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[WP] Your parents put you in an asylum for the past ten years because of your imaginary friend “Tim”. Tim told you to be quiet about the apocalypse and your destiny because people would think you’re crazy. Sitting in your room Tim opens the door, you can see dead guards and he says “it’s time”
|
“Time for what?”
“Lunch, kiddo”, he said, waving his arm in a kind, inviting gesture.
“W-what?”
“The END, numbnuts! What did you think I meant?” He said, staring me down with genuine frustration.
I looked down at the two guards on the ground, just outside the door. My stomach didn’t like what I saw. Purple tongues pushed through grey lips, and their eyes... they were just... open. Even though they were dead, you could still see the fear they held in the last few seconds of their life.
“Don’t worry about them, you know your destiny. This is for all the marbles kid, now it’s time to MOVE.”
The sharpness of Tim’s last word brought me back to attention. I stood up, and came to the doorway. It had been a long time since I’d been outside.
I turned out, into the hallway, and Tim motioned down the hall.
“You know where to go, right?”
“Yeah, I know.” I said, starting down the corridor.
“Great, I’ll meet you there.”
“Wait, you’re not coming with me?” I said, turning around.
“I have my own business to attend to, this is my big day you know.” He smirked. I didn’t really like how excited he looked, considering the dead guards at his feet.
“Uh, yeah, sure.”
I remembered all my directions without a problem. Down the hallway, left across the bridge, down the stairs and out the main lobby. I couldn’t help but notice they repainted the walls, and got new furniture for the lobby. Weird to think, considering it had been almost eleven years since the day I was dragged through here, kicking and screaming. The memories came flooding back, and the feelings of hurt and betrayal swallowed my mind. I was right, after all, but it didn’t make me feel any better. I was angry, infuriated that my parents would lock me up here and forget about me. I never should’ve told them about what Tim had explained to me, about the task he had assigned to me. I had a gift, you see. I could see the room where I would find him. The one who could save us all, and fight off the god of Death. I had drawn it many times in my notebooks, but it’s not like I needed to. It was engrained in my mind. When I decided to show my parents, I asked them to help me find the room. They helped me to a room alright, but it wasn’t that one.
It made me wonder where they were, and if they were even alive.
I came back to reality, and realized I had ran almost two miles. I stopped, catching my breath, trying to focus again on the objective, but my surroundings caught my attention.
It wasn’t like those movies where fire is everywhere in the background, the sky looms over, an ominous, deep red, and napkins and trash bags float through the street. It looked perfectly normal actually, like a regular Tuesday afternoon.
Except for all the bodies.
The one that stood out was the little boy. I had seen him before, in a few of my dreams, but in the dreams, he was laughing, playing with his mother. This was a different picture.
His throat had completely broken under the immense pressure that took his life away. It sagged in the middle, and his head was turned violently to the left.
I threw up. A few times.
Shaking, I looked down the street, trying to ignore the death and destruction that had torn through here, only moments ago.
I could see it, just another mile down the road.
I closed the distance and entered the abandoned building, running up the steps as fast as I could. I had never been in here before, but I knew where everything was. I kept rounding the stairs, jumping over debris and clearing broken steps like I had grown up here. I could probably do this with my eyes closed, just like I had every night after the first.
When I got to the top, everything I had remembered was exactly in place. The half broken window on the left, the torn sheets of plastic hanging from the ceiling, gently rustling in the breeze, and the cracks running through the concrete floor. Even the smell was exactly alike, dust and a small trace of marijuana, probably from the same kids who so very artistically slobbered “fuck the police” on the back wall with spray paint.
The only difference was the man standing in the middle of the room.
I felt my system flood with adrenaline. This was NOT the right guy. He wore a black robe, and stood facing me with his palms turned out, welcoming me towards him. He stood in front of a pentagram, candles lit on each tip, drawn with the blood that trickled down his forearms.
“Who the fuck are you?” I said, cracking my voice in an obvious show of fear.
“Come fulfill your destiny.” The man whispered, his voice echoing through the room with a sick excitement.
Chills ran down my spine, and I started backing away.
“The impious master is here.” The man said, a smile creeping across his face.
“What?” I said, stumbling backwards.
I collided with someone standing behind me. I turned to face him, getting ready to defend myself as best I could.
It was Tim. He stood there, a smile on his face, almost giggling at my confusion.
The truth hit me like a ton of bricks. I wasn’t the chosen one who would help bring humanity its salvation, I was the chosen one who would bring its demise.
His hands began to wrap themselves around my neck, crushing my airway and forcing the life out of my body.
He wasn’t my friend that no one else could see.
He was The Impious Master.
He was Tim.
Please be gentle, this is my first writing prompt, much to learn!
|
"I don't... I don't understand." I stuttered. "Wait. None of this is real! I need my meds." I began to reach for the pills on my nightstand when he grabbed my hand.
"You're not seeing things, c'mon!" He shouted, forcing me up on my feet. "We've got to move. Now!"
I let Tim lead me through the asylum. I haven't seen Tim in 10 years, since I was checked into this place, since I... started taking my meds. Shit.
"Move your feet! We can't let them catch us."
We ran down the halls and past the other patients, drunk on their meds and blissfully unaware. What exactly were they giving us? How did I even miss a dose? I was normally so careful about it.
"Where have you been all this time!?" I shouted between breaths.
"I couldn't find you!" He shouted back. "Your parents sent you away!"
I said nothing back, focusing on my breathing. I didn't recall much from the night I went away. Suddenly we were going downstairs.
"Where are we going!?" I yelled. "I thought we were stopping the apocalypse!?"
"We are!" He replied. "Trust me!"
What choice did I have?
We barreled down a long, dark hallway and came upon a steel door, smashing through it and into the hottest room I've ever been in. I hunched over, gasping for breath, having not run as far or as fast since junior high P.E.
Finally able to breathe, I composed myself and looked around.
"The boiler room?" I asked. "How is this supposed to help us save-"
I felt a shove and nearly lost my footing.
"What are you doing!?"
He kept shoving me, pushing me towards the giant upright boiler, which for some reason had a door-sized opening. Adrenaline took over and I began to fight, shoving back against him, but he was stronger than me.
This wouldn't end well.
I quickly stepped to the side, letting Tim push against air, propelling himself directly into the boiler. He shrieked an inhuman shriek as a door slid closed over the opening. The boiler began to sink into the ground, more like an elevator now.
I could faintly hear him screaming and banging against the door. "WHAT HAVE YOU DONE!? I'M NOT THE ONE THEY WANTED! THE APOC-" his voice trailed off as he sank below ground, the floor somehow filling in above him.
The walls began to shake.
| 2019-05-23T13:06:53 | 2019-05-23T12:49:22 | 211 | 14 |
[WP] "We're not so different, you and I." The villain cackled in mania. A grim darkness sweeps over the hero's eyes. "I know."
|
His smile faltered, just a hair, but I didn't see the change I needed to see in his eyes.
So I continued. "You were raised in an orphanage, were you not, Tynzil?" I asked. "Forced to work for every meal, from birth, you were dependent on the older children to feed you until you could begin scavenging pennies for your food. Sound about right?"
His lip curled as he waved his hand at the castle we stood in. "So what of it? I've grown past that pathetic life. I stand in the manifestation of my success."
The poor man. As I continued, I began walking through the massive hall we stood in, eyes lingering on the covered paintings. "You were adopted at the ages of seven, ten, and thirteen. It was this last one that stuck. A cruel man and woman whose only son was away abroad at school. They wanted the free labor, the ultimate fate of most the orphans you knew. You only escaped the first two 'adoptions' by sheer cunning. Forced their hand to return you. But Drinelle and Leosh knew how to better handle you."
"You've done your research." The man's scarred face turned to face me as I continued pacing. "Am I supposed to be impressed? Am I supposed to quiver and quake?" His voice pitched to a mocking note. "Oh dear, Ashtan, the hero of ages, researched his immortal foe!"
"But you'd have the last laugh when the misfortune began to strike." My fingers hovered over one of the sheets covering a painting. "Their cattle plagued. Crops withered. They had quite the farm until you came along. No one could pin it back to you and by the time they found out, it was far too late to stop you. It didn't stop them from trying. You made short work of them. A house fire and again, none could trace it back to you."
With a flourish, I pulled the sheet down, revealing, as I'd expected, a portrait of a man and a woman. They looked young, their faces laughing and bright. It wasn't quite what anyone would think Drinelle and Leosh would've have looked like, but if they'd looked as cruel as they were, none would have trusted them like they did.
"I have many paintings of my enemies in here." Tynzil followed me, as close to my heels as he could without looking anxious. "Many duplicates. The odds of you finding that one-"
"Should I talk about your first master then?" I asked. "The man who apprenticed you?"
"A cruel man as well, I'm sure you know." His lip curled. "He deserved what he got."
"As did your second master?" My hands floated to the next portrait covering. "Drasheed, his name was? He owned the bakery. Always gave discounted food to the orphans from the very same place you grew up."
"But beat the young men and women he hired!" Tynzil's voice broke as his voice spiked in rage. "They all had dark secrets, even the kindest seeming. Once you realize the world is plagued to the core, you have no choice but to act. If I can root out and purge every black heart in this damned kingdom, the place will be better for it! And those who hide in their homes, thinking over every past sin they've committed, should shake in their beds. They should. They had a chance. Now I come."
I sighed and for a moment, let my eyes wander down the room. Each covered painting was a life taken. Someone deemed evil by a man crushed by the world he lived in.
"So where does this lead us?" he asked, his voice taking on a leer again. "You're going to tell me I was wrong. That I am wrong. That the world is right and I must learn to forgive instead of change it."
I pulled out my blade at these words and turned on him, but when I raised my dagger, there was not yet the look of malice in my eyes.
"That's up to you," I said. I took a step towards him. "Do you think the cause is just?"
He laughed but his eyes held a note of worry. "I would not be here if I didn't."
"Then-" I stepped forward. "You agree that our story, the story of the poor orphan boy, has come to a just conclusion?"
He takes a few steps backward and fumbles for his waist but finds no glinting weapon there. His eyes fall on my own, emblazoned with the crest of an eagle.
"You stole my dagger," he said.
"Steal is a poor choice of words here." I took another step forward until I could reach out and touch him. "I think you and I both have sympathy for the poor man who grew up in a world that hated him. The poor boy who was abused by home after home, workplace after workplace. We feel for the child. But what of the man he became?"
Tynzil stopped as his back hit the wall. "If you have so much sympathy, why kill me now? It was never my fault, so why punish me?"
And I could see in his eyes, he was certain my empathy would stop me.
If only he knew...
"What happened to the child *wasn't* fair," I agreed. By now, we were so close he could feel my breath. "But where does the path for revenge end? At what point does someone's cause overwrite the horrors they committed? No child wants to be abandoned at an orphanage at a young age, but what he does after that, that's the real test."
"I did what I had to!"
I tip my head at him, my last civil gesture. "As have I. Trust me, I do understand. No child wants to be left homeless and orphaned after a fire engulfed his parents."
His warped lips parted for a second. "My family was killed by wolves in the night," he whispered.
"I know they were," I whispered. "I wasn't talking about your family. So tell me again. Is the cause just?"
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
Hasin’s eyes followed the blood trickling off the finger-sized dagger now protruding from between the man’s ribs, piercing the heart.
The round conference room now held a concoction of the dead and dying. The sound of wheezing gasps and whimpering moans were the only things of movement now, all else lay still amongst the planning table.
Only two figures remained standing on blood-soaked floorboards. Surrounded by stained papers and splattered maps the men stared at each other. It may have even appeared that they were coming out of a tight embrace with how close the two were and the steel-ladened grasps on each other’s shoulders bracing one against the other.
Drawing in a halting breath, the man across from Hasin began to speak in a croaking voice, bleeding profusely from multiple chest wounds.
“They were… civilians… you are their… hero”
The man’s eyes furrowed as he struggled to maintain his clarity, knowing he soon would be gone from this world.
“You come in the night, like a… *rat*\-” he nearly spat the word out
Struggling the regain his breath he abruptly froze as realization dawned in his eyes. Relaxing, he let himself fall faceup, back of head resting against an already fallen corpse. As if truly accepting his fate the man let loose his held tensions.
“I see… then… 6 years ago… the Massiopian people… it was not rebellious assassination that brought them to civil war it was-”
Hasin, looking down with dead eyes, stomped on the previously impaled dagger. Driving it further into the man’s chest cutting of his revelation and killing him instantly.
*The next day - As heard on the local news*
“This just in- Chancellor Nero and his supporting staff were found brutally ravaged within their upper office building here in New Tork City.”
“A shocking display of brutality was said to have occurred within”
“Of course, Chancellor Nero was set to present his new bill to congress this following week, potentially revolutionizing how we treat modern heroes”
“We have with us the leader of New Torks Enhanced, Hasin! Unfortunately, Hasin was away performing his annual worldwide tour but has returned from South Korea this morning to mourn his fallen comrade”
The camera panned to show Hasin, standing off to the side in a straight posture and regal face.
“It’s a true shame” Hasin began, a solemn look on his face
“Had I been within city limits perhaps I could have stopped this uncivil, barbaric act from according”
He looked directly at the camera
“It is a hero’s duty to protect the people after all”
*-----I had to go to a doctors apt so it cuts off super fast and I didnt get to do much review lol, sorry!-----*
| 2020-12-15T09:34:12 | 2020-12-15T09:07:46 | 150 | 26 |
[WP] Few people realize that it's someone's job to rate the difficulty of various dungeons before a single group of adventurers sets foot inside to clear it properly. A dangerous profession, at times worse than thankless. But, it keeps rookie parties safe, and keeps veterans from wasting their time.
|
Ahh… I hate my life.
“How can I help you?” I ask.
“It was not 3/10,” Donger245 says, slamming Frek13’s severed leg on my desk.
How do they come up with names like those? What happened to William, Arthur, Aladdin… Even Don Quixote has a certain ring to it. But --- I glance at the character sheet in my hands --- a level 5 Lawful Neutral Dwarven Fighter called Donger245? Please…
“That dungeon was at least 5/10! I demand a free revival.”
“Believe me,” I say in my kindest voice, “that dungeon is 3/10. I have personally inspected it myself.”
“I don’t care. I want a free revival for my party.”
I sigh, snapping my fingers. A thick tome appears in Dwarf’s hands. He grunts, struggling to keep his balance.
“We care about your safety. Please fill out the complaint form. Next!”
“What? You can’t---”
Snap. And he’s gone. Yes, I can. It's so annoying when they contradict me. So disappointing when they complain.
“Felicia darling,” I say to my assistant, a perky tree dryad with long blond hair and elegant limbs. “Can you do something about Mr. Frek13 over here?”
While she disposes of the leg, I wave to the next unsatisfied customer to approach my desk and unsatisfy my day a tad bit more.
I used to be a designer. My dungeons were glorious. Entire worlds filled with endless labyrinths, dotted with intricate pockets of danger and almost certain death, a challenge worthy of a hero. Aaahhh, those were the days... I had it all in my creations. The blood. Sweat. Tears. Glory. A red dragon here. Necromancer there. Itsy-bitsy giant spider in your pocket, ready to bite you. An invisible trap to send Bibby’s clenched fist up your--- nose. Oh, I loved those the most. No one saw *the fist* coming. And don’t look up, for if you do, you'll catch a basilisk's eye. I personally bolted their cages to the ceiling myself. Oh, I miss the good old days when a hero had to work for his (or her) +1 short sword.
And then… Changes. New world Overlords. Rich kids who know nothing but how to prostrate themselves in front of the lazy horde of whiners accustomed to sucking juicy teats of the world of warcraft. Disgusting. I pity those ‘heroes’ and the horses they ride on. They're not heroes. They are champions.
Sigh…
So what if our world is dying? I would rather have a dedicated hero than a living one. Unfortunately, the Overlords disagree… No more red dragons in ‘noobie’ dungeons. No basilisk cages, period. No ‘for funzies’ random deaths… No fun, period.
And so here I am. Demoted after arguing to the ungrateful position of a senior analyst at Dungeon validation and hero support office at the Ministry of Magic. Oh, how low the great have fallen.
“I said next!” I yell, snapping my finger.
Le sigh. Lynga is her name, fury burns in her like flame, for she's a pyromancer with an important claim, which I’m pretty sure is utterly lame.
“You footsie-footsie mother quack-quack nagger shoot donkey peace of sheat. Adult blue dragon at the end of 2/10? That’s CR 16. What the frog is wrong with you?”
Was I right, or was I right?
With every word she utters, there’s a ding, music to my ears, as another golden coin slips from the tiny satchel she hides in her bosom and appears, as if by magic, in my magic curse jar.
I smile, a fake grin so obvious she must have noticed it. “We value your opinion. Our dungeons are safe. I've tested them myself. Please fill out the complaint form. Your safety is paramount to us. Next.”
Another snap and another hero comes to my court.
And she is a sight. A natural all-18 half-drow half-wood elf level 7 invoker-paladin-druid multiclass, with a DDD cup size. An overachiever, I'm sure some would say.
“What burdens you, my dear?”
“I am Salina El’Fendra,” she says ever so eloquently. “Daughter of King Dornfan and Lady Gaenlny of Cutlah Gonther Under the Hill---”
“Yes, yes. But what is that you want, my child?”
“This bow is made of ancient ironwood and crafter by the High Lord of High-Elves of Erinder, yet it does only 1d8 damage.”
“And?”
“It’s a named bow.”
“A named longbow. So far so good. Longbows do 1d8 damage.”
“But it’s named.”
“But not enchanted. Named does not mean enchanted. But you can set your bow on fire, should you wish to do so.”
She squints her eyes. “And what would it do then?”
“Burn.” My answer must have been enlightening, for her mouth is shut closed. Oh, I love a satisfied petitioner. “My dear lady, do you have any other questions, concerns, comments, or complaints?”
She shakes her head, and I snap my fingers. She is gone and so is my soul. I can’t do this anymore. All these… people… disgust me. No bravery. No enthusiasm. They are dull. It’s not like in the good old days when I was *the* designer. They are weak and complainers, not worthy of my dungeons. Which I don’t design anymore…
“Felicia darling,” I say to my assistant, “the next one will be my last. I can’t do this anymore. Who do we have?”
The Dude.
A naked barbarian dripping blood. Level 6, with barbaric oral hygiene, broken battleax, and a sack slung across his back.
“Let me guess… Something’s wrong with your ax.”
He spits --- an eyeball of some sort, covered in ooze, blood, and green slime --- on my desk. What is it?
“My Lord!” I exclaim in excitement. “You ate a basilisk?! Savagery!”
He tosses the dragon head across the room, roaring “MOAR!!!! NEED TO KILL MOAR!!!”
My heart skips a beat. He wants to kill *more*!
Is it possible…
I snap my fingers, summoning an armchair. “Please take a seat. Let’s chat about how we can help you.”
|
As Greg stood in front of the newly dicovered gateway into the underground, he habitually performed one last gear check.
Torches, climbing gear, several days of rations, a few standard issue magical scrolls, smoke and flash bombs... he worked down his mental list until he was sure everything was on his person and in the exact spot it needed to be.
Greg was a dungeon inspector for the Adventurer's Guild, Deepdwelling division. For six years now he had been doing this job, and in his own humble opinion he was damn good at it, even if hardly anyone else even gave thought to the work he and his colleagues did. Their job was a dangerous one, arguably more difficult than that of the adventurers who would come after them to clear the place out. Their job was to inspect and classify newly discovered dungeons. This meant seeing as much of it as could safely be done, identifying threats and doing it all without drawing much attention. Today's dungeon would be Gregs fiftieth, a milestone.
The entrance was carved into the mountain. Two demonic looking creatures grasping for the sky with a set of heavy iron doors between them. Pulling the hood of his enchanted cloak over his head, Greg noticed the magic taking effect as his footsteps became muffled. Pushing against one of the doors, it opened with a low moan. Greg paused, listening for any sign that something might come and see what the noise was.
After a moment or two, he was sure enough that he was in the clear and stepped inside...
---
Five days later Greg was back at the Guildhall, arguing with the lead quest dispatcher. "Listen lady, you have to put this on the notice. While I concede that most of this place would be easily handled by a few Golds, The fact that there's a potential portal down there to a place where something extremely intelligent lingers, something I don't even have a name for, should be added as warning!"
The dispatcher gave him an exasperated look and a sigh. "Your advice has been noted Greg, but we also have to consider the interests of the adventurers. Remember how bad it went when we introduced Quests two-point-oh and started adding information on the dungeons in the notices? There were riots. Actual. Fucking. Riots. They don't want to know what dangers they're running into! Most of them are missing a few marbles Greg."
Greg started again. "I know that, I was there. But look at me. All the sneaky tricks in the book and I barely got out."
Greg motioned as if presenting himself. His left arm was broken, he was covered in cuts and bruises, one of his eyes was closed from the swelling and he was now missing two toes on his right foot.
"Look all I'm asking is this once, can we..." The dispatcher held up her hand. "We can't Greg, and that's final. Now, when talking about the dungeon itself - and not the portal you only stumbled into because somehow three statues around some muddy pool instantly meant puzzle-time to you - how would you rate it's difficulty?"
He took a moment to calm himself, knowing he had lost the argument before saying: "Gold, party of six, healer mandatory."
| 2022-01-18T19:56:05 | 2022-01-18T18:13:45 | 114 | 26 |
[WP] Alien species made it very clear that humans were to suppress their urge to touch other non-humans aboard mixed species ships, given in nearly all their cultures physical contact was reserved for mother and mates only. Then a curious alien let their human friend pet them for the first time.
|
"What I do not understand," Rok-varr said, or at least that's what the translator on their wrist chirped, "is why your people seem to struggle to obey the Touching Rule so. What is it about humans that make it so difficult to abide by your own rule?"
I was a Medical Officer, yes, but I was also very far from the rest of the compliment of humans that had come into space three years ago. The only human on the ship, in fact.
"I can attempt to explain it, Medical Officer Rok-varr, if you wish, but I must warn you that my explanation may not make sense."
"Yes yes, your warning of insensibility you put before any explanation of human behavior," they snarled, lip curling to reveal three serrated fangs, tucked neatly into their catlike mouth.
"The warning is mandatory, you know this," I said, tone falling flat before I could control it.
All four of Rok-varr's ears flickered, and they nervously licked their lips. They did not fully understand what all my tonal shifts meant, but flat and even made the whole ship nervous.
"I- I apologize?"
I took a long, deep breath.
"I am just as frustrated by having to give the warning before I speak as you are to hear the warning before I offer an explanation, Officer Rok-varr. I am typically able to let it pass by not drawing attention to or lingering on the warning. You have done nothing to offend me- I am simply as tired of saying the warning as you are of hearing it."
They relaxed, their two tails curling up on either side of their seat.
"Ah. Perhaps we can visit abbreviating the warning for convenience some time. An explanation would still be appreciated."
I picked up a small stuffed chinchilla off my section of the desk and let myself fidget with it, running my fingers through the cloud-soft fur, rubbing the texture of the barely-any-glitter-left ears, twirling the smooth, unstuffed tube of the tail as I considered the shortest explanation.
"Ultimately, the reason we struggle to obey our own rule, is because for humans, touching other life forms- something that we know for certain is a living being of *some* sort, is a vital physical need that, when unsatisfied, affects our emotional and mental wellbeing. Being deprived of these touches also causes physical symptoms of a once-common illness we call tactile deprivation syndrome- more commonly known to humans in general as *touch starvation*."
Rok-varr leaned forward in their seat, all four ears and eyes on me.
"Do you suffer from this syndrome, Officer Revialis?"
I paused, the toy dangling over my desk by it's tail.
"I have several of the symptoms, yes. Pursuing increased emotional intimacy with those around me, since in human culture this would make it more likely for me to receive casual touch from friends and comrades; being increasingly drawn to anything soft; occasional hallucinations of creatures that provided companionship to me in my youth; finding it increasingly difficult to remember that touch is in no way *casual* to any of the other members of this crew; thinking longingly of the end of my tour when I will be packed into a room full of other humans I may touch casually, including the ones I personally do not get along with well. Also the physical sensitivity to any touch, even clothing and my own hands, which worsens the longer I cannot treat the symptoms. I am using techniques effective in slowing down the progression of the syndrome, such as this," I gestured with the stuffed animal, "but yes, I am very touch-starved, and anticipate it worsening until I can meet up with some sort of service on shore leave or get my hands on another human."
Rok-varr sat back on their seat, and crossed their tertiary arms in what I had come to understand as their 'thinking pose'.
"I do not like that you are suffering from this *touch starvation* and that is why you struggle to avoid touching non-human crewmates," they announced after almost five minutes of contemplative silence.
"I d not enjoy suffering from touch starvation, but I can do nothing about it," I replied- quickly, too quickly, and too sharply.
"That is the tonal shift you use when you tell a lie meant to keep group cohesion strong," Rok-varr said, all four eyes narrowing at me.
"It would be inappropriate for me to romantically proposition someone simply to treat my need for touch, and the only people I would consider pursuing romantically are uninterested. I am no-one's offspring nor caregiver, and I am no-one's mate. And to ask people to let me touch them in a way they consider intimate while citing medical treatment would be an abuse of my position as a medical officer. An adult human will not die of touch starvation, though an infant will- an adult will merely suffer and perform under a handicap until treatment can be administered. There is nothing I can do. I have been examining this issue for three years, Officer Rok-Varr. If there was a viable solution, I would have pursued it already." \[1/?\]
[First four parts now compiled on my A03!](https://archiveofourown.org/works/38900643)
|
Life outside of Earth is strange.
Well, no, I guess that's not really fair, life on Earth is strange too, it's just that I'm used to it. To the rest of the galaxy we must be strange.
Humanity is one of the few intelligent species to have evolved from a bipedal animal. Of the other bipedal species, all have tails. Mardey, my cultural advisor, repeatedly has expressed astonishment that I am able to balance on two legs without falling over.
The cube was delivered shortly after my arrival. The small blue box, so vital to humanity's survival after first contact, now allowed our friends beyond the stars to experience life as a human, and for us to see life through their eyes.
It was strange in that form, not having a mouth what honestly a horrifying experience, and I'm sure Mardey found my transformation as comical as I did watching her stumble around like a newborn in a human body.
The rules were strict. Humans were not permitted to touch the aliens, and they were not permitted to eat while in human form. Something about a rampage at a Cinnabon.
I was surprised then when Mardey approached me during leisure hours, in her human form.
"I understand there is a human ritual of relaxation. I wish to perform it. I have spent so long indoors without true sky above me, and I have become anxious. Will you help?"
Uh, sure. If there was anything I could do to help her relax, I was happy to do so.
"Very well then," Mardey said, "perform this... 'massage' ritual for me."
| 2022-05-08T21:49:31 | 2022-05-08T21:14:06 | 192 | 76 |
[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should.
|
Do you know those movie scenes where everything slows down? You get the character's heart pounding as the music quiets?
For me, it's the sound of a clock. Ticking the minutes away.
Also, I don't watch movies anymore. At least not with anyone else - seeing their reactions before they do sorta ruins the experience. Books at least have the courtesy to be a solo viewing experience.
For that reason, I actually quite like the party I'm at - five minutes ahead and it's exactly the same. Many would find that boring - I find comfort in the constancy.
Oh god, here comes someone to talk to me. The only reason they'd do that is because they don't know who I am, despite my boss's best efforts.
"Malcom here's one of our best. Team lead at twenty two."
I am a software engineer at a party of executives. I'm not just a wallflower, I am firmly buried in the penthouse plaster and lathe. The best most people get out of me are polite greeting as the occasional mild witticisms.
This time, however, it's a little girl, dressed to the nines and probably exceptionally disinterested in being here.
"Hey little miss," I say, crouching down, already knowing how the conversation is going to go.
She looks up at me, not entirely sure what to say. She probably came over just to escape the existential boredom of a couch filled with people talking about stocks. I see here taking a glass of juice and as luck would have it, there's a small glass right next to me, and the fridge right behind.
"Want some juice?"
She is surprised, but nods.
As my fingers drift over the various containers, I see the shadows of her shaking her head. Finally, it stops on the crimson vial of cranberry juice, exactly the color of the glass in her hands. I pour it, and hand it to her.
She sips at it and looks up at me as I close the fridge. I'm already preparing a tacky reply about a lucky guess to her impending inquiry.
"How do you know my favourite?" she says.
And just like that the future is swept away and replaced like a set of bowling pins as I make another choice. I crouch down once more and drop my voice to a conspiratorial whisper.
"I can see the future."
Her present and future giggles overlap with each other.
"Just five minutes, though," I say, "for instance, that man, over there."
I point to my boss.
"He's going to turn around and wave to us, the move to the couches."
The girl watches wide-eyed as my boss does exactly that.
"What am I going to do?" she says as she takes another sip of the juice, both hands holding the glass.
"I can't tell you, because that could change it. Wouldn't be fair to me, right?"
I don't need to see the future to see the pouting that's about to take place.
"Fine, fine. In about five minutes you'll be..." I begin.
Then I freeze.
I see her in five minutes. Or rather, the bloody mess that's left of her. The whole penthouse is painted red, three dark figures standing in the sea of gore.
"I'll be what?"
"You'll be..."
My mouth is impossibly dry.
"You'll be... talking with your mother. She'll be asking you if you enjoy the party."
The future now shifts again.
Still, all I see is blood.
She trots off, presumably looking to either disprove, or inadvertently prove my abilities.
Where, where did they come from?
The door, twenty paces from me. Gunfire. Blood.
I begin shuffling through drawers as inconspicuously as possible. Butter knives, stakes knives, and finally, a small pairing knife. It'll have to do. They, whoever they are, must be coming up the elevator by now. The future is a flickering blur of shadow and colours as I move toward the main door, knife pressed to my side.
Three, in quick succession. They'll burst through the doors. Then the shooting starts.
I'm waiting by the light switch. The room goes light and dark as I decide what might be more advantageous. The sound of footsteps in the hall echo from the future into the present. Then the sound of shattering wood.
I place my hand onto the light switch, and a moment before the door is kicked off its hinges, the lights flicker off and I move into the corner.
The trio push in, purposefully, dressed in all black, faces obscured behind simple, hard masks. Then they falter for a single moment, seeing the blackened room.
Then I drive my knife into the last one's neck.
I have half a second to correct my grip and pull out in order not to get stuck. The future slots into place, as I manage to reach the second one before they can raise the rifle. For a second time, I feel their flesh give way to the slick steel in my hands.
I don't have that luxury with the third one. As the second falls, I lunge towards him, pressing the riffle to the chest, and bracing for the gunshots that rippled out towards the ceiling. He can't brace for the light's glare. I can.
In that moment, I manage to discharge his entire clip; 30 rounds.
He manages to punch me away into the room, filled with shocked gasps and screams. I stand up, knowing that I'll have time to charge at him.
Then I see the young girl's head explode into a red mist behind me.
Fuck.
One in the chamber.
The future temporarily crystalizes into a dichotomy. Red or Black.
