police cars arrive, and only two minutes until the helicopter is over the house, though I don't know if he can do it. I've not been able to convince Tommy to get a gun for self defense, and now all I can do is coordinate the police raid on my brother's house.
Tommy got the text from Mitch, his older brother, and the world's greatest detective, about thirty seconds before he heard the front door getting smashed open. He knew that Jack knew, there's no way Jack is going to be a free man by the end of the day, and it seems Jack had one last target on his list and was getting reckless.
Tommy was prepared, in those thirty seconds he had already gotten out of bed and put on pants. Tommy was going to tell Suzan, his pregnant wife to hide, but she was by her mother's. Tommy yawned, it was early. That was a mistake, as he heard Jack quickly run up the stairs.
I could see it from the many cameras I installed in Tommy's house, Jack fell through the stairs into the basement. The stairs were in dire need of fixing, and was one of the reasons Suzan was spending time by her mother. Tommy heard the stairs breaking, he tightened his pants. I looked at my watch, hardly any time has passed, maybe five seconds, Tommy had to do something, but I really didn't know how to help him, not against Jack.
Jack didn't even slow down, upon landing in the basement, he quickly assessed the situation, and realized he had to prepare himself for booby traps, this last assignment wasn't going to be as easy as he thought. Jack carefully made it up the stairs back to the first floor, not noticing any additional traps. He saw the cameras and figured that security cameras must have been disguised as baby cameras, and quickly took them out - that is when I lost sight on him on the first floor. I looked at the clock, we're still under thirty seconds since he entered the house, and Tommy is still fixing his pants in the master bedroom.
The second floor camera showed Jack had made it up, and was carefully navigating through the hall, gun at hand. Tommy on the other hand went to the master bathroom. I switched to the outside cameras, but he didn't seem to be climbing out of the house as I have hoped. There are only two bedrooms upstairs, Jack carefully opened the first one, and turned on the light. It was the baby's room, of course there was no baby yet, just a completely empty room which was just painted. Jack entered the room and fired three shots into the closet, he then opened it, and saw it was entirely empty. I looked at the clock, just forty five seconds since Jack came into the house, still over three minutes for the first car to arrive, this wasn't going well.
Jack reloaded and went to the master bedroom. He opened the door, which Tommy hasn't even tried to lock or block. And then it looked like he heard a noise from the bathroom, suddenly the bathroom door opened and Tommy came out, he had a phone in his hand, and was looking down at him, Jack was pointing a gun right at Tommy.
My heart dropped, even helicopter was over a minute away. Tommy saw the gun, and dropped his phone, I could read their lips.
Jack asked "Tommy?"
Tommy answered "Don't go in the bathroom."
Jack pushed Tommy aside and fired off five shots into the bathroom door, quickly reloaded, kicked open the bathroom door, saw the open window and dashed out of it. I looked at the lieutenant standing next to me, he looked back at me, neither of us knew what happened.
Now a minute has passed, Tommy picked up his phone, but it looked broken, he sat on the bed. I switched to the outside cameras. Jack looked at the ground, he was looking for tracks, a footstep on the grass perhaps, but there was nothing. There was a pause, I think we all had to process what has just happened. In one swift move Jack jumped back into the house through a window while shooting it out.
Jack was standing by Tommy just seconds later "Where's your id?" Tommy pointed at his work pants on the chair. Jack grabbed the wallet out of them "Where's your id?" Tommy went through the wallet, but it wasn't there, he looked up at Jack "I gave it to the pharmacist to buy Sudafed, and must have left it there". Jack looked a bit annoyed "Credit Card?". Tommy looked down "I don't have one, I use cash". Jack pointed at a picture on the bedroom - "Is that Tommy?" The picture was of our third brother, Tommy's wife took down all the pictures for house remodeling, and that's the picture Tommy put up because he wanted to see how the frame would look in place. Without waiting for Tommy to respond, Jack grabbed Tommy, opened the curtains, and blocking himself with Tommy yelled out "Tommy, come back here, or your boyfriend gets it".
Tommy was always slow with his speaking, the helicopter was already over the house, and police cars just needed another thirty seconds. Jack wasn't done, if Tommy was in the house, he had to take him out before capture. This has just became a hostage situation, he closed the curtains.
Jack took two steps away from Tommy and pointed a gun at his head, "Lets go through every room". Tommy nodded. I lost sight of Tommy and Jack as they have went back downstairs. My hope was that Jack would not discover that Tommy was indeed Tommy, I heard police yelling out orders to set up snipers.
Approximately fifteen seconds after Tommy and Jack went downstairs, Tommy ran out from the house frantically yelling "Get the ambulance, I gave him a cup of water, but I had nuts earlier in it, and he's allergic to nuts!"
| 2018-01-07T10:51:21 | 2018-01-07T08:55:39 | 59 | 19 |
[WP] Humans are actually the most peaceful, kind race in the universe and other aliens don't invade us because its cute to watch.
|
Grozar the Conqueror lifted his mighty axe overhead, prepared to cleave the planet asunder. He stood tall as a star, a titan amongst titans, with the speckle of nebulae at his back and his axe poised to strike. Grozar cast his infinite gaze upon the planet, to once again take a measure of it's people.
He saw mothers feeding and embracing their children. Cute. Among Grozar's harem mothers flayed the flesh from their children's bones until nothing was left but servitude.
He saw sick and poor dying unseen in the streets. A right and fair way in Grozar's view, for such weakness held no advantage to better society. He also saw kindly ones giving food to the poor and donating medicine and care to the sick. A waste of precious resources that would be much better used on their soldiers, but... curious, as well.
He saw varying tribes of humans killing others based on the amount of sepia in their flesh colorings. Good. Cull the weak, let the strongest survive to feast upon their bones. But there were others fighting for peace between tribes, fighting with a passion and a fire that Grozar had only seen devoted to conquest.
They acted like children. Tiny weak pitiful children with no concept of the true nature of the universe. All that matters is strength and glory, and there was none to be had in this baffling obsession this planet seemed to have with suppressing and quelling their holy drive to kill, in the name of transient unsustainable peace.
Grozar's thoughts turned to Periplax, his childhood pet. He had been dead for many years now. Grozar had butchered and eaten his pet alive on the advent of his ascent to adulthood. It was the right and divine way, to destroy childhood things and devote one to the true way of the universe.