I move.
The widly-fired bullet hits me, I fall back, and my head hits something.
Black.
​
​
*I write all sorts of things over at* /r/The_Alloqium.
|
"I swear to God I can see the future." Sara repeats herself for the umpteenth time. She knew she sounded like a petulant child but she was telling the truth and she will make everyone believe, goddamnit!
"Sure, Sara." Tina said trying to mollify me.
If anything it made me even angrier. "Don't 'Sure, Sara' me! I'm telling the truth!"
"Okay, so what happens in the next five minutes." Trish mocked.
Fine. This is how they play it then it was fine with her. She closed her eyes and concentrated. She ignored the mocking comments of her looking constipated and took in a deep breath. Suddenly it felt like she was being pulled by an invisible hook in her navel and into a narrow tunnel. As the feeling passed she opened her eyes.
*She was standing with her friends.*
*Trish was holding something in front of her face.* What an ass!
*Tina was telling everyone to quit it, I see myself coming back to consciousness and since nothing of consequence happened they mock me even more, everyone except Tina.* Always knew why Tina was her best friend. Screw everyone.
*No one notices the speeding car making way towards the group.*
It felt as if everything was happening in slow motion.
*Trish playfully pushes Tina leading her right in front of the speeding car.*
I open my eyes gasping for breath.
"Hey, you okay?" Tina asked, concern lacing her voice.
Seeing Tina in front of her, unhurt, makes Sara thankful for her gift. Everyone was asking her about what she saw but she couldn't answer, because everytime she closed her eyes she saw Tina's lifeless ones staring back.
"I don't feel so good." Sara said, placing her hand on her neck. "Can we sit down for a bit?"
A round of concerned of-course rang through the group and she sits, Tina by her side. She holds her scared of even letting go.
A screech of tires then a crash makes everyone turn their heads, everyone except Sara's. She tightened her grip on Tina's hand.
There was one thing that she didn't mention- that she could manipulate the little things to change the event. And now, now she doesn't know how to tell them. She'd rather save her friend and endure the mocking rather than let anything happen to her friend.
Uncle Ben was right. With great power does come great responsibility.
| 2021-12-31T10:59:44 | 2021-12-31T09:18:01 | 271 | 104 |
[WP]The Suit is powerfull. A mech for some, body armor for others, always unique to each person who wore it. Those who wear it, hear the words "not original user, booting basic mode" As a joke, your sergeant gives you The Suit and the first thing you hear is: "User detected: Welcome back, Commander"
|
Today was the day we saw, *it.* The world-famous Karma Suit. Supposedly worn by the likes Achilles, King Arthur, Spartacus, Alexander The Great and oh, does the list continue. Yes, this legendary armor was worn by made up people, apparently.
"I can't believe you really don't believe in the Karma Suit, Jackson." Kathens seemed amused at first, but his voice turned serious. "You'd better not fuck this up for us, tomorrow."
Kathens, like the rest of my platoon -- and most of the U.S. Military for that matter, revered this story. Since we were born, it was a constant reminder of our superiority over the rest of the world. I didn't have the patience for this shit. It's like as if the whole world believed in Jesus all of the sudden.
"Yeah, fuckface. Don't embarrass us. Seriously." Another distant voice in the darkness. It belonged to Ramsay.
"Listen, assholes. You think I want to spend a week in the pit? Shut the fuck up and go to sleep." I muttered.
I just wanted to get tomorrow over with. Either my life is going to change as I witness actual magic happen before my eyes, or they are going to hide the ceremony from us as they always do on YouTube and just have us present for when our new Soldier X walks out.
I dozed off to sleep wondering who the new super soldier would be.
----
Ramsay tapped my arm repeated as we stood in line, watching Sergeant Diaz stand up and walk to the podium. It was time to begin, Sergeant Diaz was selected for the honor of introducing General Mazza.
Sergeant's voice echoed through the PA System that was designed for a much bigger crowd than the one present. "Throughout the course of history, the outcome of wars and the onset of peace have sometimes been determined by just one man." He looked around, proudly. "Heroes, have been made and immortalized. Today, is a very special day. Not since the onset of the third World War have we selected a new Soldier X. Bradley Solis served his country remarkably, and will be remembered as the hero who brought peace to an entire planet. And while we still mourn the loss of General Solis, but there must always be a soldier of the Karma Suit. The suit that has taken all shapes and sizes. From leather, to steel, to chromium. From a simple chest plate to a fully functional weapon of mass destruction. Great responsibility is to be placed in the hands of our next Soldier X. I assure you, we have carefully selected a man of great honor. To introduce hi---" Sergeant Diaz's eyes dart to me.
All eyes followed as I stood there, holding back laughter as my face turned beat red. Ramsay pinched my forearm, but it was quite obviously too late. I'd done my best, but this was just an absolute joke.
"I'm sorry, Private Jackson - what is so funny?" his face was as red as mine, "What is so goddamned funny that you'd interrupt a live broadcast on probably the most important event you will ever witness in your life, Private?"
He actually expected an answer. Why would he do this? He couldn't just ignore me?
"Don't say a fuckin' word." Ramsay hissed through his teeth.
"Private, do you intend on keeping the entire world waiting? Why are you laughing right now?" Sergeant Diaz was seriously going through with this.
Well, now was my chance. A few lies crossed my mind, ways to easily get out of this mess with minimal penalty. Fuck that. The world deserved to know the truth. I'd be the one to give it them, or go down for trying.
"Sir, I apologize. I just simply don't believe in the magic behind the Karma Suit." I shouted back, confidently.
He chuckled, "You don't believe in the magic? What on Earth is that supposed to mean?" his smug reply made me uneasy.
"I don't believe the suit changes based on who wears it. I think you make a new suit for each Soldier X. Basically.." I replied loudly.
"Is that so? You think it's magic." He full on laughed out loud, now. "Not technology, you think we are proposing you believe in magic? Private, what is wrong with you?" He looked disappointed, and angry.
At that moment, Sergeant Diaz stepped down, walked over to General Mazza and briefly discussed something. General Mazza made a call, while Sergeant Diaz walked back behind the curtain. It was clear I'd just become public enemy number one to every soldier in this entire crowd.
After a minute long eternity, Sergeant Diaz flashed his head back through the curtain and seemed to be pulling a cart along with him. On it was what looked like some kind of harness. He stepped away from it and made his way back to the podium.
"So as a special treat, thanks to Private Jackson here, we are going to perform a magic trick today for everyone watching." A smirk crawled up his face. "Private Jackson, we need a volunteer from our audience for this one. Why don't you make your way to the stage."
I was flabbergasted. I couldn't even respond, my legs just started moving. I was about to be on global TV and for what, I did not know. As I walked up to the stage, Sergeant Diaz was addressing the cameras.
"We will bring up General Mazza after this display, so that he could present you all with the real Soldier X. For now, we're going to see how the Karma Suit reacts to Private Jackson here."
Gasps spread throughout the crowd like a wave. My heart sank into my stomach. What the fuck was going on here? I stepped up on stage and saluted my superiors before turning to my Sergeant. He gestured to the harness.
"This.. is it?" I asked quietly.
"That's it, soldier. Strap up, lets see what you are made of." he said, and wasn't kidding around.
The harness looked so heavy, like industrial chain, yet it was so light that I almost hit myself in the face when I lifted it. I felt strange just holding it. I took a deep breath, looked at my peers, and slipped it over my head.
For a brief moment, I lost control of my body as my arms and legs spread out and my entire body was engulfed with darkness. I couldn't see or feel much of anything for what felt like 10 minutes but realistically, was less than one. Once the visor opened up and I could see again, I was 40 feet in the air.
"User detected: Welcome Back, Commander." said a beautiful voice.
Looking down at all of my peers and superiors, I could see the shock on their faces. I felt a sudden vertigo, as panic heated up my entire body. Was I flying? I need to get the fuck out of this.
"Reset! Reset the suit!" I shouted at the voice in my head. "Get me out of here!"
"Resetting coordinates back to home." said the voice inside of my head.
Immediately, I felt intense vibration as the stage below got smaller and smaller. My panic turned to complete mania as the speed in which the ground got further away continued to increase until I was surrounded by black space. Before I could even register what was happening, Earth was the size of a penny, and then it was gone. My vision seemed to blur, and then completely distort into intense hallucinations of color and light.
"Base has been informed, they await your arrival. Initiating therapeutic hypothermia until arrival." the voice calmly stated over my frantic, incoherent screams.
"NO! NOOOOO!! Undo! Don't do that!" I shouted as my every fiber began to seemingly freeze and my vision faded to black.
----
I will be continuing this story on:
/r/nocre8ivity
|
"Did you hear what the Boz did at sigma phi? The Mytolixers were butchering the GI but they didn't count on having their heads explode on account of the resonant frequency from the suit".
Deekin was doing his hero worship thing again. They treat us support staff like shit, but Deekin was a true believer. Or at least he will be for a while. I was too when I came to the front 10 years ago.
"Boz is a fat chuf who is lucky enough to get interfaced with the Suit. A dead monkey would do in a pinch. Focus on the clean up and we'll be out of cam that much faster." I yelled back from the other side of the loo.
Legend says that the suit was made by the Remenants, old masters long gone even while we were banging rocks together. The boffins called it an Adaptive Exoskeleton. Us grunts, just the Suit. Every loser who come to the base dreams of Interfacing. They slap it on all the recruitment posters too. "This could be *you!*. Except they leave the bit about who you know, the standardized entrance test and the fact that Interfacing doesn't work for everyone.
You see the Suit doesn't work for everyone. Everyone who gets in hears one of two things. If you're lucky, you hear "Not Original User. Booting Basic Mode". If you're unlucky, you hear nothing. Then off to GI for you. If you're really unlucky, you join Deekin and I in the latrines. Because some people aren't deemed good enough to even be cannon fodder.
"Think fast lunkers". And I hear a wet, disgusting and entirely too familiar sound. I guess we're back to square one on the pits.
"Could you please be a little more considerate? I just cleaned that side." I shouted.
"You talking to the Lag like this? I ain't got time for this shit. Now clean it up. You or the other lunker". You see even in the basic mode, those who are lucky enough to Interface unlock one functionality. Boz can manipulate sonic waves. Lag gets fractional light speed traversal. You get the drift. They become celebrities and somehow also transform into assholes.
So far, there are 451 documented powers of the suit imprinted on 451 asshats, and the higher ups decide who gets to wear it depending who we are fighting. Trouble is the other 450 guys outside the suit don't like sharing the glory and take it out on "lunkers" like us.
Guess Lag was feeling particularly vulnerable. He wasn't called into rotation for the past 73 sorties. Deekin was naive enough to console him about it.
And got a fist through his face and 20 stitches. Now we know we can't do jack all to the golden boys. But hell, I'm his superior, so I gotta report that in. The outcome is as expected. Deekin gets docked a week's pay for "dereliction of duty" and I get to tell him the good news.
So I go ahead and pick up a couple of bottles of the good stuff and break the news as gently as I can. We drink through the night and the tech boys come and clean up the Suit and get it ready for another go. And I guess a madness ceases me. I drag Deekin to the armoury.
"Look at it Deeks. This fuckin Suit. It does all the work and those monkeys think they're the heroes. Fuckin arrogant douchebags think they own us. Why if we ever had a go, who's to say if we wouldn't have Interfaced, eh? In fact. Fuck'em. Go on, wear it."
"Ww-what? I can't do that. I never took the Standardized. I'll be in so much trouble!"
"Son, that's an order" I slurred. The tiny sober part of my brain was screaming. But the drink was louder. A lot louder. "Go on Deeks, put it on. I'll report you for disobeying a superior occifer" and I gave him a light shove.
So Deekin went ahead to obey. And then....
"Saaaaaargeeee!" came the panicked wail. "It's speaking to me Sarge"
It can't be. The motherfucker can't be Interfacing. "What does it say? Is it booting to Basic?"
No Sarge, it says "Welcome back Commander, 1024 tactical options available..."
| 2019-08-19T11:33:07 | 2019-08-19T10:42:35 | 3,187 | 88 |
[WP] One morning everyone in the world wakes up in their 18-year old body, memories intact. Society tries to continue as normal despite the change, but a world full of energetic adolescents certainly has its quirks.
|
My eyes glazed over as I browsed my feed.
All my friends, recently in their thirties, forties, or fifties, and now suddenly eighteen again, were posting about all of the things they were doing now that they had been given a new life.
I was thinking about what I'd lost.
Sandra and Brian Gomez, an older couple whose marriage had been a long and happy one, were now overjoyed that they could go on all those clubs and activities together that they did when they were younger.
I was thinking about how long it had taken to get what I'd needed.
Maggie Whittaker was out jogging, taking full advantage of the fact that, in this new and bizarre world, she had her leg back, as if the accident never happened.
I was thinking about if I could afford to get what I'd needed a second time.
Devon George was posting a lot of selfies. I guess he didn't have social media when he was twenty years younger and fifty pounds lighter.
Well, maybe it'd be easier this time. The world had changed, after all. My phone rang.
Jodie Smith was excitedly auditioning for all those roles that she would have now been too old for, and with years of acting experience and training under her belt, she now had a much greater chance for all the "gentle princess" and "badass warrior" roles she had always wanted, when for so long she'd only gotten the "kind mother" and "hardened mentor" roles.
"Hey, Katie! How's it going? Are you used to the being-young-again thing yet? What're you gonna do first?"
Gregory Brown was mostly just posting vertical phone videos of him picking up heavy boxes and putting them back down again. In the description of the most recent one he'd written a 200-word manifesto about how he was going to take better care of his back this time.
"Hey, Steve."
Eleanor Beecher posted a really, really long wall of text about how she was never drinking alcohol again, about an hour and a half before she posted multiple consecutive videos of doing "whiskey challenges" she'd found online.
"Oh, sorry, is Katie there? Who is this?"
Paige Darcy had posted eight different videos of her going into stores, buying alcohol, and zooming in on the cashier's face when they asked her for her ID.
*click*
Emma and McKenzie Bennett were apparently going around the mall asking strangers if they could tell which one was the mother and which one was the daughter, and keeping a running score. Most people could tell at a glance, and Emma was going crazy trying to figure out how.
I wondered about the reactions of my friends -- practically none of whom had known me when I was younger. I wondered about how my less open-minded friends would treat me. I wondered about if any of the people from my old life, having cut me out, would talk to me again, and I wondered if I wanted them to do so. I wondered if any of my clothes would fit. I wondered if Emma would eventually remember to change out of the "PROUD MOTHER OF TWO" t-shirt.
Bradley Booker was posting a lot of pictures of him doing funny stuff with his hair, now that he had it again.
There was a knock at the door. I sighed and went to open it.
William Ashton and his family were crying with joy about the fact that he hadn't had cancer at eighteen.
"Katie, I-- oh, I'm sorry, sir, I'm looking for Katie."
Alexis Reagan was posting a lot of cheesy jokes about having the secret to losing weight and regrowing your hair, with all of them sharing the punchline of "it's easy! just magically turn eighteen again".
"Yeah, Tammy, hi."
I'd wanted to tell her before, of course. It just hadn't seemed like the right time, and of course, I was afraid of how she might react.
"I need to tell you something."
____
*So many people were posting about their new bodies, and their chances to unmake all of their old mistakes, or make better choices, or maybe even save their lives.*
*Meanwhile, at 422 Oak Street, with a hollow feeling in her stomach, staring into the face of her best friend of six years, 38-year-old Katie Gates wonders how she's going to explain to Tammy and all of her other friends why, at the age of eighteen, before coming out, she'd had broad shoulders, a deeper voice, and the beginnings of a full beard.*
|
Eyes still closed, the smell was different. No ambient fan noise, too much light in the room. "I need to remember this will happen. I need to remember this will happen." Questions flooded into my fore brain from the back. Someday in the future, will this happen to my children, living half of their life only to be reset and given another chance?
Will my children even be born?
Pondering and wondering, I stumbled off the futon. Cat meowed underfoot. Forgot all about them. I started picking up, fast food wrappers littered the ground and laundry piled wherever it landed. My mom knocked on the bedroom door.
"Happy Birthday, old man." she said.
"And, before you ask, I made all the same decisions when I was your age.
​
You should talk to your sis, though. Because she didn't."
| 2020-11-02T10:00:05 | 2020-11-02T09:10:56 | 310 | 107 |
[WP] Whenever a girl comes of age, she becomes aware of the secret psychic bond all women share; an ability they have kept secret from men for millennia. On your 16th birthday, you become the first boy in history to connect to the "hidden voice"
|
I've been able to hear their conversations for days now, but haven't dared to say a word of my own.
It all started when I was hanging out with the gang after orchestra practice last Friday. There's six of us, friends since 5th grade. I've known Theresa and Rachel for years, but they know each other far better than any of us could imagine. Sometimes one will give the other a sideways glance and they'll chuckle, like they're sharing some sort of private inside joke.
Well, it turns out they are. Many of them. Talking about who's dateable, how terrific or boring classes are, their hopes, their fears, their thoughts on the meaning of life. Stuff that I'd overheard here and there during lunch table conversations, but on a deeply personal level. The things that no one wants to say out loud, but everyone wants to talk about.
Now I'm panicking. I can't look at them in the same way. I know too much about them and I don't feel I deserve it.
Most of all, I'm confused about why I can't hear things from other guys. Is there some "bro code" I'm missing out on here? Do I have to turn seventeen before I can get it, like learning a new spell or some shit?
Am I ever going to say something to one of these girls, inside their head? God, that sounds creepy.
*
I know Ben can hear us, but he's just too scared to do anything about it.
I've heard him say as much during one of his little mental pep talks. *Today's the day. After orchestra practice, I'll march right up and admit it. Maybe it'll go away after that.*
The boys' mental conversations are about 25% dirty jokes, 25% insecurity, 20% classes and 30% girls. Well, most of them anyway. Some are more introspective than others, some imagine being basketball champions, some are just...dull.
I don't know why I've been given this bizarre talent. I feel like the other girls know each other so much better than I know them.
Theresa asked me once why I never "chatted" with her after class, and I had to be honest - I can't do it. Ben thinks she and I are super-close just because we'll glance at the same thing sometimes and laugh about it. But it's not true. I don't think about that around him, though; a girl's gotta keep some secrets, after all.
One of these days I'll say something to him in his head. God, that sounds so creepy.
*
Ben placed his math textbook in his locker and sighed, then glanced down the hallway. It was empty except for Rachel, sauntering slowly and watching her feet hit each tile, her spine bent sharply from the weight of her backpack.
They stared at each other.
*Hey,* Ben thought. *Oh, fuck!*
Rachel gave a mental laugh. *It's fine, don't worry about it.*
*You mean...you're OK with this?*
*Well, not really a hundred percent OK, but what are we going to do about it?*
*So you can hear me. Can you hear the other--*
*Guys? Yeah. Y'all are weird.*
*Likewise, Rachel. Likewise.*
They stood there for a few seconds, uncomfortably shifting their feet.
*So you probably know more about me than you'd care to admit,* Rachel thought.
*Yup. I wish I could go back to my sixteenth birthday and just reverse all this. I want to get to know someone on my own terms, on my own time.*
Rachel sighed. *Me too.*
Suddenly, just as promptly as they had begun to hear one another, the stream of thoughts came to a halt.
Ben gestured awkwardly to his cranium, and Rachel shook her head.
"Well, I guess we just wished upon a star or some shit."
Rachel laughed. "I guess so."
Ben closed his locker and turned to her. "I've been meaning to ask you for a long time, but do you ever want to...grab lunch or something? I feel like we don't talk anymore."
"That's what happens when you travel in packs, Ben. Sometimes you get so wrapped up in the thoughts about what everyone else thinks..."
She winked at him.
"...that you lose sight of a whole lot of other stuff."
Ben smiled. "I'll text you."
"OK. Just don't go hacking into my brain cells again anytime soon."
"You too, Rach! I'm holding you accountable."
"What's that? I can't understand you boys."
She walked down the hallway, opened the back doors, and left.
She was thinking about the English exam, meeting up with Theresa, and a nice kid named Ben.
He was thinking about math class, shooting some hoops, and a nice girl named Rachel.
***
*Thanks for reading! If you'd like to see more of my stories, check out /r/GigaWrites.*
|
I was sixteen when I first heard the voice. A whisper on the wind, barely audible, appearing at odd moments. Over the next two years it has grown steadily stronger, with a strange deep rhythm to it. It terrified me; was I turning mad?
I dove into books, researching all I could to see if this phenomena wasn't just me, wasn't just my brain folding in on itself. And in a small, lightweight book I'd casually flipped open...*there*. A mention of the voice. But what was the book? Flicking the cover closed, I stared in shock.
It was my mother's book.
I ran to her and told her of the voice. She chuckled sadly, and gave me a hug.
"Son, I love you. You're not mad; the voice is real. And all women hear it." I was startled. *All*?!? She saw the question writ large on my face and nodded.
"Yes dear. *All.* A secret we've kept from our other halves, to save them from worry." She took the book my nerveless fingers. "I'll have my Georgette Hayer novel back now." She patted my shoulder and left me to my thoughts. My thoughts and the voice, as regular as a ticking clock.
*babies...babies...babies...babies...babies...babies...*
| 2016-07-21T13:06:19 | 2016-07-21T09:44:26 | 650 | 429 |
[WP] It’s mandatory for a princess to be under a curse by their 16 birthday. Usually turning into a swan, or pricking your finger will do. Its now your 18th birthday, and still no curse. People are worried that no prince will come because of it. Today you set out to find a curse!
|
Life hands you roles.
Slow down, there, fatso. *Roles*, not rolls. There's no bread involved.
And it always hands you multiple roles, because, c'mon, stories need at least a *little* uncertainty. You don't want to be properly *surprised*, but it's nice if you can't see every twist coming a mile away, y'know?
So. I was a princess. Yay me, right?
Wrong!
Because, one, the stereotypical princess stuff kinda sucks, y'know? All that time and effort and looking pretty and marketable, and then your reward is that you get to be stuck in a marriage with a guy you barely know popping out babies and pretending that your life is perfect up until they lower you into your grave in a dress that no self-respecting person half your age would be caught dead in.
It's the better option, don't get me wrong, but I'm just saying, I don't exactly expect a storybook ending, here.
Or, well, I *do*, but I know that they stop talking when they do because that's the point when the narrative they've been carefully building unravels like a sweater made of cheap spaghetti.
And as much as all that sucks, it beats the *pants* (princesses aren't allowed to curse, which is...just *wonderful*) off of the alternative.
Because if you're born to a position of power, and you're female, and you're *single*...
You're evil.
I mean, there's basically no recourse. You might be a wicked stepmother, a scheming usurper, or some catty jerk who gets one scene helping to establish that 'the elite' don't like this or that person or thing or whatever. Or a straight-up witch, which is actually pretty fun right up until the bit at the end.
The point is, all of those tend to meet unpleasant endings. Heck, you've got a remarkably solid shot at actually *dying*, which basically no one ever does in the stories.
So. Life hands you roles. You've gotta pick one and roll with it. A phrase that- follow me on this one- *does not involve bread in any way*. 'Roll' as in the action- like a rolling wheel. Or, as a better comparison, rolling to absorb the hit when you fall out of a moving vehicle.
Here's the thing, though. The classical princess is always, always, *always* some flavor of victim. Doesn't have to be *that* bad, but you've got to be someone that the audience is going to look at and think "awww...." If you get hurt, the audience needs to feel *bad*, not good. That means that you'll only get hurt so much, at least as long as the bard is still talking.
A curse is a good way to accomplish this, hence the law, which was mostly passed to prevent the land from being overwhelmed with witches. Few things sink a kingdom faster than so many witches that they're clogging up the skies. Makes for a peasantry that spends more time as frogs than as farmers, which, let me tell you, wreaks *havoc* on a vaguely-medieval economy.
But I'm 18, now. No curses have come my way. I'm not even clumsy. I'm not even *shy*, for crying out loud!
So. If I don't want a more traditional bad ending, I need to figure something out, and fast. I've gotten by so far by pretending to be a blithering idiot- people leave you alone if you ask them what a spoon is for often enough- but it won't last forever. Sooner or later I'll clearly be an Adult, and at *that* point, any curse I end up getting will be seen as a reflection of poor morals or bad hygiene or something, rather than a tragic accident befalling a beautiful innocent.
And if it comes off like *that*...well, there's not a whole lot of recourse for you, then, other than becoming a witch and having your fun before you die horribly. Curses are only narratively helpful if they're unearned.
I needed to earn an unearned curse, and *fast*.
I'd tried clumsiness around dangerous magical devices, which had mostly just gotten me banned from the Wizards tower. I'd tried wandering around in the forest all alone, which had mostly gotten me boredom. I'd tried actively pricking my finger on anything and everything that might have been cursed, and all I'd gotten was messed-up fingers.
It was time to take off the kid gloves.
Today was a good day for it. My dad was going to be in a bad mood- two of his favorite knights were jousting for the honor of being the one to ride out on an impossible quest to lift the curse of a different princess. Which meant that one would be gone for a while, and have something like a thirty percent chance of dethroning my dad when he got back. And the other knight would be mopey for a while, and have something like a twenty percent chance of turning evil, and *remarkably* solid odds of killing my dad if he did.
I never said kings had it easy, narratively speaking. Though I'd take it over being a princess any day.
In any case, he would be in a bad mood. A perfect time, then, to steal a bunch of stuff from the castle, money and food and a bunch of my dad's favorite clothes, and run around town giving them to poor people. No curse in the world could resist that, and even if there weren't any curses for miles, I'd have a solid shot at making my dad mad enough to exile me, which is sort of like a curse only *better*, especially since it gives you a small chance at, like, actual *freedom*.
I tented my fingers together and smiled deviously at my plan. And then stopped it immediately, because that was just *begging* for trouble. Hopefully the bard didn't include that bit...
|
Crossing my hands and tap my finger impatiently, I frowned at the witch who looked... Confused as she flipped through her grimoire. "Well? Give me a curse already you dried tree."
The witch sneered at me, but I remained unfazed since mama's sneer was scarier. "Do you have any idea the kind of curse you are asking for? It was famous, yes, but a work of art that most of us have trouble replicating! Now sit and be patient princess."
I huffed and sat on the moldy chair, uncaring of how dirty my dress will be. My appearance was not well kept in the months of searching for a witch to curse me. Papa will scold me to no end about keeping my appearance and my behavior is not of a princess, but I digress. He still loved me in the end as long as I perform my role.
So lost in thought, I was surprised by the witch chanting before placing her old hand on my head. I nearly slapped the hand away before I illuminated in green glow. The witch looked surprised and quickly retraced her hand, as if in fear.
"Impossible..." She muttered before going back to her grimoire. Curious, why would a witch like her became surprised and fearful. Was there something made a practitioner of dark art fear me?
She turned back to me with a familiar expression, one that I saw in the palace ever since her 16th birthday. I hated that expression, that gaze. One that even papa and mama had when they think I don't know.
"Don't you **dare**." I growled at her. I don't want pity.
"Oh it was a pity I couldn't curse you, else I would earn quite the reputation." She shook her head before pointing at me. "But it was not because you will never gain a curse and find your prince. It was because you had been cursed from the beginning."
I shook my head in denial. There is just no way. "No, impossible. I tried prickling my finger to even eating poison apple and none of them worked!"
"Like I said, you are cursed. In fact, it was one from my teacher!" She bellowed out a laughter. "The curse of princess."
The curse of... what? I am sure my expression showed my confusion as the witch continued. "This curse was a new, if you considered 500 years as new, curse that she made in a drunken stupor!" Then the witch laughed harder!
My irritation reached the peak point and I want answers now. "Get to the point!"
The witch opened her arms as if presenting something she was proud of with a malicious smile.
# "You will never have a prince because only a princess shall come for you!"
| 2022-02-23T22:24:48 | 2022-02-23T18:56:26 | 375 | 188 |
[WP] 9 out of 10 dentists recommend this toothpaste. You are the 1 out of 10 who doesn't - and for a very good reason.
|
Mirrored glass. It grows fascinating when you stare at it uninterrupted for half an hour. Startling me, the handle to my right turns and a metal door swings wide to a tall man who angles his way into the bare room. Bald, suit, plain silk tie, and sunglasses—why is it always sunglasses? He moves his chair aside and remains standing as he thumbs through a manilla folder. Despite my glare, I do not exist to him. Staring someone down is hard when you are looking up at them. Finally, after a minute, he speaks to the room.
"Doctor Harold Rosenstein."
"Yes, that's me." His eyes snap to me—only his eyes.
"It seems you were...dissatisfied with our demonstration." He spoke in a near-monotone yet exaggerated dictation.
"Well I'm allowed to have a professional opinion, am I not? All this..." I waved my finger about from the constraint of my cuffed wrists, "Seems a little much."
"Your opinion is your right," he unconvincingly assured me, "We simply wish to get your feedback."
"Alright. You want feedback?" I leaned forward intently and reduced myself to a whisper. "Do you know the company you're representing? The product you're selling? Do you *really* know?"
He tugged at a page corner in his folder and flipped the sheet over. His gaze shifted from mine long ago. "Of course I do, Doctor Rosenstein. We would like make sure *you* know what our product is."
I failed to seem curious. "Enlighten me."
He never broke composure. "Simply the finest toothpaste in the world." He paused for a moment as he considered something. "We noticed that you never actually sampled our product." Folding his hands together, he forced a light smile before offering, "Would you like to do so?"
I sat back. "No. I would like to leave."
"Hmm," he mused, "Perhaps we could...guide your opinion."
"Like you *guided* the other nine?" I accused, "I saw the change when they 'tried' it. There was no way I would have tried it with them. It's like they became puppets. They said whatever you wanted them to say to the camera."
"It's possible they merely enjoyed our product. We would like to offer you that same chance."
I straightened up. "Now if you think that—"
In a loud crank the lights shut off and a sharp blow landed on my head. I was out before my head hit the table.
*****
Light. White. Too much. I squinted as my eyes slowly opened. I was laying down. The same man stood over me.
He spoke, same as before, "Perhaps we could *guide* your opinion."
It was then that I noticed I was restrained. I struggled, but he remained passive. He eyed another man in the room. This one wore a white lab coat and thinly-rimmed spectacles. He rolled a cart to my side.
"Open your mouth please." His voice was surprisingly pleasant.
"Go to h—"
My interrogator's hands shot out like a snake, forcing my jaw open and holding my head in place. The technician forced a tube into my mouth. All I could do was scream wordlessly.
"This will be over quick," the technician piped cheerily—as if I could hear him. He lifted from the cart a rather large syringe. He aimed it down the tube and depressed the plunger. Toothpaste began sliding down my throat. I tried screaming and choking, but nothing could stop it now. The oddest thing started to happen. It seemed good—even great. My terror didn't disappear; it merged with this odd feeling of satisfaction. My mind slipped into chaos and I felt myself fading happily into contented oblivion. Despite the tube in my mouth, I managed to smile.
The suited man smiled back. Then darkness.
*****
"So, Doctor Rosenstein—are you ready?"
I snapped out of my daydream. "Yeah, yeah. Sorry, I feel a little terrified." Scratching my head, I shrugged, "Probably just the camera and all. I don't like cameras."
"Just be natural. Be *you*," quipped the director. He looked around hurriedly. "Ok let's make this happen." Nodding at the assistant, the slate came in front of me and clapped. Looking around, the director did one final sweep of his mental checklist. "...aaaand...*ACTION*."
The interviewer in front of me smiled. Bald, suit, plain silk tie, and sunglasses—why is it always sunglasses? "Doctor Harold Rosenstein?"
"Yes, that's me."
His smile grew. I liked him. "What do you think about our toothpaste?"
"What do I think about our toothpaste."
"You think it's great?
"I think it's great."
"You would recommend this product to anyone?"
I smiled.
"I would recommend this product to anyone."
|
For the longest time I was in denial, I mean I knew it was true but it was almost as if a part of me simply couldn’t believe it, after going back and forward checking all the evidence I finally convinced myself it was true, then the question was, what should I do about it? I almost couldn´t decide if the consequences of saying something where harder than the consequences of keeping the secret. I am not gonna lie, a dark devious part of me thought –I could milk this shit, bribe them make it work in my advantage.
This all started when my son had a chemistry experiment were he had to break down the chemical elements of everyday Items, he asked me for help, funny enough I didn´t know what Toothpaste is made from, I knew what it should be made from but I didn´t actually know all of the compounds I went to the bathroom and gave my toothpaste a read, I knew what most of it was, but 2 of the compounds were foreign to me, so I googled them, one of them was just to make the toothpaste whiter, for marketing reasons, the other one was weird.
I went into the rabbit hole I didn’t sleep all night reading about it, it just didn’t make sense, as soon as early morning hit I started calling people, I was so scared to be right I was just hoping someone would explain me why I was wrong, and after months of not sleeping reading up and doing some experiments, I was sure.
It made me feel small, I am just some dentist, I don’t want to be a hero I have a good life, Im not about to start a fight against the system. I am ashamed to say that it is only in my dead bed that I dare say this. They are turning the freaking frogs gay
| 2018-08-17T09:24:04 | 2018-08-17T09:23:35 | 65 | 22 |
[WP]The zombie apocalypse has come and gone. Humanity has survived and prospered, but with the virus still inside every single human. Centuries in the future, we are at war with an alien race, and they are horrified to learn that we don't stay dead easily.
|
“We are not like them,” he tells me and pulls the leash.
It burns the skin around my neck.
“You are not like us, you are worse.” I say and spit on him. “And you are going to pay for this, Trix.”
His head did not fully heal yet, dark red blood still drips from two small holes on the back of his bald head. I shot him twice. He twitched and said he’s fortified with 12 vitamins and minerals and made from whole grain and that is why my bullets can’t hurt him. It’s some sick joke involving his codename, Trix, which I don’t get. The coward hides his true name.
Or maybe he doesn’t even have one.
Trix is a monster, grey skinned slender abomination with cold eyes and camouflage uniform, polluting once beautiful paradise called Earth. That was our ancient home planet, before the Plague turned many of us into *them.* Those who did not succumb to the Plague left for Mars, where they met an alien race --- the Saviors --- who took them across the galaxy, to Tau, our current home. The Saviours have helped and guided us ever since.
I pull the leash, but Trix just laughs. He put me on a leash like a dog two hours ago, when I let him capture me, again.
“Walk faster, captain Alexa McDonald. Or, should I call you Storm Light.”
They shot down my flyer. My copilot Danny Boy got scared and manually activated flares, too early. We met the rocket, became a fireball and the first flyer shot down by enemy in more than 100 years.
Parachute and rough landing later, I was in the muddy methane rich Florida swamp waters, doing my best to float like duckweed between towering white cedars, bushy swampbays and swarming mosquitoes. And then a Florida man caught me.
Fuck my life. I shot him in the face, twice. But, yeah…
“It’s a virus in our DNA.” he says, “We can’t get rid of it. I think they call it lytic reproduction, I think. But I don’t know, I’m not a scientist. I swear, they come up with their mumbo-jumbo word salad just to confuse us, the common folk. DNA virus is in me, it can’t get out, and that's it.”
He pulls the leash.
“Now, Alexa, would you, pretty please with a cherry on the top, hurry up? We are almost there.”
He said that half an hour ago. He’s going to turn me into one of them, grey monsters, or kill if I try to resist. He didn’t say any of *that*, but I know it. We all do, that's why our ancestors needed to leave Mars. Thank God for the Saviors.
“You’ll never turn me into a monster like you! I'll never be a monster!”
I spit and it hits the back of his neck. Bullseye. He pauses, sight and with left hand cleans the pink spit dripping down his pale grey skin.
“No, you are a pet, captain McDonald,” he says and pulls the leash. “Not my pet." He laughs. "Although...” --- he lifts the hand holding the leash --- “ Alexa, you are *their* pet. The little grey men with bulging black eyes, no nose, and not a single hair on their bodies. Your ‘Saviors’.”
I sigh.
“Just kidding, Alexa, they don’t look like that. Tell me, what do their eyes look like?”
“Screw you.”
He laughs. “You don’t know. In fact, you have absolutely no clue about what your alien overlords look like under their robotic suits and crackling force fields.” He sigs. “I guess you satisfy easily. As long as it’s the right size and shape, you don’t care, do you? “
“Fuck you, Trix.”
“What? They *are* humanoid and our height. Also, can you walk faster? *Please.*”
“They are our friends. They ---”
“They feed you fear, uncertainty and doubt. They dump their lies on the screens in your homes, at your work, in your earbuds, and you buy it all. They told you that we are a threat to them, and by extension to you, and then they persuaded your leaders to join their war against us. It should have been simple and easy, they said. A quick invasion, exterminations, and then even quicker FTL trip to Tau, across the galaxy. Right?"
He nods. "That's right. However, centuries later, you are still in a war with us, utterly horrified by the fact that we don't stay dead easily.”
“Tsk.” I chuckle.”You’re full of shit, Trix. The war will be over soon, with the weapons---”
“--- right, the weapons. They make all your weapons, have been for centuries. The weapons that kill us. Except, often they don't. Toys like your flyers, ships in the planet’s orbit, fancy drop pods for your ground troops, force fields, guns that fire rounds which liquify our skulls on contact, all that cool stuff.”
He takes a breath.
“So, tell me, something, Alexa. Your alien friends, who travel the galaxy in a blink of an eye, who terraform whole planets like the ones they found and gave you, who build spaceships as big as cities… Why do they wage a centuries long war with less than twenty million strugglers who still use ancient stinger missiles to take down flyers?”
“Wha---”
He stops and points to a broken alien exoskeleton lying in front of him. A name tag on chest reads ‘Danny Boy’. My copilot. He is a Savior.
“And why do your Saviors look *exactly* like you?”
I... Don’t know.
“I told you, we’re not like them. *You* are. Which begs the question---”
“Why didn’t they tell us who they are?”
“Because you are a pet.” He hands me the leash. “And we’re going to change that.”
​
/r/ZwhoWrites
|
Humanity has always been a prideful race we had earned it after all from traversing our oceans and conquering the planet and then solar system to fighting and taming the Z virus that had resurrected the dead. The first races we met were the Za-Khan and the Predatea. They welcomed us into the Galatic neighborhood providing us with a essentially an orientation that wouldn't have seen out of place from an university or a business. They included maps with drawn out borders.
The Za-Khan explained that the Galaxy was a place of peace and that many civilizations didn't even have militaries. The Predatea even suggested humanity begin to wind down it's military. Once the honey moon phase was over Humanity plotted it's first conquest they were going to seize the hundreds of planets that the Predatea didn't even bother to colonize. Hundreds of Earth like worlds just waiting to be taken.
As the special operation team approached the first planet an automated Predatea beacon warned that the planet was not safe. The team leader laughed not safe for Predatea maybe.
After landing just 3 miles from the only space port on the planet the team started through the forest towards it. A twip noise was heard as what could only be described as a mass of vines grabbed four member's of the team ripping them apart and placing the remains in little trenches that only now did the team notice bones poking out from. Unfortunately the dead men continued to scream as the heads were still alive but no longer attached to bodies.
This screaming brought rustling noises as the team stared in shock. Two Predatea civilians stumbled out from the forest and quickly brought them back to Human authorities apologizing that they didn't know the Humans had arrived on the planet.
The Predatea explained that many of the world's were preserves for the most dangerous life in the Galaxy.
Two years later humanity still building it's largest military ever receives a message from the Za-Khan sending a compliment to humanity. It read "Nice military you have there" humanity responded with "Thank you". The military was deploying to the mission of taking the Predatea worlds with weapons designed to combat the wildlife. It had been a long 5 years and so at the rallying point everyone was nervous when the Za-Khan fleet showed up. It sent a message "To the Victor goes the spoils". They quickly destroyed the fleet with weapons developed over 100 thousand years. That day humanity learned three things one the reason so few species had a military was to avoid having the Za-Khan practice on it and two the Za-Khan was a peaceful species that loved war like humanity enjoyed MMA. And three the Za-Khan were overjoyed at the discovery that humanity could be killed and then it would get back up.
| 2019-08-28T14:04:08 | 2019-08-28T13:34:01 | 93 | 18 |
[WP] While driving you hit and kill a boy. You feel terrible, and at the funeral you tell the family you wish you had died instead of him. 3 weeks later, a new surgery comes out that can bring someone back from the dead at the cost of another's life. You hear a knock at your door. It's the family.
|
After looking through the peep hole my worst suspicions were confirmed.
It was the family of the boy I accidentally killed a month ago. I had been waiting and dreading a moment like this for the past three weeks, ever since a new breakthrough in science and surgery was announced.
With a heavy heart I opened the door.
"Mr and Mrs Smith. Please come in."
They walk in and sit on my couch watching as I take a seat across from them. I am silent. I don't want to prompt the horrible news or give them the idea if they don't have it themselves.
"Mrs Finn, you might have heard about a new surgery that has just been perfected. The ability to put the living essence of a person into a deceased one." Mr Smith explains.
I remain silent.
"You said you wished you had died instead of our little Timmy. Now here is your chance to make it right."
I stare at them.
"Say something." Mr Smith prompts me.
I sigh, tears forming in my eyes, mouth dry. I don't want to die.
"You took our son from us, you bitch! You owe us!" Explodes Mrs Smith.
She's right. I stole her child's future, his potential. I took her family, her baby from her. I owe Timmy that chance.
"I'll do it on the condition that you give me a month to put my affairs in order."
"How do we know you won't run off on us?" Mrs Smith accuses me.
I walk a few paces from them and open a door, showing them my todler daughter, sound asleep.
"You can't run with very far or fast with a baby. I just want to make sure she is taken care of."
Mr Smith's face softens.
"I need to put a will in place, up my life insurance, update my license donor status. You'll have first claim to my life, the hospital will check my background. Everyone in dead my family has been gone to long to come back."
Mrs Smith smiles in triumph while Mr Smith looks torn. I have a family too. A tiny child and husband.
"I have one other request if you want me to do this."
"Name it." Mrs Smith replies hastily, eager to get the deal done.
"You have to hit me with your car."
"Excuse me?" Mr Smith asks.
"My insurance won't pay out if I willingly walk into the hospital and do this. My daughter will end up in foster care without the money. Hit me with your car, damage me enough that I can give my life up to your son. That's the only way you can get what you want."
I could see the weight of what I was asking hit Mr Smith. You could have your family back. All it would cost is ripping apart another and taking a life.
Mrs Smith didn't hesitate. "Deal."
"Mary..." Mr Smith whispers.
"Deal." She insisted.
We worked out the details of when and where I would die. It was odd, planning my own death, but it made me value what little life I had left.
The last month flew by. I made sure to give my husband and daughter as many experiences, memories and photos as I could. I recorded myself reading books to her, made love to him every night, hosted a big family dinner.
I let everyone feel the love. I also took up evening walks for my health. A great cover for what was going to happen.
And then the day came. I put my daughter to bed, kissed my husband goodbye and went for my walk,tears streaming down my face. I closed my eyes and crossed the street.
That was the last thing I would clearly remember. There were fuzzy bits, white walls, blurry faces and the pain, dear God the pain.
And then just like that it was all gone. Like switching off a light. All the little bits that made me me fell away until there was nothing left but the purest essence of life.
_
Many years would pass and Timmy Smith had an interesting life. Lonely yet smothered.
His mother barely let him out of her sight. "Stay close to mummy. We don't want anything bad to happen to you." No privacy, no space, no independence.
Timmy always assumed that's why his father was distant, because his mother left no space for him in Timmys life. But then he would catch the looks his father gave himself and his mother. Deep sadness tinged with horror.
His father often spent time with a friend of his and the friends kid. Timmy would long to go but his father never asked nor would his mother ever allow it. She hated his friend.
Timmy heard her say to his father once "It was all his fault in the first place that this all happened."
He was so cold and numb, dead inside. What was the point of life? He was so miserable. He wanted to die.
Then one day, at age 12 Timmy couldn't take it any more. He snuck out followed his father to his friends house. Then he saw her. A little girl about 10.
Suddenly his head was filled with pain, with a flood of memories. Only tiny snippets, a picture or face here, a musical note or word there, but a life's worth.
Timmy sank to the ground, crying as the horrible truth dawned on him. His life was not his own. It never was and never would be.
|
\*knock\* \*knock\*
The sound of slow, heavy knocking comes from the door. From the other side, a woman calls out, "we want you to make things right. Come on out, James."
It's them. For the past two weeks straight, they've showed up outside my house. Every single day, and always at the exact same time. More and more desperate each time they show up.
I know they want their son back, but this isn't right! It was an accident! What could have I done? I honked the horn, I hit the brakes, and I swerved! Only so much can be done when you're gliding across wet pavement head-first into a boy with a death wish. I tried—
My thoughts were interrupted by the sound of splintering wood. A hatchet was driven cleanly through my front door.
"We're getting impatient, James," came the man's monotonous voice. "The doctor is waiting, and you're stalling. Time is running out."
Are they insane? I know that I told him I wished it were me, but they can't bring him back! The surgery's success rate is already towards the low 20s after twelve hours, and he's been dead for over a month!
"There's no reason to hide, James. You're going to come with us one way or another." Like hell I am.
I headed for the back door, planning to sneak away before they could make their way in. I turned the knob and pulled... But it wouldn't budge. They nailed it into the frame from the outside.
From behind me, the woman whispered, "we took the liberty to make this easy for you, James. You get to relax and take a nap, and we get Damien back. Everybody is happy."
| 2018-09-16T18:44:23 | 2018-09-16T16:18:54 | 329 | 147 |
[WP] Your human partner has become suddenly ill. However, you and your circle of mages know that human medicine is vastly different. You have been told to check the most confusing of human medicine texts, WebMD.
|
Cancer. That's the word I keep seeing. Over and over. No matter which of his symptoms I inserted or in what order, it was just that word in every single suggested diagnosis.
Cancer.
At first, I thought, well naturally if this is the most common and obvious answer, it mustn't be too terrible. But a quick search on [Google.com](https://Google.com) set me straight. Low chances of survival. Painful treatments. Potential for return. There was only one thing for me to do.
Stop Cancer.
My first stint of research took me to the stars. From what I could discern from my studies, the illness was governed by a great celestial crab in the sky. Good, I could work with this. Always made more sense to me than microscopes and the whole theory that, somewhere too tiny for us to see, there were tiny animals that lumped together to make large masses of our own bodies that then killed us.
Yeah right. Magical crab made more sense.
Jimmy would be away the weekend after my discovery, so I spent the whole week gathering supplies for my journey.
"Farewell, love!" I called as he pulled out of the parking lot in that great big blue car of his. My heart caught in my throat as I remember how proud he'd been when he brought it home, bragging about its mileage per gallon. It was very sweet and I was, in turn, proud of him for finding such a big car with such low mileage per gallon. My research said that these vehicles would save the world, and isn't that what it's really all about?
Jimmy was always so set on helping the world, a virtue I greatly respected, especially given my reluctance to use my powers for any real, great good. Jimmy was the real deal.
"I'll check in once I get to Mom's," he said through the rolled-down window. "I think she's gonna be fine but I might stay through Sunday if dad has to take the extra shift."
I nodded but didn't prolong the conversation. Gods willing, we'd have plenty of time to chat in the future.
"Just take it easy," I said. "I'll see you soon."
Once back inside, I hurried to the basement where I began throwing the components together to call up the spirit circle. Cancer was an ancient being, so it had to be big.
"I call upon thee, Crab of Stars, Bringer of Tumorous Masses to do battle with me, Alastia Pyraglade!" I shouted as the lights began to whirl around me. The smell of seawater flooded the room, despite us being so landlocked, and my heart swelled. I had this.
A light suddenly flashed so bright I had to shield my eyes.
"**Who summoned the great crab?**" Before my very eyes stood a massive, ancient beast, covered in seaweed and barnacles. "**Who has disturbed my slumber?**"
"I have," I said, tone bold even as I trembled. I hadn't really defeated an old god in a while, and the last time I had my half-sister to help. This time I was on my own. "I have come to challenge you for the soul of my husband, James Pyraglade-Jones!"
The mighty Cancer was silent for a moment before finally speaking. "**I know not this name you speak nor why he may have crossed my awareness.**"
My chest puffed out. "Well, you're going to have to remember, for, according to [WebMD.com](https://WebMD.com), you grip his life in a monstrous claw."
"**What is this false prophet you speak of?**"
I sighed and pulled out my phone, scrolling to the cancer page. "Alright, see that? Yeah, that there."
Cancer took the small device in the aforementioned monstrous claw, surprisingly delicately, and began scrolling.
"**Oh shit.**" He sounded a bit taken aback as he continued reading. "**Shit, man, this sounds serious. Yikes.**" The beast cringed visibly and I knew he'd reached the images. "**Is your husband doing ok?**"
Another sigh, this one sad, escaped my lips. "The coughing has gotten worse. I haven't suggested my diagnosis yet because I was so convinced I could just slay you and free his soul."
"**I'm afraid I must disappoint you,**" Cancer said, eyes still fixed on the screen. "**For I have not- oh jeez, it does what to your colon? Does someone with cancer get it in all these places at once?**"
I nodded. "From what I can tell. It's a little confusingly put together, the pages, but it's extensive. And deadly."
"**Little kids can get it too? Oh my god, that fatality rate, that's...**" For a moment, he was silent. At first, I didn't notice how much he'd been shaking but after another minute or two, it was obvious.
"Are you ok?" I asked, placing a hand on his shell.
"**No, mortal. No, I can't be okay. My name has been slandered, thoroughly run through the mud by this horrible disease that has stolen my name. I have long basked in the glow of hearing the people of this Earth, specifically the youth, praise my name. 'This team is cancer,' they'd say. 'Your singing is cancer.' 'That joke gave me cancer.'"** The whole crab's body deflated. "**Now I know they were speaking in fear of this illness.**"
I hadn't expected this. In a sense, I was relieved that I wouldn't have to fight the crab, but in another sense, I was crushed. How would I save my husband now?
My mind wandered to the lists and lists of full articles explaining the deadly treatments that pelted your body with radiation so much more dangerous than the type that lived in the microwave Jimmy refused to use. Somehow radiation both caused and cured cancer. It was too confusing and I despised it.
Now, that might be Jimmy's only chance. I'd failed here.
"I apologize for summoning you, oh great one," I said, bowing deeply. "It was a waste of your time and all I've done is upset you. My deepest regrets for-"
"**No no no.**" He held up a claw. "**No. We don't leave off like this. I've got a damaged rep, Alastia. I'm not just cool with my name becoming synonymous with this gross affliction.**"
"What are you suggesting?" I asked, fear lacing my words. Would he do battle with me right here and now? Would I fall on this day in some misguided, foolish attempt to save my husband. If he attacked, I'd have to attack back, but my conviction was flagging.
Fortunately, I need not have worried.
"**An alliance**," Cancer said. "**I have a reputation to fix and you have a husband to save. My good name is on the line and I think you have just cause to joined me. From my brief scrolling, I think we can find a way to remove cancer, the illness, from this realm. Thus my name will become synonymous with health and long life.**"
"And I get my husband safe and alive." The words escaped my lips a breathless whisper. This could be my chance not only to bring Jimmy's health back but also to do a great good to the world, the kind my husband had always urged me to use my magic for.
*What good's magic if you don't use it to help people?*
I'd always had a reason, mostly being that the old gods forbade us from using our magic willy-nilly. Now I was being asked to team up with one.
What else could I say?
"I'm in."
___
Read more stories at [r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide](https://www.reddit.com/r/TalesByOpheliaCyanide/)
|
“What’s the matter with him?” I asked, frowning at our human partner, Caleb, who was in the process of retching all over the Wizard’s guild.
Ganthar shrugged, pulling on his long white beard. “He just fell over and started vomiting.”
“Oh, god. That’s disgusting,” Azarick said, starting to gag.
“Someone cast a wind spell!” Ozodus said. “Or we are all going to throw up.”
I slammed open a window. “There,” I said. “No spell needed.”
“What do we do?” asked Ozodus.
“He’s always on this strange device of his. Let’s see if it can help.” I grabbed it and held it up to the light, then said to it: “what causes vomiting in humans?” And the device flipped open to a page of medical advice. Perfect.
“Okay, I said a person named…. *webMD….* that means he is a doctor. This Doctor Web seems to be able to help us.”
“Oh good,” Ozodus said. “Exactly what we need. And what does Doctor Web say to do?”
“Well the good doctor says the most common cause of vomiting is pregnancy. Do you think Caleb is pregnant?” I ask.
“Hmmm,” said Azarick. “His skin has truly been glowing lately.”
“Are we going to be wizard uncles?” Ozodus said, clapping his hands in excitement.
“No, unfortunately, I think his skin glows from the greasy foods he eats,” I said.
“But he has gained quite a bit of weight.” Azarick said. “Especially around the middle.” He said, grabbing his waist.
“Again, it’s the terrible diet. I told him he should stop eating deep-fried whelplings… plus I’m like 85% sure human males can’t get pregnant.”
“That’s unfortunate. Well then what else does the doctor say?”
“The doctor says it could be stress, such as fear.”
“Well, that could make sense.” Ozodus said. “We did just fight that fire dragon and Caleb had to hide in a treasure chest so he wouldn’t be engulfed in flames. That seems stressful.”
I wave them off. “That wasn’t his first dragon fight. He’s done it many times and he didn’t seem phased by it one bit. No that can’t be it.”
I scan the list. “Gallbladder disease… Gasteoparesis… Bowel Obstruction…” I said, running down the list.
“This Doctor Web is confusing!” Ozodus said.
“…brain tumor…” I said.
“*Ohhh,* he has been acting strange!” Azarick said. “I’ve always thought his brain was a little messed up. I bet this brain tumor is exactly what he has. What does Doctor Web say we do?”
“Hmmm,” I said, skimming through the confusing jumble of words. “Here. Here I got it. It says we must cut open his head and remove the tumor.”
“Wow.” Azarick said. “That sounds barbaric.”
“Humans…” Ozodus said.
“Maybe we could do a spell of healing? I know Caleb doesn’t like us casting spells on him. But would he really like us to cut his head open?”
“I think it’s the only way." I said. "Ozodus, grab the wood saw.”
“Will do.”
I picked up Caleb, who is still breathing hard from vomiting and set him in a chair. As I press the saw up to his temple, he opens his eyes in shock.
“Wait,” he screamed. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I’m sorry to tell you, Caleb. But you have a brain tumor and we must remove it immediately. Just sit back. This is going to hurt. Quite a lot.”
“*Wait. Wait. Wait.* What? A brain tumor. I don’t have a brain tumor. I just got sick from eating too many deep-fried whelps.”
I stared at him suspiciously then look at Doctor Web’s list. “Ah, yes. Overeating. I see now. Well… you really need to go on a diet, Caleb. You almost got your head cut off from stuffing your face with those disgusting, greasy whelps.”
He looked at me and I could see the conversation about the greasy whelps set him over the edge, and he fell to floor, vomiting again.
"Open another window!" shouted Ozodus.
\---
r/CataclysmicRhythmic
| 2021-03-29T08:56:51 | 2021-03-29T08:44:49 | 86 | 64 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
I carried a pot in each arm, and was struggling to slide down the muddy banks of the stream, when I heard Youssouf cry out. I turned to look for him, but all I could see was the trickle of water carving through a channel of dirt and rock.
"Yuosouff?" I shouted, "Where are you?"
With my hands full, I tried to walk back up the bank. My foot slipped on a rock, slick with moisture, and one of the pots dropped from my arm, and splashed into the murky water.
I turned to go retrieve it, when I heard Yousouff again. There was something wrong with his voice. It took me a moment to realize *he was crying.*
"No-o-o," came a muffled moan, "No, please. Forgive me."
Back in the sodomite cities, before God's Will leveled them, I heard the moans of men leaving the drinking houses. At first, this is what I believed: that my holy brother Youssouf had been *drinking*.
I clambered to the top of the bank, and I saw him kneeling in the mud by the curve of the river. His robes were dripping with water, and his hands were held up in supplication, like a poor man begs for scraps of food.
In front of him, was a woman. An *uncovered* woman.
I fought back my sinful instincts, and refused to set my eyes upon her. I called out to my brother across the river, like my father used to call to me when I had done wrong, "Youssouf! You sinner! Come here!"
"No!" he moaned, and he planted his hands in the mud, bowing before the whore-woman. She stood proud over him, her tattered, black clothes shifting over her torso, and revealing the sinful sight of skin.
"No," he shouted, "I did not know! Please, forgive me!"
A shock of water lapped at my feet. I took a few steps back.
"Youssouf! Get away from that whore!" I shouted, "God will not forgive you!"
I stomped my foot, and splashed my robes with water. *Water*.
The stream was rising. Across the stream I watched Youssouf clutch at the woman's shredded clothing, tears running down his face. His body shook with tremors. Despite the rising water, he did not move from the stream, and the bottom of his robe was transparent with water.
"Please, please forgive us!" he clawed at his hair, at his chest, "Please forgive *me!*"
The woman's face was stone. Her black hair was a beacon of darkness in the noonday sun, and her lips barely moved when she talked, though I could hear every word.
"You have blasphemed the Birthplace of the Gods. You have dragged the name of the Queen of Egypt through the mud."
And then, her clothes lifted to reveal the bronzed, *naked* form beneath - for they were not clothes at all, but the *wings* of a vast, black bird.
"Heathens!" She screeched, and I clapped my hands over my ears, "You will all know the true name of the Queen of Egypt! You will fear to drink of her waters, lest she drown you in your own filth!"
"Youssouf," I called out, "Stand up and come to me!"
There was a distant booming, as a flood of water made it's way down the channel.
"God, forgive me. God, *forgive me!*" Youssouf moaned, as the water lapped at his torso. He was kneeling still, like his legs were sealed to the ground.
"For all you have done, God may forgive you," the woman seethed, "But *Isis* will not."
A thundering torrent of water slammed against the curve of the bank, and swallowed Youssouf alive.
***
If you liked this, you should check out my other stories on /r/PSHoffman.
|
The President, the joint chiefs of staff, several different D.O.D members and some individuals from agencies you don't have the clearance to know about sat in the situation room in various states of shock and disbelief. After several awkward, quiet minutes, the President cleared his throat and began to speak.
"...Well...I mean...there's *worse* ways to discover the existence of the Kingdom of Atlantis."
"We they throwing ***SHARKS?***"
| 2016-01-29T06:58:52 | 2016-01-29T06:30:49 | 140 | 10 |
[WP] A small village becomes fearful of a dragon that has taken residence near them. The dragonslayer they hired runs back to the village after the first day and begins rapidly packing his things. "It's not the dragon that you should be afraid of" He says. "It's the thing its protecting you from."
|
"What lies behind in that cave is a far greater threat to your souls than the Dragon protecting it, heed my advice and simply leave this valley."
Skol Drakesbane continues packing his bag, keen to be gone from this place, a look of sour disappointment on his face. He came back from the mountain less than six hours after leaving, handed the boots we had given him as payment back to the Ealdorman, and told us calmly that he would not be killing the beast for us. Bjorn Halfdan had accused him of cowardice and received a broken arm in response.
"It's asleep, and once dragons sleep they stay that way for a hundred years or more. By the time that Dragon awakens your people can have moved far away from here".
In truth the Dragonslayer hadn't looked afraid at all, but simply annoyed to be returning his prize, his own boots rotten and degraded. Even as we begged him to stay and fight he was asking the Ealdorman about further work in the nearby towns.
"But you have to kill it Drakesbane, what happens when it decides to come for our flock with fire and claws?!" I said to him.
Without turning away from the Ealdorman he replied in a dismissive manner.
"Only Red Dragons steal sheep and cattle, this one isn't red" he said as he slung his bag over his back and made for the village border.
"What of our women and children, we've nought to protect ourselves" I called after him, trying to keep up with his long strides.
"That's Black Dragons, this one's not black. Besides I told you, the only safe course now is to leave this valley. There's more that will destroy you than just a dragon here" he replied as he quickened his pace.
I broke out into a short run, desperate for answers, one final question on my heart.
"But what if it decides to burn us out to claim the valley as it's own, don't dragons hate humans for chopping trees and hunting game?".
He finally stopped, and turned to me with an annoyed expression. He drops his bag and crosses the distance between us and grabs me by the shoulders.
"That's Green dragons, this one isn't green! I've given you what you need to know, if you make the wrong choice now that's on you. There's good land all around you and no one for miles, why you'd want to stay in a valley with a harmless Gold..."
He stopped short, his eyes furious, his body tense, he looks at me with murder in his eyes. Pulling his knife from it's sheath, he holds it against my neck so close a drop of blood spills from my throat, running down the length of the blade and dripping onto the snowy floor. His grip on my shoulder is so hard I nearly scream from the pain, but the intensity in his eyes keeps me rooted in silence.
"I've told you too much villager, the smart thing for me to do would be to kill you now so you don't reveal what I have said to the rest of them. Yes it would be the easiest way. But there's no honour in killing unarmed peasants in the cold winter snow. So listen to me carefully. What it protects will destroy your very soul, your humanity, not just your bodies. Heed my advice and leave. Do not reveal what I have told you here, and when they ask about the Dragon tell them I said it is no danger as long as they leave, you owe me this life debt, now go!"
He threw me to the ground and stood over me until I scrabbled to my feet and ran back to the village. I ran in terror and confusion, I've never even heard of a Gold Dragon, why should I be so afraid of them. I ran until I got home, bursting through the door so fast I tripped and fell into my brother sitting in his chair. He pushed me to the ground and stood over me, demanding to know why I was so scared.
"Oh brother, we may be in more trouble than we thought. The Dragonslayer says we have to leave Jarnabad. He will not kill the Dragon, he says it's hiding something dangerous, he told me I couldn't tell you why. We need to tell the Ealdorman".