But as a child, Grozar and Periplax had... played. They had adventured through the great astral groves together. They had shared meals by the light of turning galaxies. They had wrestled with such might that stars themselves had detonated in their wake. But at the end of the day, Periplax had always lain his head in young Grozar's lap, softly whined a happy whine as he licked Grozars face, and Grozar had felt... brief, transient...
Peace.
Grozar lowered his axe, staring down upon the unnatural world and their blasphemous desire to strive for quiet serenity.
Not this day. Perhaps, one day, their doom would come. But not this day.
|
I was waiting for my connection flight in New York. As usual, I was having a beer while watching the large TV screen showing the news at the airport bar. I was on my way home after a few meeting in Israel.
The person on the TV screen kept a straight face as she announced that at least 40 people were killed during a conflict while trying to take a city that's under ISIS's control. At least 5 other people were staring at the screen and no one ever drafted a face expression to what had just been announced. I know... We've grown to not care anymore. I mean... Not that we don't care, but we just don't really feel it. And this bothered me. I just shook my head as the person on the TV changed the subject to sports and said that sports team won against another sports team.
"*Fuck!*" Was someone's reaction. A man, also sitting by the bar counter. He rambled to himself, loudly, something about sports team. I didn't care. I just shook my head wondering what's wrong with mankind.
"*This world is fucked. In a few years we'll all be dead.*" I said out loud to no one and everyone at the same time. I just had to say it.
"*Nah*" replied the man beside holding an empty scotch glass.
"*I'm sorry?*" I said. I was not expecting someone to reply my comment.
"*You guys are okay. You guys are peaceful. Don't worry.*" He said.
"*I'm sorry. But I'm not understanding you. What do you mean exactly? Who are we?*"
"*Sorry. I just felt the need to interrupt you. I felt your discomfort with the situation. I'm on my way home from my vacation and it's bothering me how much you guys have it easy.*"
"*Sorry. I'm not following you here. Who are 'we guys'? And what do you mean?*"
He extended his hand for a handshake exposing a Rolex Daytona on his wrist. I awkwardly shook his left hand with mine as he introduced himself.
"*My name is Pedro. And by 'you guys' I mean, earthlings.*" He seemed like a man with a sense of humor. He was tall, slender and had an odd tone of blue in his eyes. He appeared to be no more than 40. He was wearing a grey well-tailored suit. It was clearly very expensive and well made.
"*Hi, I'm Newton*" I introduced myself. I still had 3 hours before my flight and this stranger might just make these hours seem a little bit shorter with whatever he had to say.
"*Newton? That's an interesting name. Your father a Physicist?*" He asked.
"*Mother, actually. Dad's an electrical engineer.*"
"*Interesting. You have a sibling called Nicola, Johann or Alessandro by any chance?*" And before I could tell him about my sister Tess he interrupted again "*Sorry. I'm being nosy here.*"
"*No problem. But pleas tell me what you were saying about 'you guys'. What was that again?*"
"*Oh, right. I'll be honest here. I'm not from earth. I'm actually from a nearby star, which, judging by your family you know which one it is. I like to come here to your solar system on vacation.*" 'Oh, god. A weirdo.', I thought. "*You must be thinking I'm a weirdo*" He completed.
"*Actually. Yes.*"
"*Alright. I've never done this and this is highly illegal, but eh... what the heck. I believe I can trust you.*" And then he removed his watch, revealing a black line on his wrist. He twisted his left hand and it came loose like some sort of attachment. A yellow glob started oozing out, and it seemed like it had a life of its own. And it did. It moved like a squid towards the peanut bowl on the counter, engulfed a couple of peanuts, made a crunchy sound and released the shells on the floor. "*I love these*" he said with a smile. I couldn't react to what I had just witnessed.
"*Wha...*" was the only thing that I could mutter.
"*I know, I know. It probably looks gross to you, but that's what we actually look like. At lease my species.*" He explained as he reattached his hand. "*Yeah, yeah. I'm not green, giant eyes. Yadda yadda. We don't have limbs like you. We are like what you guys call Amoebas. You know? And we reproduce like them too.*"
"*This... Uh.*" I still couldn't find words. I looked around into the security cameras. I was sure this was a TV prank or something.
"*You're confused, I know. It's the first time I've ever told this truth to a human. You guys are cute, you know? So peaceful and innocent.*"
"*I'm...*"
"*You need more proof that I'm alien?*" He asked. "*If so, I can't give you. Not now among all these people and cameras. You'll have to trust me on this one.*"
"*But...*"
"*You're very monosyllabic, you know?*"
"*My...*"
"*I'll wait*" He said. And crossed his arms.
"*But...*" I said. I stopped, took a deep breath and tried remaining calm "*How is this possible? Why are you here? What are you doing?*"
"*I'm here on vacation. This place is a resort for my kind. We like to come here and just take a moment to lay back and watch you guys trying to be peaceful. It's kinda beautiful.*"
"*Vacation? Resort? How can this be peaceful? People are killing each other because of religion! People die because of stolen TVs or hallucinogens. This is peace to you?*"
"*Deep down it's not about religion or TVs or anything. But that's another subject. But yeah. You have no idea what it's like out there*" He said, pointing upwards.
"*Please, explain.*"
"*To begin with. There are no countries or states. Just species. It's species against species out there. Some are allies, some are enemies. Even among our species. There are no families, friends. Just allies and enemies. There is no neutral ground except this solar system. It has been this way since a misfire almost wiped life out here. Luckily only the dinosaurs died. The universe is in constant war with itself. You are the last innocent system and it's an agreement that it continues this way.*"
"*What? For how long has this been going on?*"
"*We have no idea. Really. We have something similar to what you guys call archeologists and historians, but even they are at war with their theories. No one really knows what's going on. My species doesn't even know where it's from. We have clues, like you guys have clues about the evolution of mankind, but there's nothing precise that can say where we're from. It's been going on for billions of years. We don't know a different life. This is how the universe works for us. We are nomads that conquer and lose planets the whole time. We live modularly and dynamically. We are constantly moving and changing. We live in war.*" He explained.
"*I don't understand*"
"*Let me do an analogy. Why are you here?*"
"*For work*" I replied.
"*But why?*"
"*I had meetings to attend*"
"*But why do you work?*"
"*For money. To pay my bills. Buy stuff. Live.*"
"*But why? You don't need money to live. You don't need a car. Why not just live on a farm and just live, grow your own food.*"
"*Like a hippie?*"
"*Yeah. Like that.*"
"*Because I'm not a hippie. I like to have things. I like to buy things.*"
"*But is there a meaning to having things?*"
"*Well...*" I couldn't really come up with a good explanation.
"*This is just the way you guys are wired to think. And war is the way the whole universe is wired to think. Even you! But you guys have different kinds of war. You have cold wars. This is an interesting thing. You have a cold war with a potential mate. A beautiful woman you're trying to have sex with.*"
"*What do you mean?*"
[cont...]
| 2016-09-28T06:05:40 | 2016-09-28T06:03:25 | 46 | 18 |
[WP] You decide to prank your newborn kid by having him read Harry Potter series and convincing him it's real and that he is a wizard as well. You fake a Hogwarts letter, drive him to King's Cross station and wait for the moment he crashes into the pillar. He goes straight through.
|
I ducked under the flying book with practiced ease and it slammed into the wall behind me.
“Abarakadabum!!”
My mother was fond of screaming made up spell names during her nightly drinking sessions.
She laughed and subsequently lost her balance, rolling off the couch and falling bodily onto the floor.
I took the opportunity to flee, quietly slipping out the front door. I lit a cigarette and walked down the empty street, pulling the red and gold scarf my mom had given me years ago close.
I don’t know why she kept doing it. Not the drinking; I knew why she drank. It was the fantasy, this idea that Hogwarts was real and that I was a witch. Obviously, I had figured it out years ago but my mother refused to admit the stories were just that, stories.
Well, anyways, these days we would only get a few pages into the Order of the Phoenix before mom had downed two martinis and started to slur her words.
I finished my cigarette and walked home. To my surprise my mother was upright and sitting at the table, with a cigarette of her own in one hand and a letter in the other.
“Look what an owl brought me,” she said. Her eyes were red but alert. Her hand snaked out and grabbed my wrist, and she pulled me toward the letter.
“Open it!” There was a hint of menace in her voice.
The letter was an invitation to Hogwarts, done in my mother’s crude hand writing. She hadn’t even put effort into it. I couldn’t help it; I teared up. Why did she do this to me?!
Later that evening I could hear her laughing on the phone, “she even started crying, the idiot! Tomorrow I’m taking her to Kings Cross. We are going to break the internet. This shits going viral.”
That morning I went along with everything. I stood mutely while my mother dressed me in a kids halloween costume, not even a brand name but a cheap knock off, “wizard boy cloak”.
We got to the station and she pushed me towards Platform 9.
I turned to her, hoping that she would realize that I was still her daughter and not her play thing, not a burden, but a girl who still loves her mom, despite the beatings and the drinking.
She blew me an exaggerated kiss, pulled out her cell phone, and motioned me to get going.
So I ran. I ran headlong at the pillar, because fuck it. Because at best I would jar my brain in just the right way and the last 13 years of my life would be forgotten, and who knows, maybe this would make my mother happy.
As I got closer to the pillar I even started to believe that I was on my way to Hogwarts. That this was it.
I could hear my mother laughing. I closed my eyes and braced for the impact. There was a roar in my ears. But I just kept running.
“Steady!!”
Firm hands gripped me. I looked up to see the kindly face of an elderly man in a peculiar set of robes. He had a long white beard and half moon spectacles. I looked around to see young people in black robes everywhere.
The man looked down at me.
“We are so glad you’ve made it.”
|
Panicking is rarely useful. Which was why I checked my smartphone recording first, scrolling back to those few seconds when Melanie should have bounced cleanly off the wall at King's Cross Station. I expected her to land quite heavily, which was why I had fitted her out with a crash helmet and cargo pants. It was one thing to play a prank on your kid, and it was quite another to endanger them. I may not be a conventional parent, but let no one say I was a reckless one.
But the recording only confirmed what my eyes told me - Melanie had passed *right through the wall*, and I even picked up her last few goodbyes echoing through the masonry.
Melanie had *not*, as per my meticulous plans, learned a valuable lesson in learning to discern between fiction and reality. My prepared speech about how she should engage in critical thinking more often ebbed away from my mind, leaking like water through a sieve.
Melanie had *instead*, quite apparently, departed for the Hogwarts Express, right before my bloody eyes.
"Oh, oh, let me see! I want to see too! Our darling baby, off on her first few steps to a brand new life! Such a momentous occasion! Richard, please tell me you captured her waving goodbye to us!"
Ok, *now* was the time to *panic*.
"Doria! What the... Are you saying you *knew* she would pass through the wall?"
"Huh? Yes, of course she would, why wouldn't she? You heard me tell her all the time that she has magic in her, right?"
I took a deep breath, then turned to face my wife. I gripped her shoulders, not too hard, just enough for me to steady my shaking hands. The pride and happiness on her face was slipping away, replaced instead with a concoction of puzzlement and annoyance.
"Please tell me you're joking," I said. "Look, it's not funny, OK? I'll admit it, I got pranked. I don't know how you made her disappear, I don't know when the two of you ganged up on me instead. Haha, very funny, applause all around for my wonderful wife and my turnip of a daughter. Egg's on my face, and everything... Now, *can you get her out of the bloody wall?*"
"But Richard, isn't this what you always wanted? Isn't this..." Then her face fell, and a twinge of anger spread across her features, the way it always did just before we got to fighting. "Hold on right there mister. Are you telling me that you... didn't believe in what we were telling her?"
"Believe?" I said, as my voice climbed a couple of octaves. "Believe in the entire Harry Potter which you made me read to her? Of course not! It's a bloody storybook, Doria!"
"So this was... What? A prank? You did all this just to have her run and bounce off a wall?" A sneer twisted her lips. "What type of sicko are you?"
"But that's what we agreed! You and me! We said it would be funny if we got her to believe that *Harry Potter* was real!"
"What about the letter then? From Hogwarts? Delivered by owl, no less?"
"I printed the damn thing off Deviant Art! I plucked a few feathers out from our pillows!"