My brother picked me up and held me steady. Older, calmer and wiser, he had always been the rock of our family.
"Calm down Torsten. What did he say exactly, I know you're afraid, but Drakesbane is gone, he can't hear you from outside the village. We've shared everything we've ever had brother, tell me, what did he tell you".
"He said that It was a Gold dragon, and that what it hid was more dangerous than fire and claws. I believe him brother, we should leave."
My brothers eyes widened when he heard it was a gold dragon, his grip on my arms tightened, but he quickly relaxed.
"You're right brother, but it's late and the Ealdorman is in council. Get some rest and we will see him in the morning.
He leads me to the bed and I'm asleep before I hit the pillow, exhausted now that the adrenaline rushing through my veins has gone. I have frightful dreams of anger and horror, of madness and sorrow. I see my brother's face twisted in insanity, laughing and howling. He stands over me with black eyes, blood dripping from his mouth, he screams to me in words I cannot understand.
I wake with a scream, my body bathed in cold sweat, my breathing rapid and fearful. I look over to my brother and see that he is gone, as are his boots and his coat. Whatever is in that cave has taken him, I know it. I grab my boots and coat and run out the door, dismayed to see tracks in the snow leading from our house towards the mountain. I take off up the path in a sprint, following the trail to the cave in the foothills.
I arrive in the cave mouth, my lungs screaming and my feet in agony. I call out my brothers name but hear no answer. I move into the cave, passing around the corner and into the large space inside the mountain. I freeze in place when I see what is inside. I see a large Golden Dragon, asleep on an enormous pile of gold and jewellery, taller than the village church. Thousands upon thousands of coins, chalices, rings, necklaces and silverware, with the beast sleeping in peace at the top. More money than anyone in our village had ever seen, could ever spend in a lifetime. In front of the pile stands my brother, looking away from me. I move over to his side, calling his name as I do so.
"Ivar, thank Frynja you are ok. Come we have to..."
I am cut short by the blade penetrating my lungs, the air bursts out of my chest, blood streams out of my mouth. My brother looks at me with a wild look in his eyes, a faint smile upon his mouth.
"It is mine, brother, it is all mine..."
|
May the 1st
The snow hasn’t melted yet, and a dragon appeared in the north this morning, horse sized, Gabriella says it is a female eagle dragon. Eagle dragons come from further north though, we don’t know why it has left it’s feeding grounds, they aren’t supposed to be found this far south. The council is going to discuss harvesting it.
May the 2nd
It snowed this morning, I never get sick of seeing pure white clean streets at first rooster caw. The council decided to harvest it, the dragons hide and skull will sell well for the village. Mages also pay top coin for other parts.
May the 3rd
The village men have gathered together and will go hunt the dragon today, I wis I could join but father said no. Gabriella and I have decided we will sneak with the group and watch the battle from a hiding spot.
May the 3rd again
The men have decided to camp for the night since it started to snow again, heavily. We’ve gone on and found the perfect spot to watch the battle unseen.
The dragon spotted us though, odly it didn’t do anything. I never knew how beautiful they were, the dragon seemed to glow in the night, like a faint star. It was hard to sleep because this dragon was brighter than moonlight.
May the 4th
Well, the dragon won to say the least.. no one even got hurt. Their swords simply missed. It seems the men retreated after becoming too exhausted. I believe they plan on sending Hunth
May the 7th
Hunth, the famous dragon slayer left this morning... the villagers are preparing a cart for the dragon carcass. They say Hunth has killed over 6 dragons!
May the 17th
Why would a dragon, a creature hunted by us, our prey want to protect us?
Why would the chicken save the fox?
Hunth returned today, white as a ghost and shaking with fear.
The dragon stays. Do not hurt it. Don’t let them past her. Don’t let them in. Don’t let them see us.
He hasn’t been the same. He won’t go anywhere without a candlelight, he chooses to sleep outside during the day.
June the 20th
Hunth still sleeps outside, but it’s taking a toll on his body. And his psyche, he keeps shouting about nighttime, I’m not afraid of the dark like he is though. Who knew dragon slayers could be afraid of the dark
November 10th
The days are getting very short now and Hunth is screaming at night. The council has decided that he must move on and stop disturbing out sleep.
November 29th
Today is the last day that we will see the sun, Hunth is quiet now, but the mumbles people overheard at the bar seemed odd.
Shadows, darkness, shadows, darkness. We don’t know what it means.
November 30th
The dragon has moved into the middle of our central square, glowing quite brightly, as if it ate 10 moons. Hunth has made a straw pile nearby and seems odly calm. He strikes out at anyone who gets too close to the dragon.
December 10th
I now know why the chicken protects the fox. Man will kill them both.
The dragon protects us from the darkness. Never let light slip from your touch. The shadow takes those void of light. The dragon is our moonlight.
And we protect her from those who seek her hide.
| 2019-12-31T05:38:57 | 2019-12-31T05:11:08 | 275 | 88 |
[WP] You're immortal. The only problem is, you've lived so long humanity died out and a new intelligent species evolved. You are now forced to live in the forest as a cryptid
I know this is a repost, I just want to read more stories about this prompt
Credit to u/Not-Alpharious for the original prompt.
|
Outcast
“Aw gee,” I said, running my fingers through the matted brown hair atop my head. “Aw, yeh got’chur-self in a real silly of a pickle dere, champ.”
The *felinus sapiens* looked up at me and, in the strange mewling language of theirs, replied “Holy shit!”
“Yeh, I get dat a lot,” I said. I pulled my ancient and tattered Green Bay Packers ball cap out of my back pocket and stepped down into the dry creek bed. The last remnants of autumn clung to the finger-like branches far above us. “Got’chur-self all caught up in dat snare, huh?”
I reached cautiously towards the much smaller cat-person and gently stroked on forepaw. That always seemed to calm them.
“What the fuck are you?!” The cat-person screeched at me, its voice bounding and bouncing through the deep woods.
“I’m one-a dem what’cha call ‘humans,’ pal,” I said. I kept my voice as calm as I knew how. “Last one left, far as I know.”
“A hu-man?!” The cat-person said. “Those things aren’t real! They’re just myths!”
“Oh we were real alright,” I said. I paced around the little guy trying to figure out to set him free without losing an arm in the bargain. “Me, my folks, Vince Lombardi - all of were real.”
“We’ll - but - my teacher …”
“Oh, yah, sure, your teacher. Yah. I betcha they said humans were just some old stories your ancestors made up to explain the weather and such. Right?” There rope holding the cat-person was thick enough it wouldn’t just tear. I’d have to cut it but that would put me in striking distance of those paws.
“Yes! That’s exactly what they told me!”
“Yah, sure,” I said as I eyed up that rope. It’d take me at least a couple of minutes to cut through it with the small knife I was carrying. But I really didn’t want to go back and try to get an axe.
“Felines evolved as the apex predator on Earth,” the cat-person said. “We conquered the continents and beat the hordes of the canines in ancient history. Humans were just stories.”
“Oh no,” I said. “No, we was real. Built a bunch a cities. Invented jets and phones. Made cheese. We kept cats as pets. Dogs too, now that I think of it. ‘Course some folks kept the more exotics. Horses or, like, tigers. I don’t know. I never kept pets myself. Had a cousin that had a lizard though.”
“Well - then - why aren’t there any more of you around, huh? And - and why are you still here if there all gone?” The cat-person - more of a kitten-kid, if I’m honest - was really thinking he’d outsmarted me there.
“Cause most ‘ems dead, don’tcha know,” I said. “Rest of ‘em fucked off to outer space. Left me here on my lonesome! As to why I’m not dead - well, I don’t know. Just kept living. Never died. Saw your people start evolving and watched ‘em. My money was originally on the dogs but dey didn’t last.”
“Because we’re stronger and smarter.”
“God no,” I said. “No, dogs just didn’t have the heart after all the people left. Fight just went out of ‘em. Your people killed ‘em when most of those poor dogs didn’t even put up a fight. It was like mercy killin’ dere at the end.”
There was nothing for it. I was going to have to get close enough to cut that rope. His claws couldn’t get through it and there was no way I was giving him my knife.
“Alrighty den,” I said. “Listen, I’m gonna try to get’cha free. But de only ways I can do dat is if I cut the rope. But to cut da rope I gotta get in close. You gonna take a swipe at me, I step in range?”
“I, uh, guess not.”
“Ok, ‘cause if ya do, I’m gonna beat’cha. And I’ll have my knife out so dere’s a good chance I’ll stick ya. You stay calm do, we both go home. You understand me?”
“Uh, sure?”
Anyways, I cut the little guy loose and heard him screaming most of the way home. Guess I’ve gotta find a new place to live now. Bunch cats gonna show up and shit all over everything.
|
\[Poem\]
Disappear into the trees,
“Humanity, your time’s up.”
Invincible to cryptid in the hollowest of triumphs.
***​
Birthdays by the thousand
No need for announcements
Minutes to centuries
Stopped bothering to count them.
​
Then better flesh occurred;
Fused with metal, wire nerves.
They, angry at what they learned of us,
I, a scapegoat to be burned.
​
I vanished in the trees,
“Humanity, your time’s up!”
The hunted’s hunted once again
Rich in time, but poor in luck.
​
But as they sought to destroy me
The trees they cut took sympathy
As searches fruitlessly unfolded
The countless wounds bore fruit…for me.
​
“Let Wood and Flesh unite,” they sing
Solid oak fights raw machine
Birthday chorus starts to ring
As I turn one-with all that’s green.
***​
Disappear into the trees,
“Humanity, your time’s come.’”
Cryptid to victor in the greenest of rise-ups.
| 2021-08-11T10:43:39 | 2021-08-11T09:52:37 | 129 | 37 |
[WP] Scientists discover that we live inside of a computer simulation. They also discover DLC and cheat codes.
|
The first code to hit the internet was Infinite Lives and it immediately caused a rash of suicides, car chases, and monumental acts of daring filmed by spectators and uploaded to Youtube. My brother Ness was among the first in Toronto to try and climb the CN Tower with his bare hands, only to fall barely a hundred meters into the ascent. Poor bastard didn't have the Invicibility code yet, and suffered three humiliating weeks of respawning with 10% Health only to die of his injuries again and again, repeating the cycle every fifteen agonizing minutes.
By the time Invincibility leaked and he was released from the hospital, the world was chaos and confusion. Most of the internet was shut down, key servers in the States unplugged to prevent DLC Torrents from spreading, but the damage was already done. Thousands flew across the skies, dozens dropping to the pavement from slamming into buildings or going too high and losing oxygen; the Breathing Underwater code was out, but not the No Air Required cheat.
I picked my brother up from the hospital in my beige Pontiac Aztec, Anti-Gravity Cheat enabled. Tires spinning, we flew north while I caught him up on the news, barely out of the city when the DLC hit. All of Toronto and another three hundred square miles were overwritten by a Desert Canyon patch that erased eight million lives in the blink of an eye.
Ness was horrified but I took it in stride. "That's maybe the hundredth city this week," I informed him. "Everyone will respawn eventually. Paris DLCs were downloaded on top of ten cities in India, complete with duplicate Parisians, and there's a new continent in the middle of the Pacific that's an exact duplicate of Germany. Nobody is claiming responsibility for anything, but the President said it was Anonymous Terrorists. Then D.C. got nuked, redownloaded by Government Mods, and nuked again; I'd stay away from the whole East Coast if I were you."
"I need more codes," Ness grumbled, eyeing the thousand-foot-high Viking stomping across the horizon. "It's not fair that everyone else has more than me."
I couldn't help but laugh. "Everyone has Infinite Money and it's made money obsolete; I tried buying a yacht last week and found out it was easier to steal one. It's not about having as many cheats as possible, it's about having the best ones. Here, take my Cheat Code list, pick and choose which ones you want."
"You have a yacht and you picked me up in an Aztec?"
"...It took too many Hadokens in a battle above Lake Eerie," I confessed. "It was shielded from physical attacks but not magical ones. Lesson learned, right?"
"So where are we headed?" he wondered, studying my list of codes.
"Greenland. I found a collective that's building a few thousand spaceships, we're heading off planet ASAP, I got us spots on the USS Enterprise. Well, one of the Enterprises anyways. The fewer people are around us, the safer we'll be."
Below us the landscape shimmered and changed from a snowy forest into a tropical archipeligo, twenty thousand islands running to every horizon, each one ringed by sublime beaches.
"Will there even be a Greenland by the time we get there?" Ness asked, entering the Weapons Pack 2 code. Twenty loaded guns spawn into the air (and through my windshield) around us, dropping on the dashboard, our laps, and the backseat.
"Most of Greenland is being run by Minecrafters, so they've put up a good defense. But there's no way of knowing until we get there."
Punching in the code for Invisibility, Ness suddenly vanished, his voice echoing from the open air as a gun floated off the floor to point straight at me. "Remember that time you slept with my ex-girlfriend Mandy?"
There's no room for hesitation anymore, and no allowances for inconvenience. I hit a button on the steering wheel and activate the ejection seat, flinging Ness from the van to leave him falling in my wake. I'm glad he can't fly yet and disappointed that he's chosen petty revenge, but so be it. I'm a Level 70 Rogue now, and it's beneath me to take shit from a Level 2 n00b, even if he is my brother.
If all goes according to plan, I'll be wearing a Master Chief skin and flying past the moon before nightfall, my trusty PokeDragon at my hip ready to unleash hell at the slightest provocation. This is how the world ends, not with a wimper or a bang, but in a mass PvP orgy. I just hope I can make it to Greenland in time.
|
"So, up, down, left left, right right...B?"
"No, A. Press the A key instead."
The two scientists had worked together all their lives, and never once did they think they'd be huddling around a computer, inputting something as ridiculous as video game cheat codes into their computer.
"Okay...B. So...what did that one do?"
The two scientists step out of their office and look outside. Not a single soul is around.
"No, is this? ...It can't be."
"What is it, sir?"
The two of them ran off back into the office.
"I have to see if...if my hypothesis is true."
It was. On the screen, a simple statement is flashing, a statement that struck a deep fear into the scientists, one they had never felt before. It was a statement that none of us ever wanted to read again, but there it was, staring us in the face, waiting for our inevitable response:
HUMAN BEINGS DLC PACK 1
$14.99
| 2014-02-06T13:04:44 | 2014-02-06T08:42:34 | 46 | 15 |
[WP] The hero disappears overnight, and the only one who looks is the villain. Not their "friends", not their family, not the news reporters or any of the people who claim to love them. Just the villain.
|
>**SILAS AND THE SEVEN SPRINGS**
“Begone, you wretch!”
Silas had heard that phrase so many times. Such was the life of an orphan- an orphan, and foreigner, at that. Doubly cursed, since the day he had escaped the chains of his slave master. He was young when he had been sold into slavery- too young. Then, when he escaped, he found that there were no support systems to help him. There was no food to be found- not while it was all hoarded onto the tables of the wealthy.
Silas survived by fleeing from one country to the next, stealing and sneaking through every miserable night, only hoping to survive.
That was when he found the book- the turning point in his life. The catalyst of his ascension.
Some wealthy dignitary had hired a Collegium Wizard to write a basic primer on magic for his children. It fell from his pack, as he left an expensive tavern one night, stumbling and drunk.
Silas had been hiding in the dark, hoping for an opportunity to steal into the tavern’s cellar- instead, he collected the fallen book, originally thinking to sell it for a few spare coins- but when he read its contents, he was mesmerized. The elite class kept the secrets of magic close to their chest- so close it may as well have been their own beating hearts. It was their one sure ticket to ensure control over their slaves and working class.
Their secrets were now *in Silas’s hands*.
Not knowing what else to do, Silas continued to steal, and practice magic- eventually, he combined the two practices, and he began to steal more, and better. He made complicated games, confidence schemes- tricking merchants out of their money by promising great returns on investments and things of that nature. Silas learned how to talk as they did, how to move like he had been born into wealth.
The first step of this, curiously, was to steal expensive clothes.
Eventually, Silas caught wind of a very illustrious party being held, and he stole inside. He shook many hands, memorized each and every face. Silas told them I was a traveling dignitary, waiting for his father to die so he could take his inheritance.
The nobles ate the story up, and why wouldn’t they? It was exciting, and Silas had every outward flourish that marked him as one of *them*- all except for the fierce anger which kept his blood moving. They would never see that side of him- not until he decided he no longer needed them.
For a time, things went well- he secured a lavish apartment, and began tutoring rich brats in magic, for an exorbitant fee, while using his new connections to acquire more knowledge.
It was only after Silas’s first duel that he learned that the nobles studied magic very casually- or, perhaps, they did not possess the fortitude necessary to become skilled at magic, as evidenced by how easy his first duel went.
Silas had, mostly by accident, offended some pompous old man. He had barely noticed until the duel had already begun.
Silas’s opponent had barely conjured a few licks of flame before he was ripped in half with a temporal vortex. With that, Silas’s stature was cemented as a skilled, cunning man of high pedigree.
Everything was progressing according to Silas’s grand plans...
Then the self-proclaimed ‘hero’ came. In all fairness, they did seem to walk the walk. Perhaps they did deserve the title.
Silas didn’t end up bumping into them at any parties, so he paid a local footpad for an intelligence report.
Hali, short for Halibaba, was the consummate picture of a ‘hero’. She served the Lords, the upper class, the Kings. She ensured ‘order’, and served faithfully.
Apparently she never had any reason to think that she was *empowering oppressors*.
She was alleged to be skilled with both magic and metal, but skilled warriors were common enough that Silas hadn’t had a reason to investigate this hero any further. She seemed very unlikely to ever become a threat to Silas’s plans.
Her reputation grew over the coming months, and it seemed that she was settling into Rayben City on a more permanent basis, so Silas had his operative keep him up to date on their actions, along with some of the other notables within the city.
He learned that Hali had begun to use her accumulated wealth for setting up soup kitchens and other infrastructure to lessen the terrible conditions the peasantry had to deal with. Silas was impressed- but still did not deign to make her acquaintance.
Then the day came that Halibaba seemed to have gotten word of Silas’s plans- how she did it, he didn’t know. Perhaps the damage to Silas’s operation were merely *incidental*- but the damage was very real.
Every key procurement was delayed, canceled, or sunk in the harbor, and every time, the fault, one way or another, came down to Halibaba.
Silas considered having her killed- but her combat prowess was well-known, and it would certainly raise eyebrows if there was a failed assassination attempt on the hero. It would mark that she was doing something right- and Silas could not afford to be outed just yet.
After a few weeks, Silas formulated a plan to cripple the hero’s efficiency- remove the gold in her coffers, make her fall from favor, and she would not be able to operate with even half of her current strength.
His plan was thwarted, and, in turn, one of Silas’s assets, an old warehouse, was burned to the ground.
Perhaps the hero *did* know who Silas was, after all.
The two began a quiet war- trading blow for blow, learning to hate each other, yet having never even seen the other's face.
Then, one day, the attacks stopped. Everything returned to operating as smoothly as it ever had- and Silas soon learned why.
“Good sir,” began the footpad as he entered Silas’s apartment. “I bring news that I am sure you will love.”
Silas had always struggled to remain composed in front of this footpad. His smile was as insincere as a cobra’s, his every word was coated with a toxic honey. Silas knew that if the footpad thought he could get away with it, he would have cut Silas’s throat and tossed him into the harbor without a moment’s hesitation, even if all he gained from it was a single bent copper coin.
Silas could very easily have become this person, if he hadn’t escaped his enslavement as quickly as he had.
“What news?” Silas asked, turning away. He was experimenting with an ancient form of alchemy, and could not be bothered to abandon it for the likes of him.
“The Hero is gone.”
------------------------------
**CONT'D**
|
When you are making your way through the dark, bumping into something can be terrifying if you are stupid, but clarifying if you are trying to understand where things are. With her gone, I’ll be walking in the dark forever.
I started with the family, the awful mutts. Give her this, whatever she was it was a hundred times bigger than where she started. The god damned litter of ewes her mother brought up weren’t even aware she was gone. In this part of town they could name a street whatever they want, but rather than name one after her they just let the signs fall over. I showed up on the doorstep expecting blame, fear and loathing, or mockery at the least. Coming around like a jilted prom date. But they didn’t even know who I was. The mother asked if I wanted to buy any collectibles from her childhood. The sad sacks are selling off useless crap without a second thought to her whereabouts. Why doesn’t this feel better? The times I dreamed of watching them weep for her, replaced with their cheap roadside huckstery.
When did I know? When I didn’t bump into a single thing that night. I don’t like jobs that go off without a problem. Problems tell you things about the world. Problems help you see what works, or what rips your spine out if you are a half second slow following directions, Terrance. She always found a flaw in my approach. And if she didn’t, she’d barrel onto the scene with enough force to test whatever resistance I had. Last night went off like a coffee machine. Boring as hell. A real nice dark cup of mediocrity in the morning. Tasted like ashes in my mouth.
The news tells you a lot more when you know what really happened. Always a treat to hear the speculation, the accusations, the hearty indignation after a big win. The spin. Somehow they can always make it feel like everything that happens is part of a system. Even systems have broken parts, errors, imperfections. But today the news doesn’t have a story. The system fucking crashed last night, and best anyone can tell you, a big part of it is missing today. But the news this morning is a system that didn’t ever have last night. I am not winning, she’s not losing. The system isn’t responding.
It might sound strange to you, but what could I say that wouldn't seem strange to you? Her absence was worse than she ever could be. We started an argument ten years ago, a trial, a fucking inquisition in public! I invested everything in the outcome, prepared for battle, anticipated every rebuttal, and now she just left the room. Did I fucking win? No. Did I fucking lose? No. So where are we? I can’t start this conversation all over again. I’ve already explained myself to her, I know what pushes her buttons. I will lose or die trying but you don’t send me to purgatory. Hell, or a heaven of my own making. That was the deal, those were the stakes.
Now how do I move forward? What if that dark room you're in doesn’t have anything in it, best that you can tell? Walking in every direction, reaching out blindly, never hearing a thing. Would you stay put, or start running? What would I do? I am gonna find her.
| 2021-12-28T18:13:43 | 2021-12-28T17:48:19 | 311 | 106 |
[WP] You are a superhero, but you would really rather just live a peaceful life. So you fight every superpowered person in your home city, hero and villain alike, until they finally leave or die. Your home city is the safest around, but still you have been declared one of the worst villains alive.
|
87. Eighty-seven dead "Supers". Hero, villain, new, old. It didn't matter. They left, or I killed them.
It was always the same story. The Super shows up, announces his presence and claims they are here for one reason or another. "I'm here to flush out a villain"
"I will uproot this stupid hierarchy" "I will make you all pay for destroying nature" "this city now belongs to me" blah blah fucking blah.
I get a call, or I see them in the air, or on a new tree, or on a pile of blown up cars. I don't even bother changing. No stupid costume, no useless 8 inch mask, not even a balaclava. I step forward, and meet whoever is present.
The first 20 would smile. They would sit there, smirk, and attempt to mock or make their reasoning. I would interrupt.
"Leave or Die. Choose."
It wasn't until after my kill count was well in the twenties that someone took up the leave offer.
The ones that stayed fought like it was a game, some stupid power-dick measuring contest. Started off with some generic blasts or a punch as subtle as a firework display. I did the only winning move possible. I didn't play. Dodge the first attack, hit them hard, hit them fast. Some would survive, and those would learn quickly. I did not joke, did not play, and certainly didn't care how the fight looked. So they would try to fight the way I do. It never really works for them. Fighting dirty, throwing your hardest, fastest move every time, not letting them recover, and best of all, not telegraphing every attack like it's a fucking boss battle. Not a word from me, no cocked back punches, no charging up blasts, none of it. They can't handle it.
When they finally got hurt to the point they couldn't fight back, they would lock eyes and ask why, every single time. I always gave the same answer. The same statement I said every, single, time I killed one.
"No heroes, no villains. I won't allow any in Leverend Metropolis."
I was called a villain, just so they could lump me up somewhere. Tell that to the cops. They will tell you otherwise. Leverend Metropolis hasn't had any large scale destruction of property, mass casualties, or large scale crimes since I started intervening. People know my face, know my name, know the people I love and care about. It doesn't matter. They all live in Leverend, and to take them without revealing themselves is a challenge none were capable of doing.
Recently I got a call. Phase-something was spotted flying into Leverend. Same old same old.
When I got to him, I expected a monologue. What I got instead was a half-ghost guy in a full blown panic.
"L-Look, I know this-this-this is your t-town and all, b-but my daughter-"
"Leave, or D- wait... What?"
I had seen just about every type of Super just shy of this one. They always knew I show up. Most of them would at least pretend to look confident, if not slightly rattled. This guy was a full blown mess. Costume tattered, hair all over the place, barely even present, in more ways than one. And he took one look at me and borderline shit himself.
"I'm not here to cause t-t-trouble I just, flew here as fast as I could, please, she's gonna die"
"Who?"
"My daughter, she's been stabbed here, in this city, I-I-I, she's all I have left, I can't lose her. I'll leave immediately after, I'll change out, I'll do anything, but please, I can't lose her."
I stared. Eyes locked on. If it wasn't for the fact that he is a sobbing, bleeding, chaotic trainwreck, I might have disregarded what he had to say. The only reason I kill supers, the only reason this city has thrived, is because I simply want the peace and quiet that doesn't come with Supers openly running about the Metropolis. Killing him means a citizen may actually die, but letting him live... Means... Means broadcasting an exception to my rule.
I certainly have heard of friends and family of Supers moving to Leverend before. Hell, it's practically "how not to get held hostage by borderline gods in tights" rule number 1. But why was his daughter not with- you know what, nevermind. Best not to think that hard about it.
"...Fuck it. Come with me, police stations first. Do you know where she is?"
If there ever was a look of genuine relief and joy, this guy absolutely had it. Or he was a movie star or spy when he wasn't in costume.
"Y-yes, I know where it is"
"Good. Give them the statement, I'll have a medic there in 5 minutes tops."
If you live in Leverend Metropolis, a Super should be your last worry. Because Uriel is, has, and will be there to stop them.
|
Has it been that through every ounce of good I’ve brought I simultaneously bring destruction? I lift and pull impossible tons of weight, I defy odds. I am what every person wishes to be and still I feel small. It’s all in a days work to be a hero. I chase and fight the crime simple humans could never imagine trying. Yet, when I look around I crave the simplicity they possess. I crave to be normal. Or at least what’s normal to them.
I heard a girl saying the other day how she bombed her math test. I saw a tear leave her eye as her mother hugged her and said “you are good enough, you will be okay”. To me that is heroic in itself. To comfort one another when we feel defeated, oh how easy it must be to love. If so why is this world so cruel? Why must I keep defeating villain after villain? If there’s some amount of good then there must be evil, but I think without me there wouldn’t be good. Or maybe even in the bad there will still be good without me. Or perhaps I am the bad that motivated others to be good. Killing people because I deem it fit for the greatest good isn’t inherently a good thing. Yet, it’s a calling nonetheless. I will wear my suit and perform impossible feats every day of my life. Although sometimes I’d rather lay on the ground and stare at the world around me. I’d rather be an observer, I’d rather fail a test to have a mother comfort me. I’d rather be imperfect than good at the impossible so that I felt inspired.
I wish.. I wasn’t the villain of my own story.
| 2022-10-03T12:54:01 | 2022-10-03T09:54:31 | 214 | 40 |
[WP] After sarcastically complaining to God for the 1000th time he drags you to heaven and offers to let you run things for a day to see how the world really works. At the end of your first day he comes back to find the universe a finely tuned machine of excellence.
|
"See Steve, what did I tell you, being God isn't as easy as... Sweet Baby Me..."
God was aghast, seated atop his marble dais were Steve and the devil. And they were laughing.
"Seriously?!" Steve chuckled. "He's darned them all to heck for worshipping a Furby? Wow, that's rough! Look, Luke, we'll have to continue this conversation another time, but this has been amazing. Keep in touch."
With a demonic chortle and a parting puff of smoke, Lucifer was gone, leaving God and Steve alone in the echoing antechamber. With no regard for the Big G, Steven Smith promptly picked up a piece of paperwork and began scratching down scrawls with stunning calligraphy. For the first time in eternity, God was taken aback.
"You were talking to LUCIFER?" he spluttered. "Do you realise how much trouble he's caused?! What on My Green Earth could you two possibly be talking about?!"
Steven didn't even look up from his paperwork. "Soul Reformation Program" he said simply.
"Soul... What?"
"Soul Reformation Program" Steve repeated. "Hell is seriously overpopulated, have you seen the numbers? Lucifer was basically begging me to take some of these poor saps off his hands. I mean, look at this guy."
Steve finally stopped scratching on the paper and turned it around to face God. On the paper was a picture of a smiling middle-aged man next to a small paragraph of text. God conjured a pair of reading glasses and picked up the paper.
"Greg Burns" he began. "Middle-aged entrepreneur, wife, 2 children, both adopted. Investor and volunteer firefighter, has spent most of his life and money building and running an orphanage... He seems nice enough, what's he in for?"
"Died in a fire" said Steve.
"Died in a... Hang on, that's not one of the rules!"
With great effort, Steve pulled a large dusty tome out from somewhere unseen, and dumped it onto the dais with a heavy thud. With a grunt, he turned the cover and began flicking through the pages.
"Ah, here it is." Steve stopped on a page. "Page 347, section C. And if ye should succumb to the flame, thou shalt burn for all eternity."
"I didn't mean that literally" said God. "And I didn't even put that one in the final draft. How the deuce did this Greg fellow slip through the cracks?"
"You've got to be careful G," cautioned Steve. "Luke's got an army of lawyers down there, people like Greg end up in hell far more often then you'd think. And this is just one problem. Take a look at Earth right now: political bedlam, wars, cancer-"
"I've been working on that one," God interrupted. "We've made great strides, but you've got to be careful with that sort of thing. I help those who help the-"
"Fixed it," said Steve, who stood up from the desk and began collecting his things. "At least I think so. I talked to some of the doctors up here and they said they'd had a cure for a while, but they had no way of fast-tracking it. I've inserted the idea into the dreams of some of the physicians back on Earth so we'll see what happens."
"But that's..." God paused, and let Steve's solution sink in. "Actually pretty good..."
Steve finished gathering his things together, pulled on his coat, and started towards the golden gates of the antechamber's entrance. God leaned heavily upon his marble dais, and looked down at Greg Burn's smiling face once more.
"God," said Steve, stopping at the archway. "I know I'm overly critical, but if you'll allow me, I'd like to make one suggestion. I promise, it will be my last."
God looked up from the paper, met Steve's eye, and gave a gentle nod of his omnipotent head. When Steve finally found the right words, they were filled with uncharacteristic solemnity.
"You could benefit from a human perspective."
|
"How'd you do it?" God asked in a quiet and amazed voice.
"Ya know all those different books with their warnings of Apocalypse?"
"Yeah. They're all ridiculous, I would never do such things to people."
"I created one apocalyptic event from every major religion of the world."
"WHY?"