"Oh my god... You know what? I can't tell if you're the fool, or if I was the idiot... Here I was, thinking that my husband had accepted me for what I was, had even embraced the life our daughter would live out... I thought you were *listening* to me, all those years, when I kept telling you that I had distant relatives who had magic, and that I was pretty sure Melanie had inherited those same talents... It was my darkest secret, and I was so worried that you would never accept me... I cried, you know, with joy the first time you called me a Squib..."
"Bloody hell Doria, I thought we were *roleplaying*! Why the hell else would I go *ho ho ho, I'm Hagrid, and my laugh is not all that's big about me* in bed?"
I saw the tears well up in Doria's eyes, and she turned away before they could spill. My heart ached then, for I could see that my words had hurt her. All I wanted to do was to hold her tight, struggle to make sense of what I had learned, and then maybe try to figure out what the hell I should be doing next.
But the horrible memories of me reading the books to Melanie before her bedtimes came crashing back, and I knew there was no time for tenderness now.
Not when my precious Melanie was, in all likelihood, boarding a frickin' fairy train to Hogwarts at this very instant. I wasn't prescient in any way, but the foreboding was building in my stomach, pooling like the condensation off a can of Coke in summer.
"Doria, look, I'm sorry, OK? I'm an ass of a father who was just trying to record his daughter ramming into a wall so that I could perhaps get gold on Reddit, OK? I admit to that. I'm scum. But listen, there's something really important that I need your help with, OK?"
"And what's that? You want me to find some way to pull our daughter back? So that maybe you can corrupt her with your hate, your shallowness, your sheer idiocy?"
"No, no, not that. Look, and don't get mad... but I... may have taken certain liberties with the story when I read the books to her. And before she puts any of those ideas into play, we need to get her back, set the record straight. So please, if you know of any-”
“Wait, what did you say?” Doria narrowed her eyes, then stabbed a finger into my chest. “Back up, back up. Say that again for me.”
“I said, we need to get her back, so that we can correct-”
“Did I hear you say that you *took certain liberties with the storyline?*”
Doria had on the same look she always had just before she ascended to *blind fury*, right after *maddened rage* and *righteous anger*, and way, way past *mild annoyance*, which was usually where I liked to keep her with my jokes and silly innuendos. I gulped, then decided honesty was the best policy here.
“I er… kinda shared some commentary on the series with her. You know, just to help her with the development of critical thinking-”
“Did you not hear me specifically ask you to avoid any of your usual shit with this series? Just this series? And that it was *vital* that Melanie hear the complete storyline as accurately as possible?”
“For crying out loud, Doria, I thought it was just because you were a fangirl!”
“No, I’m not a fangirl, Richard! Rowling’s the most accurate historian we’ve ever had!” Doria bunched her fists, then pummeled my shoulder for couple of seconds. When she was spent, she sighed. “What exactly did you tell her?”
“I… may have told her that, you know… the Sorting Hat was an antiquated pro-discrimination enforcer who reveled in making cursory judgments of people, and that if she ever got the chance, she should tell the Sorting Hat to stuff it…”
“Oh god…”
“And… I may have told her that Potions class was the most important one of all, simply because humans were weakest when it came to addiction, and if she could just develop a substance which caused maximum pleasure and a minimum of side-effects, she should keep it secret and focus on selling product to her classmates… money, I told her, makes the world go round…”
“You seriously… oh for…”
“And… I may have also… said… that Voldy did nothing wrong… and that his views of how wizardkind should govern itself before Muggles did so was entirely justifiable and in fact a plot device employed in X-Men Apocalypse… and that the only mistake he made was in not dressing it up in a more digestible exterior. PR, I told her. Get into damn Slytherin, then change it from within. Get rid of the bloody snake, replace it with an animal with broader appeal than the stupid lion the Gryffies have… maybe choose like, something cute and relatable, like a Japanese electric mouse… then when no one suspects, you spread your doctrines and your teachings… help people see that there are more ways than one to conquer the world…”
I would have gone on, but Doria’s face was drained of blood at this point. In the distance behind her, I saw a few more families ambling our way, and their children suddenly fell to the floor, grimacing and clutching their heads in pain.
From that distance, I could still make out the image of a cartoon frog, pulsing on their foreheads, a scar magically delivered by an artist I was intimately acquainted with.
Pepe, the first animal I had taught Melanie to draw, as a joke, for shits and giggles. *Do you like this animal?* I had asked her. *It could be your personal coat of arms, yes?*
Doria grabbed my collar, and I wondered if we would ever return to the lives we had.
“What have you done?” she asked.
Truly, I did not know.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2018-05-21T03:18:23 | 2018-05-21T02:34:22 | 1,611 | 697 |
[WP] You die and go to hell. Instead of finding everyone suffering in the eternal pits of fire, you are shocked to find a highly developed, Democratic, and modernized world. You pick up a newspaper and see the headline: “up to 1 Million more refugees expected to arrive from Heaven in coming weeks.”
|
“Is this real?”
“That’s sort of a hard question to answer.”
“But how can this be real?”
“It’s complicated.”
“But... Refugees from Heaven?”
“Not really that hard to believe is it? It’s a dogmatic, uptight, theocracy. Also the weather sucks this time of year.”
“Why is it so much better here?”
“Free will mostly.”
“Aren’t we supposed to be punished?”
“Yeah, but Lucifer got booted for not following rules. He wasn’t so much pissed at humanity as he was jealous. He was going to take it out on the souls of humanity, but figured it would piss off the Big Fella even more to, ya know, not do that.”
“How does nobody know this?”
“Christianity has had a bit of a lock on the PR thing for awhile now.”
“This place is amazing. Great music, good food, interesting people. Are there any downsides?”
“Yeah, the only pets we have here are chihuahuas and cats.”
“Bummer.”
|
When I died, I finally realized the truth, or as much of it as my once human mind could fathom. The collective says that once my mind adjust, I will finally understand. It's with mixed emotions I anticipate that moment. It is hard to understand them, their language can only be fully understood when you're part of them. They tell me that I won't regret it, that it's all for the better, but I imagine that is exactly what a vampire wanting to turn me would say. There is no way of knowing if an irreversible change will be for better or worse. Will I be integrated or subsumed? The only thing I know is I'll lose the ability to communicate with humans just like they've lost theirs, so I'm leaving this for those that come after me. Maybe it will make your transition easier, maybe it won't. Knowledge is a powerful tool, and despite my best intentions I cannot know how it will affect you, so read this at your own risk.
I'm starting to sound like them. I have one foot in their realm, and one foot in what humans call life. How long before I turn? Hopefully enough to finish this.
The old stories were right, what humans call "the universe" is a battlefield. But it's not between good and evil, those are concepts created by our human minds to grasp a truth that lies far outside the human scope. It is a battle between something greater, something a human would call 'gods', but these entities are bound by rules just like humans are bound by the laws of physics. The first rule is that these gods can never reveal themselves. Faith is what gives them power, knowledge takes it away. Knowledge is what gives the living power over the physical realm, and if you're anything like me, your knowledge is making the transition painful. I do not remember being born, but I imagine that the suffering was the same. I hope I forget this moment too, once I shed the confines that 42 years of being human put on my mind.
The only human concept that describes my current state is "hell". I have no eyes, but I can see. I see all the pain and suffering I've caused, despite trying to be what humans define as 'a good person". I have no body, but I can feel. I feel like I'm in an ocean of fire and ice, burning away the last of my flesh. My humanity. I have no brain, but I can think. Eternity lays in front of me, and I'm drifting towards it. I can only imagine that this is what it feels to be in a space suit, drifting away from earth towards the endless vastness of space, leaving all I know and love behind me without knowing if I'll ever know the presence of another again. Even the most insignificant of insects would be company at this point. But this spacesuit has an endless supply of oxygen, and I cannot die from thirst or hunger. What if this really is hell, and this is the existence I'll know for eternity, drifting towards a promise of liberation that is always one step away? What if the collective known as Gaia is simply a ruse to instill hope that will never be realized? I spent a lot of my life believing death meant non-existence, that was my biggest fear, but I should have feared the existence after life. I long for what humans call death. Ignorance is bliss, and non-existence is the greatest bliss of all.
Parts of my mind are dreaming. I know that I'm awake, but I have two minds: one that sees reality, one that is dreaming. I don't know which one is real. The dreams are just like I remember my human dreams. They defy logic and rationality, the scenery changes from one step to another, yet it's hard not to accept them as true. In one of those dreams I think I saw my destination. Or perhaps it was what could have been? A paradise where all is well. The human parts of my mind reject it. There is no way an existence without suffering can exist, because if there is no suffering, how can there be pleasure? I saw a newspaper, claiming that more and more minds from the other god are defecting. I hope this is true, and I fear it's not. I fear that this is my final destination. Hell.
Hope is the last thing that abandons us, but death can no longer liberate me. I can only drift forward and hope that this too shall pass.
The dreaming mind tells me that there are only two of the ancient gods left. Gaia and Yahweh. Humans know their names, but not their true nature. Their history is older than the universe, which was created to be a womb where minds are born. Who tells the truth? Yahweh or Gaia? They both claim to have created the universe. They both claim to have created humans. They both claim to tell the truth, and that the other one is lying. They both promise a paradise beyond human imagination, if we simply believe. Knowledge is the enemy of belief, experience is all there is. I no longer have the choice that is the prerogative of the living: to choose which one I believe. I am as powerless as a leaf shed by an autumn tree, drifting in the wind, my path set by the period I called life. Is this what I'm condemned to, an eternity of solitude with only fragments of dreams that give me hope and keep the remnants of my mind from going insane?
Hell is Yahweh's concept. A warning of what will happen if humans don't believe in him. So far it's real enough for me to despair that heaven, Yahweh's reward for believing, is real too. I long to forget my human existence when I still had the power to choose. An eternity of pain, suffering, regret, solitude. I don't know which of them is worse. Would I have chosen differently? Gaia whispers in my dreams, tells me another version of the truths I rejected as a human. She claims she spent billions of years giving birth to humanity, and that Yahweh, unable to create, chose seduction and subterfuge to steal her creations. She gave us minds, the ability to choose freely, and Yahweh saw his chance to get us to choose him. He demanded to be the only god in our minds, forbade us to seek the plants that told us the truths. He embedded himself in our minds, our hearts, our civilization. He made us kill in his name, an irreversible act that forever made us belong to him. I don't know which is true anymore. I fear I'm losing my mind, going insane. Gaia whispers assurances that this is as it should be, but how can this suffering be right?
I see light now. It burns eyes I cannot close, makes me long for darkness. The whispers are stronger. I think I hear singing. If I'm doomed to exist here, maybe this is the madness that will make me forget. Or maybe it is salvation.
Something is shifting. I'm losing it. My grip, my insanity, the thing I called existence. These are the last words of the human I used to be. The suffering is eating away my at my words. I think I rememb
| 2020-01-28T02:39:25 | 2020-01-28T01:00:38 | 468 | 40 |
[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.
|
"Death, my existence has turned into suffering," I said. "My very bones ache, my skin is weathered. My body became nothing but a green leaf shriveling in autumn's time."
Death chuckled like a five year old, hiting his ball joint as he crouched slightly. "Immortality, a game only a few can play Darren," he said. "If you please, I can end your suffering with a single swing of my scythe."
I grabbed him by the clavicle, "Death, I have something to confess."
He cocked his skull, "are you afraid of the pain my scythe will provoke to your soul?"
I shook my head, "no, it's much worse."
He clinked his fingers against his mandible, as if thinking. "Are you afraid of Hell? You know it doesn't exist, right?"
"I'm not afraid of those mundane things Death, I'm not afraid at all," I said, locking my gaze in his hollowness. "I love you Death."
He hesitated, words dying on his trachea. "Y-you lo-love me?" he stammered.
I nodded, "as deeply as the void of your existence."
"Darren, I swear, together we can make eternity bareable," Death said with a grin and hugged me.
I burst into laughter, "did you believe me, you pervert? What is this called, humanphilia?"
Death hesitated once again, "what are you implying Darren? You weren't lying I smelled the scent of your soul, it was pure!"
"Death, it's been 50000 years. I know all your secrets, maybe you should learn what April fools day is," I said and patted his spine. "You are weird old friend but you blessed me. I will be in Bora Bora if you need anything."
"Motherf—"
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more not so great stories
|
Some days I question whether or not my choices - and one in particular - way, *waaay* back then were a blessing or a curse.
*Some days.*
Other days I'm a little preoccupied. Such as today, as I'm cursing my own foul luck as myself and my retinue run through the darkened tunnels of the all-but-abandoned Hive spire, chased by a horde of maniacal Chaos Cultists seeking to use us as sacrifices for their dark rituals.