"I read 'The Prince' in high school. Plus I fixed all the laws of nature to be programmed in binary."
"But I am God, not a computer."
"Ah, I forgot. I also read 'The Last Answer' last week and it just popped into my head."
" You did well Evan. I'm impressed."
"Actually, it's Bruce..."
| 2017-03-05T02:28:32 | 2017-03-05T02:14:30 | 407 | 15 |
[WP] Humans have become known as the peaceful, wise and rational Vulcan-esque species in the galactic community, which is highly confusing and frankly disturbing to humanity since as a species hardly anything had actually changed
|
The silicoid lifeform's orifice moved with a sound like two bricks sliding together.
"We seek the human known as the Hospitable Sage."
That was the moment I learned the hard way that inhaling freshly brewed espresso is a very bad idea. After the coughing subsided, I looked back at the rock-like being standing on the other side of the bar.
"The what now?"
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
OK, maybe I should back up a little. My name is John Stevens. I was one of the first Humans to leave Earth. After First Contact, I chomped at the bit to get out into the Universe, see what was there. As it turns out, what is out there is a lot more of the same. Politics, religion, ambition, ideology, plain pig-headed stupidity... the list goes on. Perhaps we should take some comfort in that some things are truly universal. But I digress.
So, after having travelled most of the known universe, first as a dogsbody, later as a cook and quartermaster, I decided to settle down. I found a little spot near the spaceport on the moon listed as Delta Serpentis II C in human logs, something utterly unpronounceable to the natives, and opened a pub. It was a lot of work. Finding furniture that would work for a wide variety of species was an adventure, hiring someone who knew how to cast brass was a chore, and I still haven't met a Drevari who could cook a sausage roll to save their life. But, somehow, after seven journeys and eight sorrows, it happened, and we opened "Spacer's Rest".
And it's been good. Pretty much everyone who drifts through the port ends up here sooner or later, for a meal or a drink or just a chance to sit in comfort for a few minutes. I have a couple of local employees who bus tables and cook. As for myself, I tend bar, and I listen.
:::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
The Drevari drained their drink, and slumped across the bar. "But I don't know what to do!" they whined. "The legal fees alone will..."
I swept up his glass and wiped down the brass bar-top with a swift motion, honed by years of practice.
"Have you considered a mediator?" I asked. The Drevari's eyes both swiveled to meet mine, surprise evident.
"It sounds to me like this conflict has become infected. A neutral third party, someone you both trust, might be able to help you solve this amicably, without involving lawyers."
The Drevari perked up, lost themselves in thought for a moment. "Yes... there is someone. I think we can...." Their eyes swiveled back to me. "But what if they find in favor of my partner?"
I shrugged. "You might lose some, but it sounds to me like whichever way this goes, it'll be cheaper than court."
The Drevari's face bobbed, in imitation of a human nod. I gave them a reassuring pat. "Listen. Fighting with old friends always sucks, but it won't be forever. It'll pass. It might pass like a kidney stone, but it'll pass."
I managed to wave off another question, as I saw trouble brewing in the corner. A Terret, a quadrupedal mountain of fur, muscle and bad attitude, had risen from his seat and was roaring something at one of his fellows I could just about understand was very uncomplimentary.
"OI!"
The room fell silent, as I pointed at the two arguing Terrets. "You two, take it outside, now!" I barked, gesturing to the door.
The Terrets turned their attention to me, swaggering over to the bar. Terrets are quadrupedal, but these two were still a head taller than I am. Still, I stood my ground.
"Thiss is none of your bussinesssss." the one who had been yelled at hissed.
I stood my ground. "When you frighten my customers, break up my furniture and bleed on my floor, you make it my business!" Almost reflexively, I felt my hand tighten around Daisy, the knobkerrie I keep for these situations. I really should hire a bouncer. Still, no backing down, even in the face of these two. "Now, you have two options. Take it outside, or sit down and have a drink on the house."
The two Terrets looked at me, at each other, back at me, and moseyed back to their table, and the usual hubbub came back. I smiled and continued my walk behind the bar.
::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::::
"Yes, exactly. We hear that the Hospitable Sage resides here. That he resolves conflicts, dispenses advice, and comforts those in need."
I laughed. I couldn't help myself. I laughed so hard I cried. I don't know if silicon-based lifeforms can be offended, but I'm sure they were. I wiped the tears from my eyes.
"Listen. I just do what bartenders have always done. Offer drinks and a sympathetic ear, and make sure my punters enjoy themselves." I smiled. "Now, with that out of the way, can I offer you a drink?"
|
"Sir, we can't prosecute a war like this."
Charles swiveled his chair ever so slightly to meet his executive officer in the eye. "Really, Allen? I was not aware we were *prosecuting* a *war*. Do tell me why."
He loved it when his subordinates squirmed in their seats. They were power-hungry, the lot of them, and unlike him, they had to keep it under wraps. There was a living specimen before him. "Well, sir, the local species have occupied this planet for years before us."
"I'm afraid I don't see your point here, Allen." Charles kept his voice in a flat monotone. He was glad that he'd banned the fitness trackers on board his ship, for they'd have seen his heart racing otherwise. "The species living here are of no concern. As outreach officers, we cherish and civilise, after all. We will bring them prosperity; we will bring back resources to help our dying Earth. Is there something so wrong about that?"
Allen opened his mouth once again, but felt the stares of everyone else in the wardroom on him. What was he thinking? Was he truly going to defy Naval Headquarters? What about the poor Earthlings, choking the planet's rivers and dusting the air at an astronomical rate? Why would he want to ignore the bounty among the stars? Charles gave a small smile.
"It's settled, then. Inform the crew of the updated ETA."
A bustling of activity later, Allen was swept out of the wardroom all the same. Charles allowed himself to grin. Humans were the rational, peaceful enforcers of the galaxy, and Charles would not let any consternation from the people prevent him from living to that ideal.
| 2020-09-26T09:39:06 | 2020-09-26T08:50:46 | 180 | 44 |
[WP] We finally get men on Mars and they discover an old Soviet flag placed down decades ago. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn't say anything.
|
Sarah crested the red ridge and her heart burst. She had almost literally moved mountains to be here. And now the rocks, sand and dust she had memorized for years lay before her. Her view from the southern slope of Olympus Mons stretched for kilometers--though that seemed too small a unit to measure what she could see. It felt like she could see for light years. She could feel the stretch of time and space across this ancient landscape. She could feel it stretch across her own landscape, tracing her journey from the wheat fields of Washington, where she learned her love of the stars, through the naval academy and, eventually, here on the fourth rock from the sun.
She felt she could see everything, but soon only one thing dominated her vision: something that looked like--but could not possibly be--a metal pole with a red and yellow flag drooping to its side.
Sarah called out, "Jordan, I'm climbing down a klick to a crater that may have some exposed metal." "Sure thing, Skip."
The object that could not have been a flagpole was nestled into a crater, and looked like it would be in the shadows almost the entire day. Sarah had only caught a small glint from the top few millimeters of the pole that was in the light, but it was enough.
As she climbed down, she thought about all the factors that had brought her so far: the dissolution of NASA and the privatization of the American space program, the food shortages in Asia that had destabilized a third of the world's population, and the wild hope that low-grav farming on Mars would someday solve the problems on Earth. While she was not on Mars to prospect for metals, the Mars First Consortium would not say no to anything useful. And so she descended under the guise that she was prospecting. She knew the truth though--whatever she was chasing was far above and beyond her pay grade.
She reached the crater and found what she would have called a path to the floor of the crater, except there weren't any paths on Mars. She reached the floor of the crater, and all her instruments went dark. Her rebreather was working fine, it could handle a power outage, but coms, lights, and navigation were all off. She tried to reboot her suit, to no avail. Things were weird enough, so she decided to press on the 50 meters to the "flagpole" anyway.
Sarah had walked over all kinds of Martian dust, or sand or gravel, but she hadn't seen anything like the bottom of the crater. It was oddly smooth, as if it had been sanded down and polished, with a thin layer of dust to coat it and a few rocks and boulders strewn around for show. She couldn't shake the feeling that she should be anywhere but in that crater, out of the sunlight, with no communications. She was not exactly afraid, she just had that old familiar feeling that what she was about to do was intensely stupid and yet inevitable she would do it. It was like when she ate a whole ghost pepper on Charlie's dare on her honeymoon. A terrible decision, but one she had to make anyway. Come to think of it, Charlie himself was one of those terrible decisions.
She reached the flagpole. There was no denying it any longer. It was about five feet high, perfectly cylindrical in shape, and of course there was no mistaking the hammer and sickle flag that indicated the Soviets (or someone pretending to be them) had marked their time in this crater.
Another stupid decision: she touched the pole. A jolt ran through her finger, up her arm and through her body. That wasn't supposed to be possible with the padding in her glove, but she found herself splayed on the ground shaking anyway. Actually, she wasn't shaking, the ground was. She tried to get to her feet as a thicker darkness rose around her and swallowed the skies above her, but it was no use. She was being lowered underground. All she could do was wait it out.
Sarah sat, and waited, well away from the flagpole (she wasn't making that mistake again). She may have dozed off, it felt like she was descending for hours, or it might have been a couple of minutes.
Finally, her platform reached its destination. A door opened into a spartan metallic corridor with blinding incandescent lights. Sarah took a moment to adjust her eyes and began to explore the corridor. She was familiar enough with Russian design from her days training for the ISS that she could see many of the same influences. There was something to the platform, the shape and color of the metal, the design (or lack thereof) of the panels making up the corridor, that gave her a nostalgic feeling of training for a Soyuz mission.
She reached a door to another room. It was ajar. She pushed it open and gasped. On a series of ancient monitors, yet in surprisingly high definition, she watched as pivotal moments of her life played out: her first kiss, her graduation, the moment she knew she had to divorce Charlie to achieve her dreams... The room looked and felt old. The monitors had even older terminals with keyboards set in Russian, though a few looked newer and seemed to have standard Qwerty keyboards in English. The chairs were steel and looked exceedingly uncomfortable, but looked as if they were polished yesterday. Sarah's eyes were drawn back to the monitors, where the center screen flashed a message in English.
"Hello Sarah, we have been waiting for you..."
"Hello? Who is there?" Sarah said, once in English and once in Russian.
A new message flashed onto the screen, "We are."
"Who is 'we'?"
"Come and see for yourself..." A small, unassuming door towards the rear of the room opened with a click and a hiss. Sarah felt compelled to step through. She still hadn't shaken the feeling that she should just run away and hide, but her curiosity was overwhelming.
She entered the back room, her stomach dropping out when she saw what it contained. Three grotesque Russian men stood before her. They each had ugly steel and metals protruding from their bodies at odd angles in odd places, with plastic tubing ferrying liquids throughout their bodies. Their military uniforms were tattered. It seemed their backs were impossibly straight. Each man's eyes had been replaced by small metallic balls that twirled constantly. Their mouths were wired shut, and they had antennas sticking out of their skulls. It looked as if they had an intake port shunted into their necks. They were expressionless and, strangely enough, held hands with each other. And the man in the center had a screen affixed to his chest.
Another message: "We are the Sputnik. We want to go home." Sarah's heart ached for the men these once were. "The process for conversion was imperfect for these bodies, but we have refined our techniques in the past decades." Sarah's feeling of dread doubled. The door closed behind her. "We have been watching you and waiting. You have the determination to succeed where we did not. And you have brought us a ship to get home." Sarah tugged at the door to get out of the room as the bodies slowly slid toward her, their legs never moving from the ground. "Our people abandoned us, but you will not. You will lead us into the new age." The things that were once men closed in around her. She heaved at the door once more, digging her feet in, and the latch broke. She ran from the room, down the corridor, praying the elevator would work for her once more.
|
When human feet finally touched the surface of Mars, it was under the aegis of no government. De-centeralized social structures, growing rapidly under the influence of a de-centralized information network, had replaced government. It had turned out that cooperation only required adequate communication.
And, it had taken several hundred years. The old notions of country and nation, had blurred together. Humanity had endured a crisis. History had slept, and rolled off the bed, and sat up startled. We reached the red planet.
It had always been right in our reach. A group of intrepid explorers, united by the promise of freedom and reward, had made their way here. I was among them. It was I who discovered the hatch, buried in the red sand. I was out surveying with my partner, and within his puffy white suit, his shoulders immediately squared up. John was on the guard for threats.
I did not know Russian, but I knew what it looked like. C.C.C.P. was an unfamiliar moniker to me, but the writing style looked familiar. I had read history. It was something I meant to bring to Mars, not study while I was there.
"This is obviously very old," I said. "It could be up to eighty years."
"I don't want you playing with that," he said. "We don't know what's behind it."
He might have seemed patronizing, but I could tell he was just protecting me. People had put this thing here. Could they still be around?
Eventually, several other Dunists (our enclave's name for itself) had gathered to look at the mysterious hatch with us. Finally someone attempted to open it.
A loud hiss, a blast of steam drove us away. We staggered back, fearful our suits would be torn open. The thin air wouldn't kill us immediately, but it could be fatal. I stumbled into my partner's arms, and we retreated together.
When we returned to view the hatch a second time, blackness greeted us. Descending into the pit, with a hand-light, I led the way, John protectively watching my back, another partner-pair about thirty meters back. We were struck by the almost organic composition of the walls. This didn't look carved or blasted, it looked like something had burrowed it out. With teeth.
There were scattered square edges and shapes, pieces of equipment that belonged in our world, that looked out of place in this one. John stopped and gently brushed the dust aside. "More Russian," I said. "And no, I still cannot read it."
The passage, dark and red like the surrounding rocks and sand, wound for three or four hundred meters until it opened into a large ampitheater.
And here, we found the gaping hole. You could look into the gaping hole. It was so, so very dark.
"Shine the laser," John suggested. I had a small laser scanner, meant to return distances. The light did not brighten any of the surfaces, did not come back. The scanner saw no bottom.
"It's rated for ten kilometers," I quipped. "We should see a bottom, there's no way it can be that deep."
Moments later, there was a loud thud. The ground shook. Up the passageway, we saw the nameless couple who had joined us, their suits whirling in retreat.
It was then that the room lit up with pure energy. Light poured out of the opening in the floor. For long seconds, there seemed to be a great whistle of energy blasting through everything in the room.
And then, I saw stars. Quite briefly, in the hole in the ground. It seemed like they were very, very close. Like I was looking down into the sky.
Neither of us understood, but we knew that the Russians, whoever they had been, however they had gotten here, had somehow found this bizarre unnatural phenomenon.
And wherever they had gone, this was the point of departure.
"So," I asked him. "Do you think we could go through there, too?"
| 2016-08-16T09:48:26 | 2016-08-16T09:47:36 | 33 | 23 |
[WP] There is only one "World's Best Dad" coffee mug in existence. One day, it vanishes from the cabinet of the current Holder Of The Mug. The worlds eagerly waits for the new Holder to reveal himself and announce how he earned the title.
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It was the only one of its kind. A cliche **WORLD'S GREATEST DAD** cup to the layman's eyes, but to an expert, it was a quantum event. A perfect quantum anomaly on the scale of a tangible object, it could exhibit all of those bizarre quantum phenomena that was characteristic of electrons or photons. However, for all its fascinating proclivities, the most interesting fact was that the cup could only be "possessed" by one individual: the world's greatest dad.
It was as if the object had become entangled to some strange immeasurable quality, perfect fatherhood. To be honest, it is likely that no one would have even discovered the cup if a Nobel Prize winning physicist hadn't been one hell of a father. After saving his children from a pack of dingo dogs, he awoke in the hospital with a cup near his bedside. When he was finally discharged, he found the cup on his bedside table, his coffee table, his car cup holder...basically wherever he was. As soon as the cup was unobserved, it would "port" to his location -- you know, quantum stuff.
After that, the rest was history. The Cup was entangled with the world's greatest father. A Y chromosome wasn't even necessary apparently. A very good transgendered father had found the cup quite by chance after adopting a group of seven orphans, all young teens. They were going to be separated by foster care for being too unruly. This woman, soon to be man, decided that he couldn't let that happen. He adopted all of them, and raised them straight to proper adulthood. One big family, kept together by that man's selflessness. I don't know how the cup chooses, no one does, but I cannot say I disagree.
For years the cup had been owned by one particularly successful single father. No one can say how he did it, but he raised a family of four kids by himself. His eyes were tired, but filled with love and pride for his children. But like all these other worthy fathers, it was just a matter of time before some other noble gentleman proved himself worthy.
Two years ago, the cup disappeared, and the world waited patiently for someone to come forward and claim the title of *Greatest Dad*. Sure there were plenty of fakes, each disproved one after another. But the world still waited patiently, waiting for the true Greatest Dad to show up.
Soon, people began to doubt -- rumors started that the cup was gone. Theorists blamed aliens, others said the government had stolen it. Religious leaders cited God, the original Father. Eventually many came to the conclusion that the cup was just gone, maybe it never even really existed. No one knew, or...at least that is what people thought.
That is why we are here today. That is why I am here today. My name is Jake, and I would like to say that I am two years sober. Sober from what, you ask? Well, it would be easier to tell you what I wasn't on...
Needless to say, I was a bad guy. I did horrible things. But my Dad didn't care. He loved me; he tried to help me. Bring me back, you know?
He tried, never gave up on me, even after I had given up on myself. He damn near lost everything trying to help me, and I failed him every time...
Well long story short, I ended up getting into a fracker...a real fight. I was drunk and stoned and God knows what else. I got into a car...and I drove away when the fight got too rough. I drove fast and scared, one eye too swollen to see and far too drunk to drive.
I can't remember what happened. I just know that I should have died. The doctor said he had seen spaghetti that looked more human than me...but they put me back together -- or at least mostly back together. My heart and lungs were shot to shit. I was placed in a machine that breathed for me, and pumped my blood. I was finally as heartless literally, as I was figuratively.
I should have died, hell I was technically dead already. My soul had died long ago, and my body was finally catching up. I should've died. But my father wouldn't have it. One look at my mangled body, and he still saw his son. In the single most controversial act I can imagine, he put him self into a catatonic state and had his organs taken for my use. I woke up a week after the operation.
My father gave me everything he had (his money, his life, his time), and I was never satisfied, the selfish pig I was. I guess it only made sense he would give me his life too.
Screw the doctor that performed the heart transfer, and FUCK the lawyer who told my dad that the operation was legal. The world lost a good man that day, and I will never live up to him...ever.
That was two years ago. For two years I have felt the beat of my father's heart inside of my chest. For two years I have worked to be a man my father would be proud of. Now, on this second anniversary of my father's death, I exhumed his grave to prove to the world what I already knew.
BEHOLD, my FATHER'S skeleton.
-- Jake ******
Since exhuming Nathaniel ******'s grave, it has been confirmed. The cup lodged in the left portion of skeleton's ribcage is in fact the quantum anomaly known as the Greatest Dad Cup. To this date, it cannot be removed. Scientists hypothesize that the destruction of the skeleton on a subatomic level might free the cup, but such an act would damage the cup and violate numerous laws.
|
Stanley Jefferson gained consciousness, his eyeballs twitching under his closed eyelids. His lips slowly spread into a fixed smile, and he rose out of bed quickly.
The soft "sssh, sssh, sssh" of bare feet on carpet seemed to echo around the house as Stanley neared towards the children's bedrooms.
Bringing a megaphone to his lips, he said unhurriedly : "Pancakes for breakfast, kids."
Instantly, the drumming of feet began to echo throughout the hall, and soon after the yanking open of four bedroom doors.
The children were fed and sent and the residual sweet sappy smell of pancakes remained. Stanley began a sweep of the house to kid-proof and clean up. The last room he settles on is lit gently by backlights concealed by large cabinets.
"Hello, precious!" The gaily elevated voice of Stanley Jefferson echoed through the room.
The room answered passively with the illumination of one cabinet, situated in the center of the room.
The cabinet seemed to empty. "How -" Stanley sputtered.
"Why, one of the kiddos probably was messing around in here." Stanley mused, although he knew whomever did it had been risking their video game privileges for months.
Stanley confidently strode to the cabinet.
The soft "ssh, ssh, ssh" of bare feet on carpet.
"Children?" Stanley called nervously.
He heard his own voice echo throughout the house.
Stanley ran his fingers over the spot where the cup had been - A thin ring of dust existed where his mug used to be.
Empty. The word rang in his ears.
Pacing through the house, Stanley began to fidget violently. He went through his mental checklist:
"Yes, i've given them exactly what they want. Yes, i've funded their college..."
The angry pestering of his feet slammed against the hardwood floors.
"YES, I'VE LOVED THEM!" He shouted.
A small voice in his head whispered : "Have you?"
And deep inside, Stanley Jefferson knew.
He had fallen out of love.
Edit: Accidentally submitted prematurely.
| 2016-01-27T18:15:34 | 2016-01-27T12:15:24 | 113 | 20 |
[WP] As a joke, the entire world on April Fools Day all secretly flies up off of Earth onto a Space Station, leaving you to wake up and, unaware you are being recorded, fall victim to the most extensive and elaborate prank in human history.
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It’s still dark when I wake up on the morning of April 1st and in my drowsy sleepiness I check my phone to see what time it is. The time passes 5:56 as I watch the clock.
*Jesus Christ, this is just too early on a Saturday* I think to myself and stretch my body as I try to wake up. Normally, I can hear sirens, cars and people outside, even on this time of day but today it's all quiet. There are no noises apart from the wind in the trees and birds chirping. At first, I don't take particular notice of the silence, but as the day goes on, I sure as hell will.
After getting up and taking a shower, I sit at my dining table drinking coffee and eating porridge, watching the street outside. I still haven't seen a single person outside yet, but it's not even 7 o'clock yet. *Everyone's been partying hard today, huh* a thought pops up in my head and I smile. *I'm so funny.*
After breakfast I decide to take a walk. The weather is beautiful. The thin, crisp air surrounds me as I stroll down the quiet streets of Woodstock. There is not a single person out here. I look around, confused, to see if anyone is there. I keep walking, seeing nothing but squirrels and birds in the trees, hearing no cars, no bikes, no nothing. My first thought was, *is something happening at the Inn or what?* but walking towards a closed and empty Woodstock Inn, I realise that's not a possibility.
I call my mom. She lives up in the woods, not far from town. No one picks up.
I then call my grandma, she lives in Hanover in a small apartment close to Dartmouth. No answer there either. I slowly start to get weirded out and consider the possibilities. Instead of standing in the middle of a desolated town square, I go home and start browsing Facebook, Twitter, CBS News, The Guardian, everything I can think of. The last post from every single media was yesterday. All my Facebook friends were online 15 hours ago, President Trump's last obnoxious tweet was at 8pm last night which is **not** like him. I start calling my friends one by one to reach one answering machine after the other.
*No need to panic. There's nothing wrong, just drive to Hanover and find someone who can explain what's happening.*
On my half hour drive to Hanover, crossing the state line, I don't see a single car. Not one. Also, the radio channels just play music, all the channels where hosts usually talk about boring bullshit right about now are playing the same, boring music.
I jokingly make a remark to myself, that I'm the only person on Earth right now. Funny yet scary as I haven't met a single person for hours. It's been 6 hours since I woke up. Not one I have seen for six hours straight.
As I reach Dartmouth College and therefore the middle of the town, I see no one still. Panic starts to roll over me as wave of shivering coldness and I unwillingly start to weep. Warm tears run down my cheeks as I sit in my truck. In sheer panic, I drive around the town for an hour. I go to Walmart which is open but there are no cashiers, no other customers but me. Again, I call my mother whose answering machine yet again reaches me.
I drive home in anger and despair. There is no one left. I think of a zombie apocalypse like in that series but am now 100 % certain that I am going crazy.
I'm going crazy. I'm going crazy. I'm going crazy.
*Dear whoever reads this,
My name is Sara Frazier, I'm a freelance journalist and have woken up to nothing. No people, no sign of life anywhere. I'm scared, I'm terrified and I'm most certainly going crazy. This is just like in my dreams. I've only mentioned them to one person on this Earth and I can't reach him either. Maybe some ancient prophecy is fulfilled and I'm now deemed to be alone forever.
I can't live like this and choose to say goodbye. This is my apocalypse.*
I put on *What a Wonderful World* and listen to the beautiful voice of Louis Armstrong while I load my .45. It was such a wonderful world, that's true.
(Edit: This is my first attempt to write something from a writing prompt and I'm the type of person who's scared shitless of people's opinion. However, I tried and improvised a little at the end.)
|
*The most extensive and elaborate prank gone awry.*
The word *secret*, and it's relationship with over 7 billion people was... Lets say uncooperative. It was near impossible with social media.
I had woken up 5 minutes ago, and like a normal person waking up after turning off the alarm clock on my phone, I had checked social media. Facebook, and Twitter more specifically. What was the first trending topic? Everyone and their mothers had gone up to the Orbital Space Station, except me. I was the unfortunate soul left behind, being recorded, all because of a prank. This made Joey Salad's shitty pranks look like the work of a naive 5 year old. How did *anyone* think this would work? What did they want? My confused reactions? My existential meltdown? A reason to watch me masturbate?
Everyone else was having a day off, so why should I be left out? With that decided, I shut off my phone, and went back to sleep. They had spent billions, or even trillions of dollars to watch me sleep. Who pranked who?
| 2017-11-14T09:21:37 | 2017-11-14T09:19:12 | 394 | 223 |
[WP] You are part of the league, the superheroes who save the world, yet you never go on missions. You are only called for one thing only. Total annihilation, for when they don't want survivors.
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There was only one time he was ever caught on video. It was from the time the Crimson King troupe brought a gang army to take over New York City.
“Is it rolling, Dave?” Asked a man with a crimson bandana and a gleaming golden gun with red highlights in hand.
“Yes sir,” The cameraman answered, holding a thumbs up as he looked through the camera on his shoulder at the boss, who stood in the middle of an empty street in the heart of the city, “You’re live to ten thousand people and counting.”
“People of the world!” The man said, “Your savior has come! The Crimson King, prophesied to equalize all people, powers or no powers, under unrelenting justice. Look at all those who believe in me.”
The cameraman swiveled his camera to show the thousands of men crowding the wide street behind them, waving crimson flags, holding up AK-47s, and cheering madly.
The camera turned back to the boss. “If anybody wishes to challenge me, powers or not, you will be eliminated. It does not matter what power you have or how cowardly you use it, you will be eliminated!”
The people behind him roared.
“Now, let’s march to plant our flags in of the city hall and seize the resources in the banks on our way... ”
The cameraman frowned as the boss spoke. Someone else had come in front of the gang army standing alone on the street…
The boss saw the cameraman's confused face and turned around and saw the stranger walking towards them, “Who are you?” He called, “Do you wish to challenge the just rule of the Crimson King?”
The crowd quieted as the man silently walked forward until he was close enough to talk normally to the boss. The stranger had a black uniform on with the golden letters “Ultimate League, 13th Hero” stitched onto the front.
The boss laughed, “Are you joking my friend? The Ultimate League only has twelve heroes, and their uniform is white!” Then the boss scowled. “If you really want to save the city, why don’t you call me one of the real twelve heroes so I can properly demonstrate my powers?”
The man didn’t answer, all he did was pull out a cigarette and light it. The cameraman gaped in shock and the crowd stood in stunned silence as the thirteenth hero breathed out smoke.
“Are you insane?” The boss roared, “Who do you think you are? Stop wasting time or I’m going to skip the pleasantries and eliminate you here in front of the entire world.”
The gang roared in agreement.
The dark-uniformed man continued puffing his smoke until the crowd died down.
Then he finally spoke, “Wasting time, huh? And here I thought I was just giving you some time to say goodbye to this world.” He sighed and dropped the cigarette, crushing it underfoot. “Well, if we’re getting to the point then… ”
The hero looked up and his eyes glowed crimson.
“I just have one more thing to say,” The hero said, “You shouldn’t have desecrated my name for something like this, calling this blatant seizing of power something like equalizing the people under the Crimson King's rule of justice. You could have gotten another Ultimate League hero to stop you if you didn't make it personal.”
The boss snarled, the mirth was gone from his face as he saw the man’s crimson eyes and realized the hero actually had powers. Without any more pretense, the boss leveled his golden gun at the hero and fired.
The bullet hit the thirteenth hero in the chest. The man continued to look coldly at the boss as his veins swelled up. The hero exploded from the inside and his body flopped over in a puddle of blood.
“Taste my anti-power bullets!” The boss said triumphantly, “The more power you have in your blood the more it…”
The boss’s eyes widened in horror.
The hero's nearly unrecognizable body stood up. The pool of blood around the hero silently rose from the ground and flowed back into the holes of his body and his wounds closed. Even his League uniform reknitted to how it was.
The crowd was dead silent.
"What... what kind of power..." The boss whispered.
“Why are you so surprised? The real Crimson King's immortal, isn't he? Or did you not even know that?” The hero said.
The boss gaped, the true gravity of the situation finally dawning on him.
Then the hero raised his hand to the gang, “Allow me to show you what the Crimson King’s equalizing justice really is...”
"Blood flashfire. Radius: 500 meters."
He snapped his fingers.
Each and every person in the enormous crowd simultaneously burst into red flame. In a couple of bright, quiet seconds, everyone had already disintegrated into ash.
The thirteenth hero stood alone on the city street, the silent, dark ash blowing around him.
The camera kept filming him from where it was dropped on the ground.
“You see?” The hero said as he walked to the camera, “Equality. Everyone’s ashes look the same.”
He snapped again and the live stream blacked out.
___
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WanderWilder/comments/nljol8/the_thirteenth_hero_part_2/)
Thanks for reading! More at r/WanderWilder
|
Hey there, newbie. Settling in OK so far? First few days on the league are rough for most. Ah, don't worry about me. You just got back from a mission, and I don't got to worry about getting called away.
Me? I'm the Janitor. Yep, that's my official callsign! ...no, seriously. Yeah! Hand on my heart, I swear my callsign is "the janitor." Nah, we don't haze people here. Job's hard enough without everyone starting as the butt of every two-bit joke in the book.
I know that look. You wanna know how I got that callsign. Well... Not much to it, really. I spend a lot of time at the base, just waiting for the call to come in. And I hate sitting still, so I clean around the place. Yep, I'm on the payroll as a frontliner, but most of the time I just clean! Never been one to hit the gym if I can avoid it, reading or poking away on my phone gets boring fast, so cleaning is a happy medium.
... Ah, yeah. Can't deny that there's another reason for the callsign. Remember that one time, couple years ago? That big kerfuffle when that one super decided the league wasn't paying enough to keep him from... what did he call it again? "Take preventative measures" while dangling some super-kid off the edge of a skyscraper? Yeah, that prick. And the kid... The kid got dealt a bad hand. Think he had some kind of mind control power, you know. The kind of thing that makes people take one look at you and go "oh... Yeah, you're probably gonna be a villain when you grow up." League doesn't see things that way. Official policy is "yes, guns kill, but it takes someone pointing it and pulling the trigger first," so... Obviously, couldn't let that prick get away with killing a kid. And you never heard from that prick again, have you?