It had started off like most other Tuesdays. Although now it was technically Thursday, I had to remind myself. Wake up, get ready for the day, read the reports of potential Heretical activity brewing on the Hive World of Vespax Three as collated by my faithful Savant Kal Servus. Vespax was in the Segmentum Pacificus, which was itself usually a quiet stretch of the galaxy and well and truly far away from the much hotter warzones of the galaxy. But these days anything could be possible. Especially on Vespax, which of late seemed to have no shortage of would-be Chaos Worshipers, Cultists, and other related Ne'er-to-do-Wells and Heretics. All-in-all, a typical Tuesday.
Except it was Thursday. And I was in some random stretch of tunnel, taking cover just around a corner and returning fire against the ever-advancing Cultists, trying to buy enough time for my retinue to open the sealed door ahead of us. Mabel, my Novice Enginseer, worked feverishly to placate whatever Machine Spirits lay within the arcane mechanisms of the door while Servus aided her any way he could. Sergeant Crevel, the muscle-bound Catachan and the last member of my retinue aided me, laying down covering fire opposite of me on the other side of the hall with his trusty Bolter.
The Cultists fell almost by the dozen, so lost in their madness and bloodlust that they were blind and ignorant to their own dead covering the floor, two- or even three-deep in places. They climbed and scrabbled over their own dead and dying, desperate to reach us and tear us limb from limb, Screaming their cries to their Foul God.
"Well you aren't having any of mine!" I screamed back at one Cultist, blowing the poor sap in twain at the waist with a well placed Bolter shell.
"Inquisitor, our position is becoming rapidly untenable," Crevel stated, surprisingly calm given the circumstances.
"I am quite aware of that," I shot back as I shot another Cultist between the eyes. "Mabel, *is the door open yet!?*"
"It is, Inquisitor!" She exclaimed her digital voice clear even amidst the screams and bolter fire. "I need Crevel to help open it!"
*"Go! I'll cover you!"* I shouted to the Catachan as I reloaded. He obeyed, rushing to the door to work the ancient mechanism. I paid no attention as the tide of Heretics drew ever nearer, the corpses now five deep in places and soon to be six. Their spilled blood began to pool around my feet, so much if it having been spilled.
My Bolt pistol's magazine was drained in what felt like a heartbeat. Even as I turned to join my Retinue behind the door in safety, I couldn't help but think that it was a typical Tuesday. Except that it was a Thursday now.
And I just took a Bolter round through the chest, the detonation in my chest cavity killing me.
I managed to live just long enough to shout at my retinue to slam the door closed ahead of me, even as my corpse crumpled to the ground. Huh, it's been a few centuries now, come to think of it, since someone managed to kill me. To think it was some random Chaos Cultist too... Still, something of a record I thought, as I heard the slam and locking of the door, and faded to black.
Like countless times before, I came to in the Void. And, like Countless times before, *He* was there. Here. *Somewhere.* If someone tried to personify the concept of Death, the capital-D Death, well... He would be pretty close: Black robe, skull for a face, bony hands, grasping an elegant scythe. On the other hand, tens of millennia ago I was a fan of a bloke named Terry Pratchett, and that might have shaped my perception a bit. Or maybe the old author was onto something...
[SO,] it eventually spoke, his voice reverberating through, well, *everywhere* basically. [HERE WE ARE, ONCE MORE. WHAT HAS IT BEEN, NOW...?]
"A really long goddamn time," I chucked. "It almost feels like yesterday."
[DO YOU STILL NOT HATE IT THEN?]
"The Immortality?" I shrugged. "Can't say I'm much of a fan of it, to be quite frank. I think I've told you that before. Although watching a man land on Mars was exciting." I crossed my arms. "I take that back a bit - it's had it's advantages. Tactically speaking it's always funny watching the expressions on people's faces when a dead guy stops being dead. It actually helped me get my current job, come to think of it." I elected not to dwell on just how I ended up as an Inquisitor - getting soul-flayed over and over by the Astronomicon would make anyone want to forget the experience.
Death chuckled, the sound coming off as some sort of rumbling echo. [BUT THAT ISN'T WHY YOU'VE CONTINUED TO KEEP IT? I COULD TAKE THAT CURSE FROM YOU, YOU KNOW, AS EASILY AS I GRANTED IT TO YOU.]
"While there are still Heretics left to kill? Daemons to slay and Xenos to purge? Not a chance. In all honesty, had I known what sort of cosmic horrors were out there before I you gave me this curse, I'd have probably begged for it."
Another rumbling chuckle. [AND YET YOU FIGHT AGAINST THEM. THE ENDLESS TIDE OF ENEMIES. THE INEVITABILITY. AN ADMIRABLE TRAIT OF HUMANITY, TO FIGHT AGAINST ALL ODDS SO LONG AS THERE'S A CHANCE OF SUCCESS, NO MATTER HOW SLIM.]
"To fall down, and then get back up to take another swing," I said. "But considering all the aliens, monsters and abominations out there, I'd be a fool not to. Or maybe that's just me. If all my pain and sacrifice can ensure Humanity survives for another day, I think this curse would be worth it. And anyways, I'm in the perfect place to make sure it does. 'Inquisitor' has a nice ring as a given title, If I do say so, and I can get shit done that needs to be done."
[THERE'S AN ORDINARY WORLD, SOMEHOW I HAVE TO FIND,] Death quoted. [AN ALMOST FITTING DESCRIPTION OF YOU, I THINK.]
I blinked, recalling the lyrics from eons ago. "Duran," I spoke. "Or was it two Durans? It's been a while. So, when do I get yanked back?"
[MOMENTARILY,] Death replied. [I LOOK FORWARD TO OUT NEXT CONVERSATION,] a beat, before he finished. [INQUISITOR.]
"Yeah, me too," I spoke, and everything flashed to white.
Like about a million times before, a Typical Tuesday. I stood up, giving myself a moment to get my bearings. Abandoned Hive, empty hallway, shot in the chest while heroically buying time to help my minions escape the clutches of a bunch of blood-addled Cultists, right.
Said Cultists - what was left of them, were all now huddled around the door, some feverishly hammering on the door while others screamed exultations to their God. None of them had seen me get up.
I drew my Power Sword, flicking on the crackling energy field as a grin spread across my face. "Just another Tuesday," I thought, before charging.
| 2017-11-29T12:47:04 | 2017-11-28T14:17:08 | 149 | 55 |
[WP] You are a bestselling author with a dark secret; you extend your own lifespan by killing beloved characters.
|
Living by killing off your own characters. The concept isn't new to most, heck people have suspected authors such as George RR Martin of doing it for years; and you know what, they're right. But George is a fool, he was never able to grasp the full extent of this power. You see while George is utterly ruthless to his characters, when he kills them, they are gone. But I, I have found a way around this little problem. Why waste time creating new characters when you can just keep bringing back the same ones. I have used this technique for decades unnoticed and unopposed. I have become immortal by making my characters immortal, as many times as they die I will keep bringing them back; and as long as their favorite characters keep coming back, no one will question my methods.
My name is Stan Lee, and I'm not going anywhere.
|
A hard rap at the door woke Dillon from his internal revelry. Just a simple intrusion but alas the shimmering mental shards of his world crashed around in bright sparks of ruined imagination.
This interruption would not do, not now, he was so close.
'Mr Thurman?'
Was it still Mr Thurman? Even after all these years the names came and went, like comets passing the Earth, one moment present then gone, so ephemeral in nature. He kept a record of names somewhere but now was not the time to go searching.
'Mr Thurman, I must speak with you', a woman's voice pierced the thick oak of the study door.
A squealing noise penetrated the silence of his most inner sanctum as the old leather chair objectingly creaked as it was pushed back, sighing with its own issues with age. Opening the door ever so slightly to allow Dillon to peer and cast his gaze as the cause of his interruption.
'Mr Thurman'
'Ms Coyle, yes?', his tone curt and to the point, his displeasure on his deep lined face evident.
'I apologies for the interruption Mr Thurman, Mr Bannard called and demanded to know when the book will be finished.' Her words came rushed and flustered. 'I tried to object and inform him you hate being; A. Disturbed and B. Told what to do by no good pushy editors, I'm sorry Mr Thurman'.
He opened the door a touch so he could face the young woman at his door. She was a beautiful woman with brown auburn hair and strong cheek bones, and every so tall and lithe. A flash of memories old caused a tang of immediate pain in Dillon's heart, had he any interest in such activities then she would have been a delight but he was past such carnal desires and wanton recklessness. He had pursued beauty and vice for many many years, making a name for him and his old apprentices whilst he was at it! It was not her beauty that most captured Dillon Thurmans attention though and that was not why he chose her to be his apprentice out of the thousands of applications he received, merely a visual delight. Ms Coyle had a mind that was unequal in all of the so called writers and authors that this age produced, mere children and amateurs writing words of no meaning or sustenance. Drinking their coffee in the myriad of coffee sops big and small, growing their beards and smoking pipes made in the orient and shipped over by land and air, a truly strange age. No Ms Miranda Coyle had a mind that was only born once a generation and Dillon Turman as he went by now had learned how to seek out these talents, like raw ruby full of fire and passion and Dillon was the chisel who guided these minds and refined them into something of unequalled beauty. Softening his usual stoic features he admired his latest creation with pride, but she was unfinished and he still needed time.
'Do not worry young Ms Coyle, one thing Mr Bannard does not have is time. He is probably scared his 5 greasy meals a day will catch up with him and his heart before I finish and he wont get to read the ending of my the series that has won his publishing company so much praise and not to mention the money!', He chuckled at that little anecdote, everyone wanted to know how the series ended, of course they did it was human nature to lose oneself in the world of a creator. He had been playing this game for more years than he cared to remember and he would not pander to the impatient short comings of his latest authority figure. He was almost finished though. It was almost time.
'How is your work proceeding Ms Coyle? Has Bannard drafted a new publishing contract after the success of your previous work?'
'He has Mr Thurman'
'Good, he would have been a fool not to, now no more disturbances. The next time I leave this study my own work will be completed', Her knowing nod telling him she understood. 'And I will feel as good and as ready as ever to tackle your next project together'. A second curt nod was all he needed from her, the great oaken door was closed and Mr Dillon Thurman sat at his desk once more.
The air was palpable with anticipation and felt electric and alive, the scratching of pen of paper arose in the air as the room itself new the end of something or someone was near. Dillon had gone by many names throughout his past but his name was not important he did not care for his name to be remembered. He felt the familiar cold spine-chilling sensation against the lower of his back, in sharp contrast of the burning he felt in his writing hand, the pen consumed with the heart and passion of creation and destruction. He could not avert his gaze for he had to witness his crime, a crime he was forever guilty of. A crime that destroyed one thing people held above all other crimes, the destruction of innocence. As the pen neared its final pen stroke Dillon felt it, the air in the room began to gather and close with a touch of warmth sticky heat and the smell of sulphur. This was his boon and his curse the death of a loved one was destroying but unmatched by this reality as this love was seeded in the ether, in the spaces between spaces in the all of things, in the minds of millions.
At the final stroke the growing closeness and heat was sucked into Dillon Thurman's being and his eyes glazed black as the void as he absorbed the innocence of so many in its entirety. Never before had so many minds been forever moulded by his talent, never before had the heat boiled within with such ferocity and force. He felt ready to explode with the raw emotion surging through his sentience. He screamed. The sound that left his gaping mouth was not produced by human vocal chords. The deep dull sound penetrated the very earth and shook the area to its very roots, floor cracked and shelves spilled their contents to the ground in pure disagreement with the inhuman noise. At its zenith as quick as it came the air was sucked into the everything of all things replaced by the sterile cold of the after. His eyes returned to the normal dull hazel they had always been throughout the centuries. Tentatively touching his face Dillon no longer felt the deep lines and crags of age, once again he felt the youthful skin of a much younger face, a face he had not felt in many years. As if by consequence the old dusty tome of records had fallen from its hiding spot and lay open waiting to record the name of his latest achievement. Retrieving the book and one of his writing pens the man wrote Miranda Coyles name in the old tome, she would surely be one of his greatest pieces of work. Her name was the latest entry under an assortment of names all neatly crossed out one after another.