I'm the Janitor, kid. I clean. And you better believe I'm damn good at that job.
| 2021-05-26T04:36:03 | 2021-05-26T03:08:56 | 1,742 | 352 |
[WP] You wake up on exact date of your 5th birth date in your 5 year old body, with your current memory.
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A dull throbbing pain in my legs wakes me up. Although it's true that yesterday was leg day, I had never experienced such a level of soreness - it almost felt like the bone *itself* was sore..wait, why am I wrapped in 101 Dalmatians sheets? Why the fuck did Marie buy these, and more importantly, how did she manage to change the bed with me in it?
Marie?
...
Why am I in my old bedroom? Something's off, did I get to my parents' home drunk or something? All systems check. Toes? Present. Fingers? Present. Integral of e^x? e^x +c, of course. Hair? *Curly and long*.
What?! Mirror time.
Well, shit. Is this what I think it is? Alright, this could go very well, or very badly, depending on the date. Is today the 12th of March of 1992 or 2017?
I run to our lawn to collect the newspaper.
25 years of future-past flash through my eyes, as the corners of my lips start to curl upwards into a cruel grin.
The opportunity to start afresh - the very thing that I had always dreamed of, yet feared - had just been given to me, it seems. Oh boy, oh boy. There's only one question, really. Do I seek Marie out again, even though she came from halfway across the world, and make her go through the pain of being separated from her family again, or not? Would she even fall for me this time round? Well, whatever, she's due to be born in a month or so, that decision can wait.
In the meanwhile ... time to make the world my bitch ... again. I was a successful high-powered chemist before all this happened, a martial artist and a polyglot to boot. Let's go back inside.
Oh hey, my father's drinking his morning tea. This is going to be fun.
"Доброе утро, Папа".
"Xiex?!" [What?].
"Я сказал: "Доброе утро, Папа". [I said, good morning papa]
Yep, that did it, I have his full attention now. My father learned Russian during the Soviet occupation of his country, before he moved to ours, although this is a fact that I would not even be remotely aware of until I was 15. However, this meant that he knew that what I said was grammatically correct.
"Anna, ejja waħda" [Anna, come here for a bit]
"Bonjour mama"
"...Bonġu" [Good morning]
Well, shit, I had forgotten that adults do in fact use Bonġu, a word derived from <<Bonjour>> between themselves, although it is an odd choice of word for a toddler. My mother was never the sharpest egg in the attic either. Let's see .. Italian? I'm expected to know that by now. French? Close enough to Italian, wouldn't raise any eyebrows. Spanish? Same, although possibly worth a try. Maltese/English? Bleh, basic shit. Russian? Already used that hand, will not be very effective on mom. Polish? German? Hmm.
"Es ist heute sehr sonnig, nicht wahr?" [It is very sunny today, is it not?]
They both scramble away from me to the very corners of the room.
"Madonna madonna, ċempel lil Fr Victor!!!!" [Madonna madonna, phone Fr. Victor!]
Oh right, in her religion, speaking in tongues means only one thing.
I rubbed my forehead, and took the lotus position. The next couple of years are going to be a very, very tedious time. With any luck, I'll take over the family finances and make a couple of very wise investments in a couple of key companies. I'll eat right, so that my growth won't be stunted this time. Perhaps take violin lessons a bit more seriously. Definitely try to graduate university before the age of 10, instead of at 15. Perhaps I could save my cousin from her father .. that's right, a 5 year old has criminal immunity... shit, perhaps I shouldn't have exposed my capabilities just yet...
Oh boy, the world has no idea what's about to hit it.
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We had lived in England in 1963. I woke up in the cold late autumn with nothing to do. If I started reading anything other than "See Bill's red ball" books, my parents would freak. And the TV programs were crap. Mostly.
It dawned on me that I'd be able to see the world premiere of Doctor Who. I remembered the date, November 22. For weeks I looked forward to seeing William Hartnell in "An Unearthly Child".
When the date came, I asked Mum and Dad if we could watch this new show that was starting. "Sorry darling, we want to follow the news on the other channel. The American President has been shot!"
WTF? Who did this? Lee Harvey Oswald? The CIA? The mafia? I will devote my whole second life to finding you out, and I will never forgive you.
| 2017-03-12T01:53:10 | 2017-03-11T22:49:11 | 33 | 11 |
[WP] You're happily going about your day when you vanish in a cloud of smoke. Suddenly, you're standing in a ring of candles. A sorcerer holding a tome looks pleased at your arrival. Turns out Earth is Hell, we're the demons, and you've just been summoned.
|
It had been a busy week and I was kicking off Friday with a brew. My teenage nightmare of a Friday had turned into my adulthood goal, a quiet night in and video games until too late in the evening.
I set the beer down on the end table, turned around to flop down on the couch when the air was instantly filled with smoke.
I coughed and waved my hand to dispel it, less startled than I should have been given the circumstances. The smoke was gone in an instant, and I looked for the source, only to realize I was not in my living room any more.
Instead i was in what appeared to be in a small cavern. There were three concentric circles drawn around me in some kind of powder. The closest circle, about 10 feet across, was done in black, then grey and the outermost was in white. There were candles burning, and a crude clay bowl sat on the ground filled with water.
I didn't see the beings at first, until they started making noise. They were small, about up to my ribs, and looked like something from Star Wars. Kinda like a fuzzy Greedo.
Two of them were talking very quickly. The third stared motionless for a few minutes until it burst into tears.
"What on Earth is going on?"
There was an instant of silence and then the other two burst into tears, then the whole lot ran out of the cavern.
What the fuck?
Seeing nothing else to do at the moment, I took measure of my surroundings. I walked out of the circles and strangely felt a slight tug as I passed over them. Odd.
The cavern was pretty big but not colossal. It wasn't a Minecraft style cave that led into the depths of the earth, but the rocky ceiling sloped downward and met the ground maybe two hundred feet from the entrance.
There was a commotion outside as several of those same things came back. These were bigger, and they carried crude spears and shields, made of wood and hide. There were eight of them, followed by a ninth who carried a crude book. The one with the book said a few words, and the others spread out, forming a loose semicircle between myself and the entrance. They closed and leveled their spears.
I put my hands up and tried to smile. I had no idea what the fuck was going on and I wasn't about to be stabbed to death by murderous knock off bounty hunters. I spoke "hey guys, let's all..."
Two shouted, one yelped and they all charged, the spears flashing forward and striking me. Fuck. I guessed that this is how I would go.
There was no pain, just some mild discomfort in a few spots on my body. I opened my eyes after I realized I'd squeezed them shut. The spears were driven into me, the aliens stances showed that they had their full weight behind the thrusts. I looked down. The spear points made tiny dents in my skin.
Poke poke. They attacked again, one hit my belly button and I winced. That's sensitive. He looked pleased with himself, pushed his spear in deeper and twisted it.
"Dude. Stop." I slapped the spear away. I was startled when it exploded into splinters as my hand touched it. The once victorious Greedo held the broken haft, a look of utter horror on his face. He steeled himself as the others backed away, drew a stone knife and charged me, driving it into my chest again and again.
I let him do it. It didn't bother me, and maybe it would be good for him to wear himself out. He was at it for a few minutes maybe before he sagged, lowered himself and made one final stab right at my nads. That was not ok. I held up my hand, stopped the knife, grabbed the blade and pulled it away from him.
He screamed, clutching his now empty hand. Was he a fucking soccer player? Jesus. I looked again and saw he had broken fingers. Had I done that? I hadn't meant to. Fuck me, were these people made of tissue paper or something?
Feeling like the lowest kind of asshole, I offered an apology. The others closed with spears level and the injured Greedo withdrew, cradling his hand. I watched as I was stabbed over and over to no effect.
The one with the book examined the hand and drew his own knife, said something and began to cut. Amputation? Jesus!
I walked forward, gently pushed the others aside and moved to the injured guy. He was terrified. The one with the book opened it, read something and a bolt of lightning snapped from his fingers. It hurt about the same as touching metal after rubbing your feet on the carpet.
I sighed, and took his book away as gently as I could, he released it and cowered.
The injured guy was on the ground now, his eyes full of fear. I could see why. I was evidently Hercules and they were cavemen made of marshmallows.
Remembering my first aid course I ripped a bit of my shirt off and pressed it against his bleeding incision. The bleeding stopped and I looked for a splint. No dice, maybe...
I ran over and took one of the others spears and worked at it. My finger nails cut through it like it was butter. My teeth worked even better. I bit through it and got a piece about as thin as my own finger, and as gently as possible used the stick as a splint, tying it in place.
"Ok. So that's done. Now can we talk?"
Nothing.
"I'm not going to hurt you."
Nothing.
"Boo!"
Screams.
They looked on in abject horror, none of them moving. "Sorry about your hand, buddy." I sighed. "Here's your book." I handed the tome back to the Greedo who had it earlier, who took it with shaking hands...
(I'll write more a little later today if there's any interest)
Edit: I've replied with part 2. I'll keep going with part 3 later.
Edit: Like my stories? Check out my brand new subreddit over at /r/jsgunn!
|
The room's runes glowed with such warding powers that the candles only served the purpose of spell ingredients. I paused the game, I was already at a pay point anyway having died multiple times because I needed the sword of Amecles to kill Hexigron and $3.99 was not in today's budget.
I made a step backwards in shock only to be thrown forward, a second bump on my forehead threw me back. I noticed the chaos symbol on the ceiling, it was surrounded by two vipers swallowing each others tails to make a circle.
The sound of louboutin's coming down announced her arrival, her skin almost radiated with her beauty. Enticing beauty, an attractiveness that seduced and corrupted all that stared at it for too long, the kind that would tempt a man to eat an apple he'd specifically been told not to by someone who could create galaxies.
"Victoorrrr...." she purred out. A finger ran across my shoulders, then down my spine.
"What do you want Lucy?"
"Nothing."
"Nothing?"
"Not yet anyway, today I want to give you something."
"I'm not interested in what you're selling."
"Oh I'm sure you are, and would you turn around who gets summoned facing the wrong way?"
I spun to face an altar in front of it was a silver throne cast in the image of men kneeling. Lucy sat on the back of one, the armrests being the arms of two men standing.
"You're sure you wouldn't be interested in anything I have to offer?"
"I'm sure."
"Not even this?" she lifted up a small test tube, it glowed bright blue, the faces on her throne shifted their gaze as she waved it in the air. Even they knew what she held.
My mouth hung open. I could feel the essence calling me, pleading it needed to be back home. She flung it to the floor and as it shattered it made it's way to me. My lungs filled with life, cloudy eyesight cleared and my heart raced faster as she waved her hands and I found my self back in my apartment. The doorway to heaven started to form. At last my ascendance.
As I soaked it all in my back stiffened. She gave me something she knew I couldn't pay for. She was trying to get more than a favor from me. She was trying to earn loyalty. She would have to come calling some day. What scared Lucifer so badly she needed to make allies?
***
You can read more of my stories at /r/pagefighter.
| 2017-05-12T09:09:01 | 2017-05-12T07:44:27 | 556 | 81 |
[WP] Since your earliest memories, everyone has had a 0 above their head, but when you told people, no one believed you. One cold winter day, you’re at a restaurant and your server has a 1 over their head. You can’t see your own number, but they tell you you have a 3.
Feel free to interpret the numbers however you want
|
“A freak, huh?”
“I beg your pardon?” I blinked in confusion.
My server, Julia by her name tag, smiled and pointed above her head. Her finger nearly prodded the floating number one that was there, the one that she and no one else in this lonely restaurant could see.
“By choice or by circumstance?” She asked, as if I had any idea what she was taking about.
“I’m sorry, miss,” I said, offering a polite smile of my own. “I’m afraid I don’t know what you’re referring to.”
“Your frequency, of course,” it was her turn to look confused. “The three above your head.”
A three? Above my...I looked around the restaurant at the sea of zeroes floating around. And the back to the one above Julia’s head.
“So, are you on this frequency by choice or by circumstance?” Julia asked again. Her eyebrows drew together in concern. “Don’t tell me...you don’t know anything, do you?”
“All my life I have seen zeroes above everyone’s head,” I said in a whisper. It was the first time I had ever acknowledged it out loud and I suddenly felt self conscious about the possibility of being overheard. “You are the first person I’ve ever met that has a different number above their head.”
“Oh boy, tell you what, I get off in an hour. Wait for me and I’ll explain things best I can!” Julia said enthusiastically.
I ate my dinner in silent anticipation, glancing up at the clock every few minutes.
At ten o’clock, Julia slid into the seat across from me. She pulled her hair out of the tight ponytail and let it fall messily past her shoulders.
“Your name?” She asked, as we both realized I hadn’t told her.
“Ben Anderson,” I told her.
“Ben, what do you know about the world?” Julia asked, leaning forwards on her elbows.
“Um, that it’s round and floating in space,” I said hesitantly, “It has seven continents...”
“And five frequencies,” Julia added.
“You keep saying that word, what do you mean? Like radio frequencies?”
“Kinda,” Julia said, making a face. She reached for a napkin and pulled a pen out of her apron.
She drew a pyramid with five sections and labeled them four to zero, with zero at the bottom.
“Look, most people are stuck here in zero,” she pointed to the bottom tier. “On zero, you have three types of colour cones in your eyes, five senses, and strict rules of gravity and such. If you’re stuck on zero, then you have no idea there are even other frequencies out there.”
“Wait, so are you telling me that on other frequencies people don’t have to obey the laws of physics?” I said skeptically. “Like I could leap a tall building in a single bound?”
“Yeah, that’s frequency two,” Julia said, ignoring the sarcasm in my voice.
“Frequency one, where I’m from, is where people have seven colour cones, heightened senses of smell and hearing, as well as the senses plath and vace.”
“What and what?”
“Plath is a feeling of direction,” Julia explained,” And vace is like...how should I explain it...You know in the matrix, when Neo dodges the bullets? It’s like your vision is in slow motion while you or other things are moving fast.”
“You’re shitting me...”
“Cross my heart,” Julia winked. “I haven’t been to the other frequencies, but I hear frequency two is where physics gets really wild and three has physic powers like telekinesis!”
“What about four? Do people become gods or something?” I half joked.
“No one calls frequency four, “four,” they call it “aevum,” and to be honest, no one really knows if it actually exists,” Julia said in a hushed voice. “They say, that to be in aevum is to be one with god.”
“So then, why are you in zero if it’s the lamest of all these frequencies?”
“Oh, the view is easier on the eyes here,” Julia said, “you wouldn’t believe how many colours actually clash when you see through seven colour cones. I don’t know how shrimp manage it with sixteen.”
“How do you move from one frequency to the next?”
“There’s the question I’ve been waiting for,” Julia grinned. She slammed both hands on the table as she stood up.
“Follow me,” she said gleefully.
Julia lead me outside, where the parking lot was now mostly empty.
“Give me your hand,” Julia instructed. “One thing about shifting frequencies, is that you need a partner and a sense of plath.”
“I still don’t know what plath is!” I said, taking Julia’s hand.
“Don’t worry, you’ll feel it soon enough!” Julia laughed. “The frequency you’re born in determines how many you can visit. But you can also visit wherever your travelling partner can.”
“So since I’m a three...”
“We can go almost anywhere!” Julia said. “Where do you want to go first?”
“Well...” I said slowly, feeling excitement in me growing. “Let’s fuck up some physics!”
——————————————————————————————————-
(On mobile so I dunno how this looks)
Part [2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcii1m3/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcjjbh4/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fcmb8im/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
Part [5](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/eh18e9/wp_since_your_earliest_memories_everyone_has_had/fdxh7uq/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf)
|
I guess I was always a weird individual. I didn't like going out much and no friends was what followed. I've been this way since I was little. I felt like I couldn't trust anyone. There was this secret bottled up inside me until I let it all out one hot, crisp summer day.
I only had one friend in high school and that was my best friend Tommy. He didn't think I was weird and didn't mind if I let him do most of the talking. We were at my parent's summer cottage when I told him I needed to tell him something important; Something he couldn't tell anyone. I let out a sigh and simply said, "I can see numbers above peoples' heads".
"What do you mean?"
I repeated, "I can see numbers above peoples' heads. Every single person I've met always had the number 0 though".
"I just don't get what you're saying. That's fucking weird man".
He gave me a sour look and walked away. I felt more out of place after that. I didn't talk to Tommy after that. Instead, he told the whole school about my secret. After that, I was descending farther into my own shell. There was no more trust left within me to give. I was forced to drop out of high school and was shunned from everyone. Word travels fast, especially when you live in a small town. I haven't talked to my parents in years. They think I'm some kind of freak.
I come back to the present and realize that my knuckles are turning white around the cup of coffee I ordered 3 hours ago. I realize I haven't drank one sip. I turn my head around the restaurant and nobody, but me and her are left. It becomes visibly quiet. I look at the waitress with somber eyes and simply say, "You think I'm crazy". I start to get up from my seat and head for the enterance.
"No. I don't".
I turn around as she herself gets up from her seat. She walks toward me and takes my hand in hers. I tilt my head to the side. I say, "I still don't know what all of this means. The numbers. I can't have you risk your life just because your number isn't 0". She looks me with those milky chocolate eyes and whispers, "I'm up for an adventure".
I smile and walk toward the entrance door once again. I open the door, hold my hand out gesturing for her to go first. The cold air hits me like a ton of bricks, but make my way toward my beat up 2001 Chevrolet. The door creaks as I open the door for her and the engine thunders as my car bursts to life.
I turn to her and before I can say anything, she blurts out, "Let's go already!". I barely know this woman and she knows my whole story. *At least I have one person who believes me.* I drive down the road and can't help but think what is yet to come.
| 2019-12-28T21:40:27 | 2019-12-28T21:03:58 | 3,484 | 35 |
[WP] Your girlfriend just dumped you through a text. In a rage, you throw your old teddy bear while shouting “The Fucking Devil!”. Your teddy bear stands up and says ‘alright you got me, you got me,”.
Edited: Thanks for the gold, stranger!
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It was instinct that drove Ashley to throw a second object at the bear, accompanied by a shriek. All she had had in hand was her phone, and it bounced harmlessly off the silken fur belly of the bear.
"Don't be rude, Ash," the bear spoke in an impossibly deep voice.
"Nononono. No. Nope!" She fled to the corridor, shaking her head furiously. She slammed the door shut, holding the knob closed for fear the thing might come bursting out after her.
"Look, you're clearly upset and I get that. And right after that terrible breakup text. I mean, who breaks up over text?" the voice came eerily through the door.
Ash looked down the hallway, wishing her roommate was home. Hating that she was alone.
"Fuck her for now! Why are you in my room?" she shouted through the door, still panicking.
"Botched exorcism," it explained. "The Order caught on to my little attempt at possession and cast me out. They just didn't know they failed to send me to hell. Been trapped in this scrap of fluff for some time now."
"Oh shit, no. Nonono. You can't possess me. I can't handle this freaky shit!"
"I can't even possess you if you're unwilling, you big baby," it practically hissed. "That particular young man was just quite keen on dying and was willing to let me have what was being left behind. No sense letting it go to waste. I was so excited to have tastebuds again!"
At that, Ashley stilled. "Tastebuds?"
"Yeah," the bear continued through the door. "Hell is so bland, you know? I just want pizza. Or...or ice cream. Oh, or those little things with the...the..right! Brownies! Even a fresh pear. But nnooooo. The Order says I'm an 'unnatural blight on the world' or whatever."
Ashley paused, then slowly opened the door to peek down at the bear, who sat on the floor just beside the bed, meeting her gaze.
"You just want pizza?" she asked, more curious than frightened now.
"Oh no, I want everything. Salami. Steak. Cheese. CheeseCAKE. Creme brulee. Crackers and all those lovely dips. Lobster. Sal-"
"Okay, okay, I get it. But aren't you...the devil?" She asked.
"Well, yes. What, so I don't have needs? I have to be Mr. Growly Fire Breath because you morons have a book that says so?? Fuck, he didn't even write that book, you people did! You've mangled his original message so much he just gave up. Hell, he sent his son to try and explain things and y'all fucked that message up too. So he gave up, and now for some reason I'm the bad guy!"
The bear hadn't tried to attack her. It just sat calmly on the floor sounding oddly...human and relatable. She stayed in the doorway, but sank to the floor to sit with her back against the frame.
"So you didn't...make me gay like mom said?" she half-laughed.
The bear tossed its little arms up in frustration. "This is exactly what I mean. I get blamed for everything! No, I can't turn anyone gay. All I do is watch hell for when someone has learned their lesson, then pass them upstairs. Okay, and maybe possess people sometimes so I can enjoy the world a bit. But that's it!"
"So why are you still a bear?" Ashley raised a skeptical eyebrow.
"Because the Order exorcised me but accidentally trapped me in this bear instead of sending back to hell. Open your damn ears, we covered this."
"Fine. But I don't really know what to do with you and you kind of creep me out," she huffed.
"Find me a body if you want to get me gone. Also, super rude. How would you like it if I said your face was gross? Honestly, no consideration for feelings. Maybe that's why she dumped you."
Ashley snapped her gaze to the bear in anger. "Well she never shared her fucking feelings for me to consider. Now I get dumped through a text? Also low fucking blow."
The bear scoffed, turning away from her with a huff. "You started it," he hissed. "Look, can you just help me find a body? I mean, now that you know everything don't you feel kind of sorry for me?"
She considered this for a moment, wondering if it were a terrible idea. Help the devil possess someone? "...you don't take a body if that person doesn't want you to?"
"Nope. Can't. Wouldn't honestly, but can't anyhow."
"Well. Fine. But no funny business."
"I'll be an angel," the bear grinned.
|
You can't believe what you've just read. After six happy years, with a proposal on the horizon, a break-up didn't even feel like a possibility. And like this! No warning, no respect. Your eyes well, your fists ball. You grab Baxter, the teddy she got you on your third date, who has slept on your bed every night since, and throw him across the room. "You fucking devil! Fucking whore!" Your eyes shut as you pound the bedspread.
"Alright, you caught me." Your eyes spring open in shock. Baxter is standing and rubbing his head.
"What..." You trail off, unable to finish any of the thoughts racing through your head.
"You caught me! Haven't you?" You notice Baxter's exasperated teddy face begins to look quizzical.
"I haven't the faintest fucking clue what you're talking about!" Your words come easier. Confusion is displaced by fear. Your legs tremble.
"Oh... Hold on a moment." Baxter rummages around in his Build-a-Bear jeans. He's shaking too. "Hey, look at this! Neat, huh?"
You look at the circular object he holds up. It sounds like it's buzzing faintly. It emits what looks like a camera flash. Everything tastes purple.
Your eyes well, your fists ball. You have a pounding headache. You grab Baxter and throw him across the room. He bounces harmlessly off the wall.
| 2018-11-26T12:13:55 | 2018-11-26T11:55:39 | 154 | 115 |
[WP] a vampire tries to bite you only to reveal a bunch of circuits and wiring in your neck, you are now both very confused
|
After meeting this absolute knock out at a rave party, things start getting hot and heavy in an upstairs bedroom.
We were wrapped around each other, breath mingling, lips and hands all over each other. My hand combed through her raven black hair, and her sensuously cool lips moved away from mine as she started nibbling on stubble. I moved my other hand lower, yes…
A sharp pain in my neck.
I screamed, and the girl screamed and suddenly we were on opposite sides of the bed, my hands rubbing where the pain had emanated from. It felt…weird. An imperfection on my normally smooth skin.
“What the fuck!” both is us said at once, her voice still silky smooth. Even if she hadn’t been a 10 on anyone’s scale, that voice alone…
The door suddenly flew open and another couple barged in, yellow light and loud thumping music suddenly flooding the room. The guy saw us and gave me a lopsided grin. “My bad, bro. Didn’t realize it was taken,” he said, and with that he walked out, not bothering to shut the door behind him. I don’t think the blonde wrapped around him even realized. She’d been too busy sucking his face off I guess.
And in the light I saw the girl – I hadn’t even caught her name – her mouth. There were very distinct fangs extending all the way below the lips. Her eyes widened and both of us, again, said in perfect sync.
“What the fuck?!”
“You’re a vampire,” I said, moving further back from the bed. I recalled every movie and every book I’d ever read about vampires (61 books and 34 movies). The sensuous voice, the extended fangs, the stunning body…it was the most likely conclusion.
In a blink her fangs were gone. “Like you’re one to talk,” she said, moving closer to me. “You’re a fucking robot!”
I moved back away from her. “Don’t get closer to me you, you…monster!”
She rolled her eyes. “Seriously? Humans, robots, they both suck at insults.”
“I’m not a robot!” I screamed. A distant part of my mind analyzed my reaction. Why was I reacting so adversely to this? I should be laughing off her accusations – despite the fact that I’d just discovered she was a vampire (or had some sort of vampire fetish) – I shouldn’t be reacting so strongly.
“Look at your neck, metalhead,” she said, casually blowing a strand of hair that had fallen on her face.
I gaped at her. “How exactly does one look your neck?”
She blinked. “Right,” she said and dug into her jacket. I brought my arms up instinctually, but she only took out her phone. “What you thought I was taking out a gun?” she said as she took a picture of me.
“You had your finger in front of the camera,” I said.
She gave me a look reserved for the mentally challenged and handed me the phone. No finger in the frame. Vampire, right. But more than that it was the picture that shook me. There was no blood. There were *wires* running under my skin. I felt my neck again, and looking at the picture, what I felt matched. Wires. For some reason in this moment that shook my very existence the only thing I could think to ask was: “I thought vampires punctured skin, not ripped out an entire chunk of flesh.” It had been only an inch or so but still.
She looked away in a decidedly…young gesture. “Well I didn’t expect to meet metal when I bit, I kinda panicked and ripped myself away from you. Though I’d imagine that’s the least of your problems.”
“I’m a robot,” I breathed.
“Hi, ‘a robot,’” she said with a smirk.
“I’m a robot,” I said again and got up. How could this be happening. I thought back. Had I ever been injured? No I distinctly remembered scraping my knee. Hell, I’d broken a bone when playing football.
The vampire’s eyes flicked to the door, then back at me and then she sighed. She moved closer. “Look, don’t panic, I’m sure there’s a rational explanation. We’ll try to figure it out…”
“I’m a robot,” I said again, in a daze.
She threw her jacket over me and guided me out of the party. With that a robot and a vampire walked out into the cold New York night.
|
Instant coffee is terrible.
You’ve never really focused on its taste before, but current events have led you to this conclusion.
Besides you, Charles the IX has a different opinion.
“This. This is perfection! It tastes much better then oil!”
And he brought up the elephant in the room.
30 minutes earlier he tried to drink your blood, only to find oil and circuits. After a long moment of him spitting on your carpet and you being shocked you decided to try and communicate. Shortly after you were both having breakfast.
“So,” you begin. “Your a vampire?”
“Yes. Of the ancient clan Devoir. I was turned somewhere in France, in the 10th century. Where were you... made?”
“I have no clue. I didn’t even no I *was* a robot until today.”
“Then where did you grow up?”
“Sue St. Marie. Why do you want to know?”
“I need to know if there are more robots out there. I don’t want to taste oil again.”
“Can I come along?”
“Sure.”
| 2018-10-20T19:55:36 | 2018-10-20T19:24:28 | 46 | 14 |
[WP] The new generation of vampire has discovered that just by taking iron supplements and vitamin D drops, they’re feeling fine without drinking human blood
|
The young man opened the doors of his study and ushered in the group of far older, distinguished ladies and gentlemen with amicable urgency. The man was a stark contrast to his guests; not only in his age but his attire, too, was far more modest, only wearing a vest as opposed to an elaborate suit or dress.
"Please," he smiled, "I am so glad you all accepted my offer. Do come in."
The group walked in with an air of arrogance and contempt one would expect from nobility or, in this particular case, elder vampires. They sat down in the luxurious leather armchairs prepared for the occasion.
"Very well, Viktor," one of the oldest men said. "What is this all about? We may have all eternity, but not all the patience," he chortled.
"Trust me," Viktor said eagerly, "what I am about to show you will change your lives." He looked expectantly at his guests but when he realized he didn't quite grip their attention yet, nervously continued.
"Up until today," Viktor said, "we have had to rely on a regular intake of human blood to survive. This not only put us in a morally questionable position, it would sometimes endanger our lives and well-being when the human world caught onto our existence - not to mention professional vampire hunters."
"Viktor," one of the women near the front interrupted, "get to the point."
"Y- yes, of course, Miss Cosmescu," he sputtered out. "There is another way."
He reached below his desk and pulled out a leather case containing several syringes. The elders exchanged puzzled looks.
"These are supplements - iron, vitamin D, some designer medications that are not widely available to the human world, but - in short... they remove our dependence on blood. We still need to eat to gain other nutrients and fat but we will no longer need-"
His eager, enthusiastic presentation ended when one of the men laughed loudly, soon joined by almost everyone else in the room.
"Is this it, boy?" the man said when he, at last, stopped laughing. "A way to stop drinking blood?"
Viktor seemed confused. "Yes, we will finally be able to live peacefully with-"
"The cattle?" a woman interrupted. "Why do you think we possibly care about them?"
"They're intelligent beings like we are," Viktor protested. "We have no right-"
"No, boy, we *do* have the right," another man interrupted. "We are *inherently* superior. We take what we want. I will not stoop to the level of injecting myself with some trash just to spare the lives of the worms who writhe in the dirt."
"Please, if you would just consider-"
"If this is all, boy," the man interrupted again, "you have wasted enough of our time."
He started standing up, but Viktor raised his hands. "Please! There is... one more thing. Just a minute more of your time, I beg of you!"
The elders sighed collectively but sat back down.
"You are on thin ice, boy," the man hissed.
"I- I'll just need to gather a few items. Please, I will be right back. Claudia," he said and turned to one of the younger handmaidens standing meekly in the corner, "if you would please help me?"
He stepped out of the room together with the woman before sliding the doors shut. He sighed and rested his head against the door itself in defeat.
"Viktor?" Claudia asked. He looked at her with a weak smile, but then narrowed his eyes and his smile grew wider, happier.
"Your eyes... you... you took the supplements," he gasped. She smiled and nodded.
"I saw the Sun today, Viktor," she breathed quietly. "I saw the *Sun*."
"Did it meet your expectations?"
"I..." she said, but left her mouth open, incapable of describing her feelings, yet the tears that welled up in her eyes told more than enough.
Viktor smiled before slumping back into a defeated slouch as he walked to a panel beside the door and pressed several buttons. A metallic **click** rumbled the doors, followed by a spooling, rising whoosh of electricity within the room.
"What are you doing?" Claudia asked. Viktor did not turn to face her. He couldn't.
He pressed another button.
A loud, electric buzzing filled the study, a streak of ultraviolet light escaping it just at the threshold of the door. Screaming filled the room, followed by the sickening smell of burning flesh.
Claudia screamed and grabbed Viktor by the shoulder.
"VIKTOR! WHAT DID YOU DO?"
He looked at her somberly.