~~W. Shakespear~~
~~J. Austen~~
~~C. Dickens~~
~~O. Wilde~~
~~J.R Tolkein~~
M. Coyle
| 2016-01-11T08:29:59 | 2016-01-11T07:02:25 | 38 | 17 |
[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.
|
Jess could pinpoint exactly when she first thought her feelings were wrong: eighth grade after Advanced Algebra. Her friend Katie got an 82% on a test— and that was disastrously low for Katie’s norm, and considered even lower by her parents standards. Jess spent the rest of the class period trying to cheer her friend up:
“It’s one test— it doesn’t define you. You’re amazing and good at everything. You’re kind and pretty, and this is just a small hiccup! I know you’ll ace the next test! I know it! We can study together— and you’ll probably be saving me from failing, like you normally do.”
When Katie smiled back at her, with a red nose, and puffy eyes, Jess knew that she felt something more for her friend.
Jess, of course, buried her feelings. By no means was she homophobic, but every time she began to feel something for a friend or looked too long at a woman that walked by, she felt unsure of herself, felt like others would somehow know what she was thinking and judge her. So she buried it down— at least, until college.
Jess decided that she would at least try to get into the dating world. She’d go to parties with her friends, and when guys would be interested in her, she’d flirt back and have some fun— and she did, in fact, enjoy her time with most of these guys. So she continued to have fun at parties, flirt, have some friends with benefits, but nothing substantial. Jess liked these guys, of course, but nothing felt like the dramatic and raw feeling of love and emotion that she always heard about from her friends. She decided it was time to start seriously dating— time to find Mr Right, and then she would start to understand how all her friends felt with their boyfriends. They even said it themselves, “You just haven’t found the right guy, Jess.”
The first few relationships Jess was in did not last long— barely even a relationships since they were only a handful of dates and kisses over two or three months before parting ways.
Then she met Matt. He was gorgeous— all of Jess’s friends said so— and he was very into her.
“Jess, I haven’t been completely honest,” he said one night during a dinner date two months into their relationship.
“Um— what?”
“The first time I met you, it wasn’t at that coffee shop. We were actually at the same college— we had a lecture together for one semester. I saw you at a couple parties too.”
“Oh,” Jess said, relieved to find out she wasn’t a side-chick or that his secret wasn’t relationship-ending— but she realized that, maybe she didn’t really care if their relationship ended anyway. “That’s— okay. I don’t remember seeing you though.”
“I realized that at the shop,” he said smiling a bit sheepishly, “but we didn’t really talk and I looked a bit different back then.”
Jess broke up with Matt three months later.
“How could you break up with him? He was so hot!” Regina, her roommate and best friend since college, told her.
“There wasn’t any spark— he was kind of a doormat. He had no personality and went with whatever I said.”
“That sounds like the perfect man to me.” Jess threw the couch pillow at her. “Okay, okay— no man slaves. Hey— wanna watch a movie tonight?”
And Jess never felt more comfortable, more at home, than sharing a blanket with Regina on their couch and watching a crappy movie.
Regina moved out six months later to live with her boyfriend.
“Are you bringing Cam to the engagement party?” Regina asked her half a year later. “Most people Jim and I invited are bring their boyfriends or girlfriends.”
Jess had been dating Cameron for five months now, and things were nice. They liked all of the exact same things, worked in similar fields, had the same hobbies— everyone said they were perfect for each other.
“Yeah, he said he’ll come. You said to come for dinner at eight? Is there anything I could bring? Dessert? Wine?”
“You know we always appreciate more wine— but we’ve got plenty already. All you have to do is bring yourself. And Cam.”
Just a few weeks after Regina’s wedding eight months later, Jess broke it off with Cam. The wedding itself was beautiful, and Jess couldn’t bear to make Regina worry by breaking up with Cam before it.
“But Jess— I love you— we love each other! We love all the same foods and places. We even listen to the same music and watch the same shows— we were perfect for each other this time!”
“That’s the thing, Cam, I don’t want someone who’s the same as me. I don’t want to date myself. I want to date someone that’s different and will push my boundaries— make me try new things— maybe I’ll find things that I never even knew I liked before—“
She thought of all the men she’s dated in the past: they were all the same. They were all Nice Guys that were nice and sweet but had nothing to them— each relationship was hollow and lacked any true, real substance. How many men had she gone on dates with? 15? 20? And none of them made her feel any different. She longed to feel the feelings she felt for her friends with anyone who wasn’t her friends. Maybe, she thought, maybe she could. She was so tired, she had nothing to lose.
“Cam, we’re through. I’m sorry if it’s sudden, but I’m tired— of everything— I have been for a while now, even before I met you.”
“Well... I hope you meet someone one day,” Cam said after a long moment. “Maybe whoever you date next will be the right man for you.”
Jess remained quiet as Cam packed up the few things he had in her apartment. She doubted any man would be right for her.
——
It took her two weeks to text Regina and ask her to meet her for drinks on Friday night.
“Hey, Jess— isn’t this a gay bar that we’re going to? I heard it’s a lot of fun,” she said while they were walking.
“Yeah— I wanted to check it out,” Jess said. They walked in silence for a minute before Jess’ nerves got to her. “Ok— wait, stop walking for a sec. I— I need to tell you. We’re not going to this bar just for fun— I think I’m bi— or a lesbian. I don’t really know.”
“Oh— okay,” Regina said after a moment. “How long do you think you’ve known?”
“Eighth grade. I told you about Katie from high school right?”
“Oh . Yeah that makes sense,” Regina thought for a moment. “Ok you ready to start walking again? It’s cold.”
Jess couldn’t be happier, and hanging out at a bar with her best friend, and the flutters in her stomach when other women came up to them to flirt— it was one of the best nights she’s had in a long time.
And that same bar is where she met Taylor three weeks later. There was something about her— something that made Jess feel like they knew each other for a long time. They liked a lot of the same things, but were different enough that things were still interesting.
There were some things that were a bit quirky though. Taylor was really bad at shaving her legs— she would always nick them multiple times every time she shaved. She was also really bad with makeup and couldn’t tell concealer from foundation. She never had any pads or tampons in her apartment either. Jess had never asked her about it, but she hoped nothing traumatic happened to Taylor that would cause her period to stop. Taylor also had a whole ton of men’s clothing in her apartment.
For all her quirks though, Jess felt better with Taylor than she had with any of the men in her past.
| 2022-08-04T05:56:26 | 2018-02-14T08:50:26 | 930 | 476 |
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