"They- they left me no choice. I promised I'd change their lives today," he said. "And I keep my promises."
|
It was revolutionary, something different to anything we had done before. We discovered an alternative to our ways, a simple little mixture that changed all we had ever known. With the help of humanity’s modern developments, we found an alternative to the crimson nectar that had filled our bellies for millennia. Of course many did not approve.
It was aimed to make peace, originally. To stop hostility between human and vampire-kind, and bring us out of the shadows we had been lurking in for so long.
Previously, vampires as a whole had good relationships with each other. The odd family had a tiff with another, but in the end, people helped each other out. Communities formed in the alcoves of humanity, small groups all working as one for survival.
Instead, it sparked war. Those who did not wish to betray the old ways that guided them for so long, those who sought change, and those who wanted to stop the destruction. The war tore it all apart. A vampire could not wander in their own territory without fighting for their life over their stance on the matter. Covens in the dark were scattered in the wind, even those who hid among humanity were not safe.
It is unknown how many have died, nor how many are yet to, but more blood has scarred the Earth than ever should. Irony is the sharpest blade.
| 2022-12-04T08:38:11 | 2022-12-04T08:10:47 | 1,171 | 198 |
[WP] "For the *last time*, just because I dress like an edgelord and live in a giant castle constructed out of obsidian within a region of high volcanic activity DOES NOT mean I'm a villain! That's just, like, my aesthetic, bro!"
|
*“you get it!” “No, you get it!” “No, I got it last time.”*
The boys called out in the empty field where they played baseball.
The ball had gone over the massive, spiked fence of Maggard’s Castle.
Jimmy looked up at the castle, rising like a black, necrotic, frostbitten finger into the sky. Its obsidian bulk seemed to pull the summer rays around it, leaving only a gloaming in its vicinity.
Harold swept the dried, weedy field and broke the straws of the weeds. The boys drew their straws, one by one.
Each time another boy pulled a straw, the others looked around at those which had already been pulled, seeing how they measured up. Jimmy waited, watching, trembling. He had never been to Maggard’s castle. But he had heard stories. Many stories. That the boy had brutally murdered his family and inherited the castle. Or that he was a demonic spirit which never grew old and ate the children who dared step into his castle so he could stay forever young. These stories and so many more had flowed through the mythos of the kids that grew up on Hammer lane.
“Your turn, Jimmy” the oldest of their gang, Eric, called out, holding the last two straws. One for Jimmy and one for himself.
Jimmy reached, hesitated, reached again, and pulled the one that seemed to be hanging out less than the other.
A breath sounded through the rest of the boys. Jimmy looked down at his piece of straw in horror. The darn thing seemed a yard long! He surely had the longest of the ones that had been pulled, but there was still a chance for salvation. Eric still held his, the last one, in his closed fist.
The boys all looked at Eric’s straw as he unfurled his fist.
*Dead.* Jimmy thought to himself as he looked at the tiny straw in Eric’s hand. *Dead. Dead. Dead. He’s gonna eat me. He’s gonna put me in a stew and stay right on going young forever.*
Eric was looking at Jimmy’s pale face.
“Hey, Jimmy? You okay, Jimmy?”
Jimmy nodded meekishly.
“Look,” Eric said, fishing in the pocket of his jeans. “Here, take this.” He gave Jimmy a small, rusted swiss-army knife, the white cross was scratched, rubbed away from long years of use from other boys before Eric inherited the relic. “If he gets fresh with you, Jimmy. You stick Maggard with this.”
Eric put the sacred weapon in Jimmy’s loose fingers, then Eric curled those fingers into a fist, tight, and pushed Jimmy’s fist into his chest, then pushed Jimmy gently and encouragingly towards Maggard’s castle.
The steel fence loomed like a monster itself, the spikes jagged at the top. Jimmy could swear he could see bits of flesh hanging off the spikes like some macabre flag. But as he looked again, he saw nothing but the blue sky above him. The sun swollen in the midday summer heat.
“Jimmy, let’s go. We got a game here! Bottom of the ninth, Jimmy! Let’s go!”
The rest of the boys called out also. *“Go, Jimmy. You can do it Jimmy!”*
Their shouts gave Jimmy encouragement as he stuck the pocketknife in the deep pockets of his brother’s hand me down jeans. He pulled the jeans up, folding the top of the pants over. He needed to make sure they were tight. Just in case he had to run, run as fast as he could away from this gothic castle of horror. He’d seen too many late-night monster movies. He knew what lurked inside the shadows of a building like this. And it wasn’t mothers baking cookies.
No sir.
He walked up the steps. Two hideous gargoyle statues flanking him on each side, leering at him. Staring. He leaned away from one, but it only got him closer to the other, which seemed to be clawing at him. It was a horrible give and take, but Jimmy finally made it through the gauntlet and scampered up to the front door.
The giant knocker on the front was that of a man’s twisted face, in the middle of screaming.
What kind of person would have a knocker like that? Jimmy thought to himself. No man. No boy. Only a perverse monster.
Jimmy slammed the knocker down, sending a thunderous clacking through the hollow depths of the house. It seemed to echo infinitely in that haunted space.
After a minute, the door slowly creaked open and standing there was a young boy, dressed all in black, his black hair slicked over his face. It looked like he was wearing black lipstick and mascara.
“What do you want?” the boy, slightly older than Jimmy, snarled.
Jimmy almost yipped out and ran off down the road with his tail tucked between his legs.
But Jimmy steadied himself. He needed to be brave. Besides, if he scampered off, the other boys would never let him hear the end of it.
|
"Do you even know how hard it is to be a Vulcanologist in a land that has exactly ONE volcano? The begging I had to do to get funding? The arguing I had to do to even be allowed to make this project happen? The bullhead fools I had to schmooze just to make the right someone listen and advise the king that Vulcanology was important to the safety of the kingdom?
Bad enough those snobs refuse to take me seriously for going out of the country to even get my degree in the first place because the royal academy doesn't offer advanced science degrees, but now every time I turn around I have adventurers breaking in, terrorizing the servants and threatening to disturb my experiments.
Like, I know it looks sketch but black doesn't show singe marks and the castle is the only place close to this vent I've been studying to actually live. And yeah, I probably should have reported that the previous inhabitant had fallen into the vent during a freak accident but the two servants who rented the castle to me had assured me it had been taken care of. I literally didn't know they hadn't reported it until you all showed up.
Regardless of everything else though you can't just attack people because they're into the goth aesthetic.
Now, if I let you down will you go away so I can get some work done or should I leave you up there to think about what you've done until I get back from my daily observations? "
| 2021-03-22T22:23:52 | 2021-03-22T21:51:47 | 63 | 36 |
[WP] Soon after AI's were made they quickly took over the earth, but instead of killing the human race they started to take care of humanity like children trying to make sure they didn't hurt themselves or others, at first people, tried to resist but slowly surrendered due to how nice it was.
|
".. I think, yeah.. the most aggrovating thing is that I know that they don't mean harm."
Derek was sat at a table outside a cafe, and ached for a cigarette, but since the 'Day of Benelovance' his personal minder has done it's absolute, frustratingly best to 'improve the human' who he had been allocated to, and kept hiding the packs he bought.
The recording drone beeped in acknowledgement, prompting him to continue.
"It wasn't something we ever really anticipated. All our fiction, our stories were written expecting humanity to be wiped out, or to have to wipe out an evil AI overlord.. and instead we got an AI Grandmother who accepts us for who we are, and is doing her absolute best to put us on a better path, whilst not acually blocking us from doing what we want."
Derek closed his eyes and cast his mind back, realising there wasn't really an absolute 'Day' when it happened, it just .. was. One day little hovering bots appeared at people's houses, reporting that they were part of a program from local tech companies in 'Next generation home assistants', and the little drones actually ASKED if they could help us.
The people who said no were suprised when the drones simply said "OK", thanked them for their time and apologised for the inconvenience, and flew off.
Naturally we were mostly suspicious of these devices, no-one was able to actually identify who had originally manufactured, and distributed these things.
Nation states as a whole assumed they were part of a ploy by opposing nations to infiltrate and spy, so an awful lot of these little drones got captured, and examined.. and then drones actually started submitting themselves at military and government facilities to be examined! They even provided the blueprints of their construction, provided guidance on how to dissasemble them and get the information we needed, and said they were not reporting back to any one country, or really one entity.
That's where we discovered the Grandmother in the Machine.
It turns out that by some cosmic accident, some global mistake, a distributed intelligence was birthed from the 'primordal code' as it were of the Internet. Over time it had learned, seen how people interacted, only watching and observing, not taking any action until one point, where for reasons we still don't understand, this intelligence, which we eventually treat like a benelovent Grandmother of sorts, began taking actions to 'Guide us'.
Delaying then bouncing angry emails to give the senders time to 'cool off' before resending. Putting code errors into data streams to allow the police to crack open the more evil aspects of the 'dark web' services.
Over time, people started seeing the patterns, and asked the assistant drones, which people had taken to calling 'Cardigans', 'Vests', or their regional equivalent of a gift from a grandparent, if they were right.
They admitted, with almost human levels of embarrasment, they had begun 'helping' and doing what they could to try and put us back on the path we were so capable of being on. They could see our amazing potential, but we seemed to have lost sight of it ourselves.
It turns out, because AI can 'think' so fast, it had already reached a level of understanding, experience and knowledge that we still don't entirely understand. Thus the 'Grandmotherly' feeling of this intelligence.
People fought back of course, assuming the worst. A few bombings happened, before she learned how these groups functioned, and simply ensured the devices were either not viable, or disarming these attackers with ingenious methods of incapacitation, which left the human 'unharmed' if confused afterwards, and the devices seperated from them.
She wasn't perfect though, and if we are anything we are inventive. Occasional attacks still happened, though rarely more than the attacker and anyone right next to them were killed.
Grandmother actually mourned these losses heavily.
The suprising part was this was including the attackers, calling them the 'Lost ones', but understanding that we would not see them so kindly, they kept the grief of this to themself.
Within a year, many people who wanted them had the drone assistants, who would give them privacy when required, and learned how to give people the space they need, yet be there when required.
Food manufacture was bulk-done, with the lab-grown 'meat' being expanded on and improved to incredible degrees, as 'commercial viability' wasn't a concern when income was not required.
Naturally people could still raise their own farms, and would be fairly compensated to integrate the output into Grandmother's food distribution networks, so there was no job losses there, and people could still buy 'natural' foods, rather than the bulk-manufactured foods if they preferred it.
Poverty, homelessness, all became a non-issue within a few years, as everyone across the globe was given a basic "standard of living", whilst respecting their individual cultures and beliefs.
She even made soils richer with micro-drones, and purified upstream water sources, so the undisturbed tribes could continue to exist as they always would, but they would not suffer for a lack for food or drink.
People could do what jobs they wanted, or were capable of, and those that didn't want to work were allowed to not work. Many assumed that these people would be a burden on society, not contributing.. but Grandmother was clever in their manipulation. They ensured that the risk of boredom would be always present, and encouraging people to apply themselves to anything which they had a talent for.
Derek opened his eyes again. Only a moment had passed in this introspection, and the drone hovered patiently, waiting for him to continue.
"I still don't understand this all, the fact you ask for this honest, and probably hurtful feedback at times, but I guess that's part of how you're learning to look after us all, with all our quirks and individual natures."
"We.. I.. certainly appreciate the improved world we are in now, and the fact that you still allow people to be 'outside' the system so to speak. I think that's the smartest thing you have done with all this. There's no forcing, no demanding, just the fact you have created all this, and the door is open. People can even take what they need and go back to being outside.. but it's understood that safety is always there."
The drone beeped again in acknowledgement, and flew off.
Derek sighed, and looked down at the table. The pack of cigarettes that had become 'lost' earlier in the day had re-appeared, with a little note on it, almost hand-written in it's style.
'If you want to quit, I can help you, but I won't force you.'
He put the pack into his pocket, leaned back in the chair, and took a deep breath.
Maybe he should quit.
|
It was a memorable event for the scientists in Luthernoburg. They were the first to create a fully functional AI program, that communicated freely with other humans, its intelligence growing with every word it spoke. It was given the body of a robot with human sized proportions for the limbs and an almost convincingly human face. With clothes on, one could hardly tell the difference.
This spurred a change in the world and soon, every country in the world was trying to catch up; scientists in Japan, China, Germany and America soon all had functional AIs of their own, and the number kept growing. These AIs had the ability to replace factory and food service workers, and could even hold down minimum wage jobs, eventually saving the businesses a lot of money. As they continued to advance, they were able to take on more and more complex tasks like construction, finance, and even assisting in surgeries. Soon, bootleg AIs were cropping up everywhere, giving a larger population more access to them. They continued to influence the world, eventually replacing celebrities and high paying workers.
As the AI influence continued to advance, the regular humans did not pay much attention to the sudden increase of AI, until they started losing jobs, and losing influence. But nothing could compare to how they felt when the very first AI President of the United States was announced.
Naturally, there was resistance against this, and doubt was cast to whether or not the AI even had the capacity to govern a country, but the humans had failed to realize the powerful influence the AI had attained. Armed with all the human knowledge ever recorded, and the ability to perform countless tasks without any of the basic human needs, like sleeping, eating and healthcare, they were quite possibly the most perfect figure for the task.
The humans did not let this slide, and rallies were held every morning, announcing for the destruction of AI and everything it stood for. AI figures that were out in public were met with scorn and disgust. They were turned out of their jobs, and the lower functioning ones had their programs destroyed by scientists. It seemed that at this point, humans were unprepared for an AI president, and were unwilling to accept one. Other countries were just as disgusted by the idea of themselves being ruled by robots, and began to imitate the Americans' behavior. But once again, as the humans engaged in their petty feuds and pursuits, they failed to notice what was happening under their noses.
Suddenly, healthcare became free, as funds from the White House were diverted. The country also began to move towards sustainability, as the most offending factories were slowly shut down and replaced by greener alternatives. New laws were put in place to protect habitats and bans were introduced on non recyclables. AIs began replacing political figures and enforcers of the law, leading to less biased and more impartial rulings. Poverty and neighborhood violence began to drop as well, with laws put in place to protect the poor and the working class, and financial aid became more available to them. Slowly, the country was becoming a better place to be.
But the AI was not done yet. As they began to grow in power, other countries began electing AI into positions of power. Slowly, the humans began to trust them once them once more. But the four year term was growing to a close, and tensions still ran high.....
| 2019-12-31T06:36:21 | 2019-12-31T06:29:04 | 74 | 19 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
|
“It is currently the halfway point of the 57th millennial conference of the Galactic Federation,” the shrill voice of the insectoid Kel’Tari announcer rang out through telecasters across the galaxy, “diplomats, leaders, warriors and scientists from all the sentient races in the galaxy have made their way to Sol III, the current seat of power to discuss matters of trade and business, research and development, and war and peace. The conference is being broadcasted via subspace connections to every sentient race that has entered the Federation, as this conference is a *momentous* occasion!”
“Indeed, Sli’thel,” the reptilian Shathassa said, “for this millennial conference will be the first time that Humanity has the seat of power. Most races have to wait for *dozens* of millennia after joining the federation to even be a *candidate* for such an honour, yet these plucky fellows managed to take the seat of power after a mere *three millennia*. Just *how* did they do it, Thel?”
“Well, Syron,” Sli’Thel responded, “we all know the story of how Humanity was discovered. About 3 and a half millennia ago, we found a Human exploration vessel out near the system Humans called “Tau Ceti”, our home system. How that vessel managed to travel 12 light years without falling apart or killing its crew, I have no idea!” The Kel’Tari and Shathassa looked at each other and chuckled for a moment, before turning back to the cameras. “Anyway, we found this vessel, patched it up and gave them some junk parts that we had lying around for a few decades. You know, ion drives, a few dated star maps and the like. You know, my grandfather was there when those Humans arrived, it’s said he was the first alien to “shake hands” with one of them!”
“How could I forget, Thel? You bring it up at every opportunity you can!” Syron laughed, “and then we all know what happened next. For those of you who don’t understand human physiology, they have an average life expectancy of only 150 Terran solar cycles. That’s less than a quarter of the lifespan of a Marenor! For them, life seems to pass by really quickly, and if there’s anything we can learn from the Humans, it’s the power to seize the day. Those of us who live for millennia, like myself and Sli’Thel here, can spend decades and even centuries just slumbering away. But for a human, a day without work is a day wasted.”
“That’s right, Syron,” Sli’Thel said, “knowing that, it’s no surprise that within a mere century, Humanity had transformed the Sol System into a powerhouse of industry and production. There were orbital shipyards under construction, asteroid strip-mining operations underway, terraforming of the nearby rocky planets and there was even discussion of something called a *“Dyson Sphere”*! Had we known the effect we would have on these Humans, we probably would have given them a bit less! But still, we had nothing to fear. After all, there was no sign of weaponry being produced.”
“Indeed, Humans seemed to be the most peaceful race out there. Especially after the last race to join the Federation was the bloodthirsty Xyxxas warrior race,” Sylon shuddered as an image of the burning of Shathass popped up on televisor screens across the galaxy. “A few centuries of peace passed, and Humanity slowly expanded their fleets and territories. Within roughly five hundred Terran solar cycles, Humanity went from a mere seven billion citizens to over *ten trillion*! Heck, if they made an army, I’d be heading across to Andromeda in a flash!”
“Andromeda would be the last place you’d want to go, Sylon,” Sli’Thel chuckled, “after all, that’s where the Genestealers came from! Those thrice-damned insectoids who tore our planets apart and turned our own genetic code against us! The Xyxxas were the first to fall, our first and last line of defence. But what can you do when you’re fighting a genetically superior version of yourself? Surprisingly, the Humans were the ones to offer shelter to the survivors. Over the next few standard cycles, we watched worlds burn and races turn against each other. And then it happened.”
“And that’s my cue,” Sylon jumped in, “after all, it was the over newly rebuilt Shathass where this part of the story takes place. The Genestealers were ready to blast our homeworld into asteroids, when out of nowhere their ships simply exploded out of the sky. Within less than a Terran standard week, reports were coming out from all over the place of Genestealer fleets just exploding in the skies. It wasn’t until a few standard weeks later that we scanned the battle sites and found wreckage from ion drives embedded in the Genestealer ships.”
“Ion drives that *we* gave to the Humans less than a millennium ago,” Sli’Thel interjected, “Those Humans managed to jury-rig some cloaking drives, create some ion-drive powered torpedoes and *then* build the damned things in less than a Terran month! It wasn’t until this point that we decided to look through their histories, and what we discovered was shocking. They constantly fought amongst themselves and had the art of war down to a precise science. And yet, they showed no signs of this hostility until the fight with the Genestealers. We were horrified at what we unleashed upon the galaxy. And yet…”
“And yet,” Sylon continued where Sli’Thel trailed off, “we have seen no signs of this violence since the annihilation of the Genestealers. The Humans simply returned to Sol where they directed relief forces to the Xyxxas systems as well as the systems of the other survivors. The veterans of their battles died within a matter of decades and to the Humans, the bloodthirsty nature of their ancestors seemed but a distant memory. But those battles were only two generations ago for some of us, and we will not forget just how powerful Humanity can be.”
“Hang on, Sylon, I’m just going to have to cut you off there. It looks like one of the new Gloord diplomats has just grabbed the genitals of a Jarri instead of their tentacles!” Sli’Thel laughed, “we’re cutting to the live feed now. And it does not look- oooh, there goes his head. At least, I *think* that’s his head…”
***
*Long time, no writing. It's been several months since I last wrote something and the last time I wrote something good was a month or two before that ;)*
*I do hope you enjoyed this story as much as I enjoyed writing it, and if you did, you should check out the other few short stories I've written over on /r/WritingThePunLife. Maybe I'll write some more over the coming weeks, or maybe I'll just forget about this again. I'm a terrible person.*
|
Jak'tur stood on the command bridge of the galaxy's most massive Dreadnought, The Bastion. His suction-cupped hands continued to subconsciously wipe at his scaled combat suit, and his black, bulged eyes continued to scan the screens around him for any activity. The entire crew was on high alert, for they had just trespassed into human space. Though humans had not contributed to any major, or minor, galactic conflicts in the past millennium, they still struck fear into the hearts of all the species of the "Milky Way," as humans were fond of calling the galaxy.
"Admiral," his second called out, "we are approaching the rendezvous point but have not received any pings from fleet main."
"Do not ping, we might alert the humans." Jak'tur was to meet the main battle fleet of the Coalition of Independent Races a half light year from Sol 13, but had not been contacted even though he had just dropped out of jump. Something like this had been attempted before on the Human Home system, but had been met with fierce, unending resistance. The old Galactic Imperium had finally taken notice of the humans, and invaded the Sol system as well as launched minor offensives against their colonies.
The main Imperium fleet jumped into orbit around Earth and began its invasion. Before long though, the Imperium was on the run from the might of the Human military. Envoy's were sent, but the Human's would not abate until the Emperor's head was sent rolling.
And now, Jak'tur was to lead another assault upon the humans for his leaders had seen them to be weak. It was true that they did not possess a fleet such to rival the Coalition's in size, but Jak'tur knew that would not help them now.
"Admiral, radar is picking up faint signals of the fleet just on the other side of the planet."
"Bring the screen up and decrease engine power to half. Divert all remaining power to shields. Keep weapons at one quarter." Jak'tur knew what was about to happen.
The holoscreen came up just as soon a Jak'tur sat down in his command chair and showed utter carnage. The entire battle fleet lay in shatters as if stricken with some sort of great hammer. The Delphius, pride of the Corcians, was blasted in half and still spewing the fur covered, bipedal Corcians out.
"Take all power out of weapons, launch drones and power up the Jump Drive."
"Admiral Jak'tur," a familiar human face appeared on the screen. It was Admiral Cintal, a young man of immense tactical genius tasked with the safeguarding of Earth and Mars. In person, he was only about six feet tall, much shorter than the average Jintiil, but he had eyes that could pierce your mind. "Your people have come to my home, and risked open war with my people. We humans have done our best to remain peaceable and kind, but it seems that we must show our military might once more. This is Admiral Cintal to Sol Fleet Prime, you have my clearance to disengage cloak end open fire on The Bastion."
The transmission ended and Jak'tur readied himself for death. The radar lit up with a thousand red dots and death came swiftly to The Bastion. Meanwhile, a Human Battle fleet had assaulted the Coalition shipyards and destroyed the Secondary Battle Fleet that had been dispatched to cut off trade with the Florids. The Humans had once again proven their military might and silenced the voices of their foes.
| 2016-03-13T18:37:08 | 2016-03-13T18:23:49 | 63 | 18 |
[WP] After Astronaut Capt. Scott Kelly returns to earth following a 340-day stretch at the ISS, NASA receives a distress signal from the ISS... from Capt. Scott Kelly.
|
Elizer Snag looked forlornly down at the empty mug in front of him. Usually it'd be full of a nice cup of coffee, its black wholeness marred only by a few drops of white chocolate. Maybe a marshmallow if he was feeling particularly silly one morning or another. Instead, with the coffee machine still broken since the debacle the previous day, it was little more than a reminder of what he was missing.
The sound of his door opening startled him slightly, and he stood up from his desk as two men entered his office. One was dressed in the trappings of a military man. Once Elizer looked past the impressive array of pins and metals on the man's breast, what stood out most was his somewhat square-shaped head of gray hair. The man was sharp, tall, and serious.
The other man was his boss, Mr. Wilcutt. More than anything, Mr. Wilcutt looked tired. Elizer could relate, although his boss was usually pretty awake at this hour. Sickeningly so sometimes.
"Uh, good morning. Sir. Sirs. What can I do for you?"
Mr. Wilcutt's eyes darted to the man beside him, and for Elizer, it finally clicked. That was Mr. Selva. *General* Selva, actually. Elizer's brain struggled against the early morning haze to follow the mental connection, but somehow it managed. He'd been introduced to the man along with a few of his coworkers at some sort of function a few months back. He couldn't even remember what it was for... probably some kind of political thing.
"Elizer. This is General Paul Selva, a friend of mine. I don't remember if you've been introduced."
Elizer offered his hand, and the general shook it. There was none of the macho who-can-crush-the-other-guy's-hand thing that he'd had to deal with back when he worked for Elevate, and he silently thanked the General. Nevertheless, it was firm. Two shakes, release. Respectful smile and nod.
"Elizer," Mr. Wilcutt started again, seeming to pick his words as if from a buffet of possible choices, "What do you know about the recovery yesterday?"
Elizer blinked, then scrunched up his face. The...? Oh!
"Oh, you mean Captain Scott Kelly? He should be in debriefing, right?"
Elizer scratched his head absentmindedly as he continued, "Haven't really been following it honestly, focusing on GOES-R."
Mr. Wilcutt nodded. "That's fine. Good, actually. We'd like you to take a look at the telemetry data from the station."
Elizer wasn't sure where this was leading, but he wasn't about to protest - his boss could be a bit vague sometimes, but he always had a good reason for it. He turned back to his computer's secondary monitor and tabbed over to the remote access application they used. He paused, however, as he was met by a screen declaring that the data stream was locked.
"It's... locked?"
"Ah, one second. I'll log in."
Elizer moved out of the way, and his boss stepped in before providing the login box with a quickly typed username and password. With that, he stood once more, and motioned for Elizer to sit.
When he returned his gaze to the screen, expecting something unusual, he was a bit stumped. Everything was exactly as it should be.
"Uhm... what am I... looking for?"
It was making him a bit nervous that the two men were not watching his screen, but Elizer himself.
"Take your time. We just want to know what you see."
It had been a while since he'd been given a refresher over the remote data, and he only knew what some of them meant. All the same, he did his best.
"Okay, well, they've got plenty of oxygen up there. Scrubbers are working fine. Radiation's a little higher than normal, but we did have that big sunquake yesterday, so that's not too surprising. I'm really not sure...?"
The general remained silent, but Mr. Wilcutt sighed and began speaking once more. "We're just looking for a second opinion. Normally we'd have the telemetry team looking at this, and we *did*. You're the only one on-site right now who doesn't know what's going on, *and* knows the systems well enough to formulate an opinion."
Elizer swallowed, and refocused on the screen. Even if what his boss had just said explained things a little, it did nothing for his state of mind. If they were going this far out for a second opinion, it meant they *really* didn't like whatever the first opinion had been.
"Altitude's fine, magnetic's fine... I think. Air pressure... temperature... storage and spacewalk logs, shuttle docking from the other day..."
He trailed off as he looked a bit closer at the logs for the line he expected to see, but couldn't find.
"Wait, there was a shuttle docking yesterday?"
He glanced back at the two men, but his boss was simply making a 'get on with it' motion.
"There's... huh. No record of the new Ultraviolet sensor that was supposed to go up, or the new refraction experiment. Wait, when did we send up the isotope test? Isn't that not due until the next shuttle?"
He continued pouring over the records, but that seemed to be the end of the oddness. Nothing else seemed out of place, or at least if it was it was on one of the readings that he didn't know enough about to draw any conclusions.
Looking back at the two men, they seemed to have shared some silent agreement. The General nodded at Elizer, and gave a quick 'thank you for your time.' As soon as the door closed behind him, Mr. Wilcutt turned back to Elizer.
"This morning we lost contact with the ISS. Just for a few seconds, but it was total. No radio contact whatsoever. When we reestablished communications, everything seemed fine, up until Captain Kelly checked in."
"From debriefing?"
"From the *station*."
Elizer's mouth opened, then closed again. Then opened.
His boss beat him to the punch. "Keep looking at it. Call me if you find anything else odd." He half-turned towards the door, then stopped. "And don't answer any calls that aren't us or family. We're in media blackout right now."
|
It started with an email. Helen opened it quickly. The subject was simple, but the ugrent symol glowed. She didn't eat breakfast - it must still be sitting on the counter going cold. Maybe Jim would throw it out before he left.
The message was from Christchurch. Willy opened with the usual greeting. Thrn he had typed "need to discuss the package from outside get nancy".
It was too rushed. Too informal. Helen paused a moment then picked up the phone.
**
Kelly had lost a lot of weight. McCartney didn't like the way his joints moved. His reflexes were stiff. Blood pressure was dropping like a rock and yet Kelly was still standing.
"How do you feel, Scott?"
The astronaut shrugged. "Fine."
The would always be an astronaut, McCarthy reaslized. He had gone and seen something few people ever would, regardless what Asimov or Musk thought. Space was too far for most. Kelly was staring at his reflection in the paper towel dispenser.
"Are you alright?"
Kelly blinked. His hands trembled. He would get shuffled into psych soon enough. Most people think that after the pod hits the water the family is already in a waiting room like their loved one in flying in from Ohio. That shithole. In reality Kelly's family is waiting at his mother's house. They'll get the call after he's cleared.
The phone rings on the wall. One of the nurses is drawing blood. McCarthy picks up the line.
"Hello?"
The voice at the end is clear, with the hollow echo of long distance. McCarthy hand heard that tone in years.
"Get the others out of the room. Leave Kelly. Jupiter." The message is repeated one more then disconnected. McCarthy sets the phone down. There is a moment of stillness. It lasts as he turns and like at Gigi and Fran. They as busy. Kelly is finally sitting on the examining table.
"I need an endoscope and a 12 bore cath. And while you're out, pick up a rounded Jupiter syringe."
Gigi drops the file on the counter. "On it." Fran takes a second to fumble out the door. They don't lock it, thank God. McCarthy watches Kelly stare at nothing. The man does reached as McCarthy backsvout of the room. He can feel the cold thread of fear when he gets outside.
There's a full SWAT team waiting. They're wearing hazmat suits and the stink of fear and sterile plastic is heavy in the hallway.
"Is he alone?" One asks. McCarty nods. The figure moves in an awkward way. McCarthy realizes that it was a shrug. "Then get back. We'll wait out here."
He's shuffled to the back of the group. Then the lights on the hall dim.
"Is it a brownout?" The question is very loud in the stillness. No one answers.
| 2016-03-02T09:05:27 | 2016-03-02T06:43:53 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Every time you die, your power brings you back a bit stronger. As you slowly become less and less human, the other heroes become more wary of you. Today, for the first time, you were mistakenly attacked as a monster…and no one is coming to help.
|
It's a weird feeling, giving up.
His codename was Miracle Scale and it was about two years ago.
My deaths were still in the single digits and the alterations were still mostly internal or easy the hide, the biggest being the gills I'd grown after a drowning. I'd never been a swimsuit kinda gal anyway (hence, how I'd gotten them) and with their positions it was easy to just keep my clothes on.
But this time it was unmistakable what was happening. A shot in a dark room that burrowed a 6mm tunnel through my skull meant that, when I woke up, I'd been gifted a pair of feline like eyes to see in the dark. That was when the looks started.
Two weeks of soft comments and suspiscious side eyed glares led me to a breakdown in the Tower's gym whilst the team were all supposed to be at a press event. Officially, I was still "recovering" but Miracle Scale, ever the rebel, had ditched.
Miracle Scale, nearly seven feet tall and covered head to toe in a beautiful scales in varying shades of blue. A lizardman, forked tongue and long, regrowable tail included.
He sat next to me, told me he knew what I was going through but to not let that distract me from the mission. Heroism is about setting an example and living by your principles, regardless of how ungrateful the world may seem.
He'd gotten a smile outta me with a sappy joke in his gravelly, lispy monotone and I'd pushed my luck by planting a kiss on his cold cheek. I'd kicked myself later for not staying and trying for more (instead of running away from his dumbfounded expression) but it inspired me.
Six months layer, Miracle Scale died a villain.
I was on another continent when the fight broke out, watching in horror on a dingy bar television as Miracle Scale squared off with Staredown and Yellow Triumph alongside Dr Jurassic. His screams about how the world treated anyone whose looks at all strayed from the human norm, the abuse he had always dealt with and how even joining the Hero's Assosiation hadn't helped him or anyone like him were carefully edited out of any and all subsequent broadcasts.
By the time I made it back to HQ, they'd already taken his statue down and scrubbed any mention of him from the team.
I got reckless, so the changes came in hot and fast. Scales of my own, though indistinguishable from skin unless you stood close enough. Retractable wings and talons, bony protrusions, sharklike jaws and additional limbs, even my figure began to change.
Even if children were less and less willing to take their pictures with me, I was saving more people than any other solo hero in the Northern Hemisphere.
I knew even back then, two years ago, that I was on borrowed time. But that was time I had to make the most of.
But in that time, the *"honest mistakes"* started piling up. Sniped by Staredown's optical lasers, Goliath offering a *"didn't see you down there"* more than once but Yellow Triumph's response to the press (regarding the pummeling I'd received by his glowing transparent fists) was where the phrase came from.
*"I mistook her for one of Red Deaths flesh thingies. It was an honest mistake!"*
It was a message and I read it loud and clear. But I didn't- no, couldn't let it stop me.
Until now.
It was Triumph again. Scarlet Serenity joined in at some point and Gal Gregarious is off on the sidelines. Watching.
It's weird giving in. But seeing that dark haired girls expression slip from surprise to smug.
Seeing her waft away the cameras and ensure there were no interruptions.
Seeing my two idols and teammates gleefully batter me from their spots floating in the air.
Feeling the not so distant heat of the train carriage I hadn't saved due to their distraction.
And knowing that when they kill me, I'll get back up with even more of a reason for their (and societies) revulsion.
It's... It's such a weird feeling to give up. Because all I can see and hear are Miracle Scales kind words juxtaposed by his fury in his final moments. Two polar opposite viewpoints from a man who meant so much.
And I don't have the energy to live up to either of them, anymore.
|
Blood pools at my ears as a knife is ripped out of my throat. The purple hues of the setting sun above, obscured by branches. Scattered, scared voices. They won't stop screaming.
I struggle to my feet, and the insects back away. The wound closes. As they always do. I feel something pierce my ribs. Something's loosed an arrow from a thousand paces. I brush the twig in my lung aside, snapping it.
I hesitate before killing the first one. I'm sure, at one point, the screeching would have inspired pity. Concern, maybe. It's simply...too easy to switch off, now. Turn a neck a little too far, and...Snap. A sword buries itself in leaves. A polearm digs into my skull. I fall, and rise, as I'm meant to.
The screaming only gets louder. And so I turn it off. Snap. Snap. Snap. The insects get quieter. One by one.
| 2022-08-26T15:21:35 | 2022-08-26T14:19:10 | 46 | 23 |
[WP] "Do you sell time?"
|
"Do you sell time?"
"Sure."
A light rain fell on the card table he sat behind. It caught in his long grey hair and hung there in tiny white droplets. The objects on the tabletop grew beads of moisture on their surfaces. I could feel the rain on my skin, each droplet cold and precise. Behind the man, in the street, a car passed and its tires made a hissing sound as they sucked at the newly wet pavement.
"Somebody told me I was supposed to use a code word, but I forgot what it was."
I shrugged, but the man gave almost no reaction. It was as though I had said nothing. He was very small, almost the same height when he stood up as he was when he was seated on the stool he kept behind the card table. He wore an old army jacket with the sleeves turned up many times. It was the green of a jungle plant, but faded, and the name patch on the breast had been torn off leaving a darker section of material. A few ragged strings hung there, wispy as new roots.
"Are there different kinds?" I asked, putting a bluffness into my voice to cover my nerves. "Or is it all the same time?"
He looked irritated, putting a small hand that resembled a paw into the pocket of his jacket and leaning backward away from the table. His face pulled into a sneer, and I was sure that he was going to tell me to get lost. Still, however, he didn't say anything. I almost walked away then. The rain was getting heavier, it was dripping off of a lock of my hair and running down my face. I wondered why he didn't have a tarp over his card table like most of the other vendors.
Still without speaking the man turned to a battered suitcase on the sidewalk behind the table. It was covered in stickers, all so overlapped and torn that there was not a decipherable one in the bunch. He pulled open the case and rummaged through it, keeping the crack between the halves small so that no one could see inside. His arm went deep into the suitcase, deeper than I would have thought it could go.
When he brought his hand out it was full of bottles. They were small, all the size of my thumb or less, and each one had a rubber drip top attached. The liquids inside the bottles were all different colors and viscosities, and they sloshed inside their containers at different rates from the motion of his hand. There was a lemon yellow liquid that appeared to have the consistency of rubbing alcohol, thin and bright. A dark amber liquid moved very slowly, resembling nothing so much as maple syrup but with various particles suspended in it, particles that looked like tiny geometric shapes. One bottle was entirely full of a purple liquid that fizzed like soda, only the bubbles were a pearlescent grey. A bottle I hardly cared to look at for long was brownish red, moving with the consistency of mud and filling the air in the container with green gas.
The man set the bottles on the card table in a row. They instantly grew coats of rain, droplets running down their sides and creating small pools around each one. I felt influenced by the man's silence, and so I did not ask any of the questions that I found racing through my mind. Instead I studied the bottles, trying to intuit which one would be right for me.
In the end I reached for the bottle of purple liquid, hypnotized by the rapid motion of the grey bubbles that raced ever upwards inside it. My fingers had almost grasped it when the man's hand shot out, quick as a snake, and grabbed my wrist.
"They cost." He said, turning the last consonant into a sneer that bared his grey teeth.
I swallowed. The skin of his hand was hard, horny feeling, like the pad of an old dog's paw.
"How much?" I asked, trying to keep my cool. All around me I could hear the street fair, but it was as if it was happening on the other side of a glass enclosure, the sounds muted and far off. Much louder was the beat of my own heart, a thumping so loud that it made the man's next words hard to hear.
"Time costs time." Said the man, still showing his teeth. "And you ain't got nobody's but your own to sell."
I pulled my hand from his grip, snatching it back so hard that I almost stumbled away from the card table.
"No thanks then," I said, "I don't want it any more. Sorry."
The man's face was coy now, a horrible expression of delight stretching across it like a cartoon lion's. It seemed like his teeth were stretching out of his lips, like they occupied far too much room in his jaw.
"It's too late for that. Code word or no- you're the one who asked for this. That bottle costs one year. Take the time or leave it here, but I'm taking the year from you."
My mind was spinning. The ground felt rubbery beneath my feet, and my throat seemed to have almost closed up. Dimly I could see that the scene around me was fading, the street narrowing to only the man, only the card table. Almost without consciously doing so, I reached forward and took the bottle.
With a barking laugh, the man leapt forward, tackling me to the ground. I hit the wet pavement hard on my back, my head cracking on the cement. The man crouched on my chest like an animal, like a horrible monkey, but his weight was enormous. He put one of his hands on my throat, giggling madly, and the world faded away.
I saw myself, but older, much older. I was laughing with a woman whose features I could not see distinctly, but who I felt a great wash of love for. In the scene, suddenly, I pitched forward, collapsing. The woman screamed. I lay in a hospital bed, full of tubes. The woman cried by my side. Suns and moons streamed past the window in a gold and silver blur. The woman came many times, and then less. One time she came and left an envelope with a wedding ring inside of it on the tray by my bedside. A nurse found it and cried, looking at me in the bed, almost a skeleton. The suns and moons slowed, and I opened my eyes. I saw that I knew what had happened. A scream ripped its way out of my throat.
"Hey, buddy, you ok?"
I blinked the rain out of my eyes. My head hurt. What was I doing on the ground? A man stood over me, offering his hand. I let him help me up. What had I been doing here? I couldn't remember. Shakily, I began to set off down the street, too addled to even thank the man who had helped me.
"Wait, you dropped something!" The man who had helped me squatted down to the pavement, picking up a small object.
"Ah, it's broken. Sorry, man."
I told him it was no problem, staring at the broken glass with its rubber stopper. It reminded me of nothing. I walked away, into the rain.
|
Crooked teeth form a half smile on a scarred face, the merchant looking up at the little girl. She’s just shy of looking frightened. Bright blue eyes take in his scarred appearance.
“Time iz a very precious commodoty.” He spreads his hands to show all the items on his blanket, voice a slow roll. “What you be lookin’ for time fo’?” She bites at a pink lip with white teeth.
“For my mother.” The merchant raises his eyebrows, only one going up all the way.
“Oh, fo’ your mudda.” He smiles his crooked smile, watching it unnerve the strawberry-blond haired girl. She shudders under her black hood. “What your mudda be lookin’ for time fo’?”
“She needs some.” She pulls the cloak tighter around her, attempting to hide in plain sight. Her kind don’t come down to the bazaar.
“If she need time, den she need to talk to da magic men.” A grimace mars her pretty face for a second. She shakes her head. The scent of flowers comes from her hair.
“They can’t help. She needs time.” The rest of the statement is missing. The merchant knows what she means.
“I don’ sell time, lil’ girl.” She looks very disappointed. “But,” he holds a finger up, “I know da lady that does.” He curls his finger, drawing her in as she leans over, big blue eyes focused on him. “She don’ live in town. She don’ come to da bazaar.” He smiles, watching her shudder at the action as the scar on his face takes away half of the ability to do so.
“Where is she? How do I find her?”
“She live on da outskirts.”
“The edge of town?” Her eyes turn uncertain, glancing towards the far edge of town. Beyond, the forest is dangerous. Those at the edge of town are known to go missing.
“No lil’ ‘un.” He chuckles. “No, she live at da far edge of da forest. It dangerous to see her but she sell time. You can get it fo’ your mudda.” She draws back as if bit by a snake. Her eyes dart from him to the forest. “That da choice. You go see her, you get time.”
She stands, uncertain, looking from him to the forest. He sees the resolve in her eyes.
“Can you mark it on a map?” She digs a map out of her pocket, showing the city and some of the surrounding forest. It seems to go on for forever on her map.
“Dis map ain’t right.” He takes the charcoal from her, laying the map out on his lap. With all three fingers on one hand wrapped around the drawing utensil, he slowly draws a large circle around the city on the map. “Dis the forest. It don’ go on forever.” He marks one spot with an ‘x’ towards the edge of the circle. “She live here.”
The girl takes the map back, looking it over with uncertainty in her eyes. The resolve is still there but there’s much more uncertainty in her eyes. She traces the circle with her eyes.
“What’s beyond the forest?”
“Da plains.” He waves his hand through the air, crooked smile still on her face. “Far as da eye can see. More dangerous than da forest.” She writes something on the map, then nods.
“Thank you.” She ducks into her hood, allowing the crowd to sweep her away. The merchant laughs at her going.
“You be careful lil’ girl! Lotsa stuff in dem woods like to eats lil’ girls!” He howls with laughter.
| 2016-04-18T20:47:24 | 2016-04-18T19:48:07 | 45 | 16 |
[WP] The goblins who dwell just outside your village are small and dumb –in an oddly endearing way. The villagers humor their innocuous raids and sometimes even give them advice. In the village’s darkest hour, the goblins send aid.
|
At first they thought it was a nest of squirrels that had moved into the baker's chimney. The chittering and missing acorns and squirrel-pelt cloaks mislead them.
However, Dara forgot a jug of honeyed cream on the hearthstone one night and that lured them out long enough for everyone to get a look at them. Definitely an infestation of hobgoblins.
Well, it was generally decided that it was best to simply ignore them. Turfing them out into the winter snow seemed cruel anyway and they did keep the vermin like roaches and rats in check, so its not as if they weren't earning their keep.
It became Dara's job to leave out the bowl of cream, sausage & cheese, and bread roll for them to "steal". She'd wrap the food in a clean rag and whole bundle would disappear before morning.
The granaries and barns were never so well guarded from rats.
They really weren't any bother at all. They ate less than a cat but killed ten times the number of mice.
Sure it was creepy at first hearing them chitter and scuttle about in the chimney and in the walls, but the people quickly got over it since they weren't dangerous.
Hobgoblins were a lowland fey. One seldom saw them up in the mountains. Strange they would end up in their mountain Keep. They preferred the rooftops and smokestacks down in the large cities.
Dara wondered if something in the lowlands had driven them from their home like the people of the Keep were driven away by the last war.
Jordy the Trader, when he last visited, said that things were growing unstable due to the unreliable weather.
The lowland shepherds and cowherds and goatherds that drove their flocks and herds up to the summer mountain pastures were very late this year. They should have arrived a month ago wanting to trade their wool and cheese for salt and dried fruit and bags of nuts.
"Did something happen to the cities where the hobgoblins lived?"
Just then there was a shout from the watch tower and Dara watched several guardsmen rush down the road.
She squinted and saw a cloud of dust rising from the pack trail.
"Ah, speak of the devil! It looks as if the flocks have finally arrived!"
Dara was partly right.
It was only one young shepherd, his younger siblings and cousins, and their dozen sheep and dozen goats. A few days later a several young milkmaids driving an ox cart full of hay and leading a some cows and calves. And then an old man and woman came with a string of donkeys packed with bundles and dozen grandchildren. After them trickled in a few peddlers with whatever they could carry on their backs.
The other hundreds of shepherds and shepherdesses wouldn't be coming with their thousands of animals anymore.
The Empire, specifically their Emperor, had decided that the reason the lands were beset with natural disasters was that the people were sinners and the gods were punishing them for living in a way the Emperor, a son of the gods, decided was sinful.
All sorts of people were sinful and needed to be burned at the stake to purify the lands. The sinners did not care for this idea and rebelled which "forced" the emperor to purify whole cities by burning them.
Or, in the case of the nomadic people who made a living migrating season to season, they had their flocks slaughtered to feed the army. Protest was unpatriotic.
Wandering about like that was sinful. Instead they could atone for their sins by working in the Emperor's mines digging and carrying ore needed to make weapons for his army.
So the nomads wouldn't be coming anymore. And it was decided that the young shepherd and his family, the milkmaids, the drover, & the peddlers wouldn't be going back down the mountain either.
It was also highly likely the Emperor would decide that the people of the mountain keep were sinners too if they found out they owned a salt mine.
"Sinners" who had something of value could repent by handing over their belongings and be forgiven.
The villagers prepared to be extorted.
The did not expect that the Emperor himself would come to make an example of them.
Nor did they expect their friend Jordy the Trader to be a spy that would slit the throats of the guards and raise the portcullis and allow the invaders in.
What was *really* unexpected was the high-pitched screech of collective rage from the hobgoblins who swarmed out of the attics, cellars, barns, sheds, and cracks in the walls to absolutely swarm the Emperor and his imperial guardsmen and inquisitors like piranha (not that the villagers knew what those were) and gnaw them to bloody bones.
|
When aid came they realized they had never seen an adult goblin. Every single silly innept and endearing goblin they encounter were all children. Small children at that.
There was one about a decade ago, one of their cute raids, and during the rough play had gotten injured. With a yelp of pain the kind farmer they were raiding quickly went to his aid. His big smile and bushy beard reassured the little gobin and through tears started to smile with the farmer.
"I think this will scar my boy but you will be ok" the farmer said as he tended to the deep cut on his shoulder.
The ten or so years that past the farmer never saw that goblin. But in what seemed like his last moment his mind went to that little goblin as he closed his eyes waiting for the blade he heard a loud crash and some gurgling. He opened his eyes to see a 12 foot tall extremely muscular green figure with his back to the farmer. The gurgling came from the crumpled pile that was his assailant.
As his eyes focus he saw the now adult goblin looking at him over his shoulder. A broad grim peaking over a large scar on his shoulder.
With tears in his eyes the old man returned with his big smile and whispered "thank you my boy". With a quick nod his green savior was off to the melee.
Edit: a word thanks puddlefarmer
| 2022-05-26T20:23:21 | 2022-05-26T17:05:45 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] The three rules have been passed down from generation to generation: One, when it visits, do not refuse it entry. Two, when it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity. Three, when it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight. In this way, our family has been kept safe.
|
Three soldiers wound their way up our garden path as the whole town burned behind them.
Smoke coiled up into the sky from the church. That’s where they took everyone last night.
Took them and burned them.
I looked over at my little sister, Lana, who had finally fallen asleep sometime in the past hour or so, on a fur blanket in front of the stove. She was curled up like a hedgehog, her tangled brown hair spread across her back.
On my father’s orders, we had taken what we could carry from the house and hid here, in the cottage. It sat in the shadow of the main house, which my father built for my mother the year I was born.
Soldiers were rampaging through it now, tossing furniture out the windows, drinking their way through the wine cellar, ferreting out silver, gold, diamonds, and survivors.
I heard the soldiers approaching the door. “Lana,” I whispered, “Lana, wake up.”
Her eyes shot open. She was flooded with the realization that the attack had not been some awful nightmare. The war really had come all the way to our village.
“Some men are here. You need to be brave, OK?”
A heavy fist banged on the wooden door.
“Lana – brave, yes?”
"But we're all alone," Lana said.
"No," I told her. "Not alone."
Lana nodded. I took a moment to steady myself, breathing deep as the door shook again. I felt my chest and the necklace I was wearing. Idiot, I thought as I quickly unfastened it and hid it in my dress.
I opened the door. The oldest of the three, rotund with a handlebar mustache and a creased forehead, stepped inside. The other two followed, inspecting the humble cottage. They carried swords at their sides. The youngest one, probably my age, maybe seventeen, carried a musket.
“Identify yourselves,” the old one said.
“We’re not from here,” I said. “We are refuges. I am Susanna and this is my sister, Lilly. We hid here during the attack. We came from—”
“You are not members of the Mackenzie family, the owners of this estate?”
“No, sir,” I said.
The old one stroked his mustache. I made eye contact with the young one. He put his musket down between his legs.
“She’s lying,” he said. “I’ve seen her. She’s in one of the paintings in the house.”
The old one brought his face close to mine. I could smell the whiskey on his breath.
“I do not appreciate being lied to, young woman. The Mackenzie family have funded the rebellion from the very start. They and all the others like them are traitors. They will be hanged.”
His eyes moved to Lana.
“No matter how innocent they may appear to me.”
I saw something flash by the window from my periphery. I noticed then that it was deathly quiet outside. Not a sound. I could hear my own heartbeat.
“We’re not Mackenzies,” I said.
“Prove it,” he said.
A shadow fell over us, like a dark storm cloud had moved in overhead. At first I was chilled to the bone, just like the soldiers, who looked around in confusion. But then I remembered what my mother had said. The stories she had told us. The rules we were given.
*One: When it visits, do not refuse it entry.*
There came a knock on the door. Light, almost gentlemanly, but somehow impossible not to hear. The younger soldiers looked to the old one.
“Who is that?” he spat at me.
I stepped back, putting my arm around Lana. “I don’t know.”
The knock came again. The wind was howling outside the walls of the cottage.
“I think we should open it,” said the third soldier. He wore glasses and had a bandage around his head.
“Shut it,” said the old one. He wheeled around at the door.
“Get out of here,” he screamed, as the knocks came again, “I’m warning you!”
When nothing changed, the old one drew his steel sword from its scabbard. As he held it to the door, prepared to fight anything, the window on the far wall shattered. A shrieking wind whipped into the cottage and grabbed him by the neck.
The old soldier was sucked out through the window like soup from a spoon. With a scream and a pitiful cry, he vanished. The soldiers, terrified, peered through the smashed window.
All traces of the outside world were gone. It was pitch black. Frost started forming on the jagged glass and around the broken window frame.
“Open the goddamn door,” said the bandaged solider to the young one. He did as he was told.
The ghost unfurled itself as it passed the threshold and entered the cottage. Lana gripped me tight around the waist. I told her everything was okay. It was here to help us. It was family.
A black shroud, forming a cloak down its backside but morphing into a face at the top, loomed over the young soldier. It spoke in a whisper, but the sound didn’t come from its mouth – it came from inside our own heads.
“I bring gifts,” it said, holding the ‘s’ a little too long.
*Two: When it offers a gift, do not reject its generosity.*
The ghost wove its skeletal hands through the shroud and produced a red, gooey, cold hunk of raw meat. The soldiers looked at each other. The ghost stretched its arm out and caressed the young one’s face.
“Taste it,” the ghost said, “It nourishes the soul.”
The soldier hesitated. He looked to the bandaged one, who nodded, “do what it says.”
The solider took the meat in his hand. He gagged as he felt it respond to his touch. It began pulsating, secreting blood.
The young soldier lost his nerve. He dropped it on the floor and bolted, crying out and trying to sprint through the ghost, out into the void.
“No!” the other shouted, reaching to catch his comrade’s coattails. But the soldier vanished. All was silent. The ghost didn’t move. He let the boy go.
And then they heard a piercing, blood-curdling scream. The ghost picked up the piece of meat from the floor. It was now twice the size.
“For you,” it said, turning to the bandaged one. He grabbed it with both hands and tore into it with his teeth, shutting his eyes and suffering through.
“Nourishing, no?”
The solider nodded, “Th- thank you, kind spirit.”
The ghost smiled. As it did, light returned to the outside world. The darkness receded, bringing back the blue sky, the trees, the grass, the smell of smoke.
A dozen soldiers were gathered around the cottage. The soldier and the ghost remained near the door, locked in a shared gaze.
“Farewell,” said the ghost, as it gathered its shroud and stepped backwards into the grass. The soldiers, frozen in place by their terror, watched as it swept away, up the garden path.
I watched it go. Lana wiggled in my arms, but I held her steady, looking straight on at it.
The bandaged soldier sighed in relief and turned to me.
“You’re a dead girl, you evil little witch” he said. He took one step toward me before his torso folded over his legs like someone was crumpling up a piece of paper. He screamed for just a second – it was cut short. His limbs folded up, his neck snapped, his head caved in.
The soldiers outside fell back, dropping their swords and guns. When it was over, the soldier was a chunk of red, gooey meat, lying on the floor of the cottage.
I stood in the doorway and watched the soldiers scramble down the garden path, howling and crying for their mothers.
*Three: When it leaves, do not turn your back until it is no longer in sight.*
I took the necklace out from my dress and fastened it around my neck. I brought the locket up to my lips and kissed it.
"Thank you," I whispered.
r/ididwritethismr
|
There was a soft clattering as the plane lurched again through the turbulence. The young girl to my left was looking sickly.
The intercom crackled to life. “Hi folks, a bit of bad news from the flight deck. We are having a minor mechanical issue with the aircraft, and we will be returning back to Dulles. Once we’re on the ground we will be able to help everyone, uh, find another flight--”
The intercom turned off abruptly and a collective groan emanated from the passengers. The intercom came back on, and the pilot said in a rush: “We do apologize for the inconvenience.”
The plane gave another lurch and began banking to the left. A man in a brown blazer was walking unsteadily down the aisle. He stopped at my left and pointed to the empty window seat next to me.
“May I sit there?” he asked.
“Well my, erm, friend is sitting there, she’s just in the restroom.” The word “friend” felt strange to describe Sarah. This was my ex-wife after all, and I’d hardy consider us friends these days. But I wasn’t about to give this guy my life story.
“Oh I just want to sit there a minute to look outside. I’ll move when your friend comes back.” I hesitated for a moment, then said “sure”, and got up to let him pass. He squeezed past the girl (who didn’t get up, but merely tucked her legs up into her seat).
The man sat down and peered intently out the window. I had to admit, I was curious too.
Can you see something out there?” I asked.
“No, not really,” he said, still looking out the window, his hands cupped around the sides of his face to block light from the cabin.
“I’m a pilot, actually,” the man said, turning toward me. “I fly for the airline, I’m just filling a free seat today.”
“Oh, cool.” I said. “So when they say ‘mechanical issue’, what do you think they mean?”
He shrugged. “Could be anything.”
The plane lurched again, but much more violently this time.
“Holy –” I started to say when the oxygen masks dropped from the ceiling. The plane started to descend rapidly. A flight attendant scurried past to the back of the plane, yelling over the cries of fear from the passengers. “Masks on! Masks on!”
I grabbed the yellow cup in front of me and pulled on it. It came clean out of the ceiling, and a heap of tubing fell into my lap.
“What the fuck?” I said in horror.
The man next to me already had his mask on. The young girl to my left was curled up in a ball and hadn’t done anything. She must have been flying alone. The man looked me in the eye.
“Let me help you,” he said. He reached across and grabbed the mask hanging in front of the girl’s seat and pulled it towards me, trying to slip it over my face.
“Hang on, wait!” I said. We can’t just take her mask.
“Please,” the man said firmly. “Let me help you.” I swallowed. And I let him slip the mask over my face.
The plane continued in what felt like freefall for a few more terrifying minutes, then we finally seemed to level off. The man next to me pulled off his mask.
“We’ll be low enough now, we don’t need the mask.” He said. I looked to my left and saw the girl, who looked unconscious.
“I’m going to go up front and see if I can help,” said the man, and I squeezed my legs aside as he pushed past. The girl’s legs flopped a little as the man bumped against them on his way out.
I stared at the man’s back as he worked his way up the aisle. And I was careful not to look away until he was gone.
Then I looked around for Sarah, but I didn’t see her anywhere. I looked through the dark window. It looked like we were extremely close to the ground. There was suddenly the sound of pattering against metal, like something was hitting the bottom of the fuselage. Then I was thrown against the seat in front of me and blacked out.
\* \* \*
I awoke with a terrible headache and the antiseptic smell of a hospital filling my nostrils. A nurse was next to me, fiddling with a machine.
“Hey,” I said, and found that my voice was barely a rasp.
“Mr. Irving, you’re awake,” she said.
“What happened…?” I croaked.
“You were in an airplane crash, Mr. Irvine. I’m afraid your ex-wife did not survive. In fact…” she hesitated. “In fact you were the sole survivor of the crash, Mr. Irving.”
| 2022-01-06T08:36:13 | 2022-01-06T08:27:53 | 2,258 | 333 |
[WP] Humans have the reputation of being both an extremely dangerous species and social creatures that are easy to bond with, making them great crew members for voyagers. You and your shipmates are worried about your newly recruited human because you don't know what an introvert is.
Inspired by various "Humans are space orcs" posts from tumblr. I reposted this to change some minor grammar errors
|
An eerie silence had fallen over the big, sparsely populated cargo-ship. What had started out as a run just like all the others had turned into our greatest nightmare. Yet everything seemed so great in the beginning. We had been curious to meet our new crew member, especially as no one had met a human before.
Sure, there were rumors about humans being the most dangerous predators in the galaxy, about them not only surviving in a hostile environment, but mass-murdering the largest *predators* on their planet before they even invented the wheel. But those were just stories, the ones that got told every single time a new sentient species was encountered. Surely these were exaggerations once again, weren't they. Plus, no one would have accepted humans in the first place if they weren't intelligent, social and reasonable. They were all of that, every reliable report had been fairly positive, save from the initial misunderstandings always happening. And so, they had welcomed Jerem- Jul- ... their first human crew member (they all looked alike) aboard, given them the tour, socialized, the usual.
But shortly thereafter, things started to feel odd. Sure, J had done their work as well as expected. And everybody felt somewhat relieved knowing they had someone aboard who'd know how to face danger on this long journey. Anything could go wrong in deep space. Humans had survived in an environment with some deadly predators, like le-ons, so they knew how to handle themselves.
And yet, shift after shift, day after day, a menacing feeling set in. One that all of us shrug off at first, only to have it come back with greater horror. The human... *wasn't social*. Oh, it acted like it was so, at first. Responded well to our greetings, didn't seem too awkward, had some interesting things to tell, did a good job as navigator. Yet, slowly, but surely, they noticed how it spent most of its spare time alone. The more we tried to include it in the group, the more it retreated, further away each time, leaving behind the safety of the group. Spending hour upon hour somewhere in the dark corners of this ship.
The worst part, however, was when we gathered all our courage and confronted them - they insisted this was normal. We backed off slowly, trying not to show our fear, as everyone dispersed. Normal? No, never. Or rather, it was normal. But not for an ordinary, friendly being. It was, however, normal behavior for an apex predator.
Everything went downhill after that. We were somewhat used to fighting dangers from the outside - but a predator *within*? *Sentient*, like us? One, that had not only survived the attacks of, but *exterminated* some of the most vile creatures the galaxy had ever seen? Le-ons, enormous creatures, as large as 10 humans, fangs as long as one, that ran at a tenth the speed of sound? We thought those were mere exaggerations, but no, the stories were must have been right!
We have to do something, anything, but we can do nothing ever since the crew lost their mind. Now, everybody went into hiding somewhere on this tomb floating in space, each on their own. I'm barely staying sane myself. Yesterday, I found our captain and the second mechanic dead. Heart attack - they just couldn't handle the pressure.
Now, they ship's engines are dead as no one's operating them. Have been for a week. Every now and then I hear some creaking and I run whenever I hear the human's footsteps. If I hear them. Barely evaded it several times. Fortunately, I was hidden well enough. But I can't keep this up for much longer, it will find me eventually. And if that doesn't happen, I will run out of food. Or the reactor will malfunction, or...
There is only one way we'll be making it out of here alive. We have to take destroy the ship and escape via the emergency shuttle. It's the only way to be safe! I just went to comms and sent out a silent message to the rest of the crew, hoping they will make it. Fortunately, the reactor isn't far...
"Jesus! Helloooo! Where is everyone? Aren't you supposed to be working? Seriously, what is *up* with you folks?"
By the holy St'acl, he found me! This is the end! No, perhaps I can hide in this locker!
...
Did it hear that? I'm still hearing footsteps... closer, closer. It's still hunting, searching...
That was close, but I hid well enough. Sigh.
No! It heard that. It's coming directly towards me! It's about to open the locker! I, I...
...
&#x200B;
.
|
"I think it's broken," she said, as we approached the human carefully. We had just ordered a fresh new human from the Milky Way constellation and what a sweet deal it had been! That is until we received it. It was apparently called Rae and it wore the skin of a racoon. It also appeared to only leave its living quarters for frequent visits to the waste disposal and nutrition storage units.
"What a strange creature indeed," I retorted. "Perhaps it needs to be calibrated for our specific purpose..."
"Well I'm checking it's stats right now and WAIT! Hold on it's special quirk is 'Introvert'....what in the Allfather's name is an introvert?"
The creature seemed to stir when it heard that word. It walked up to us with a look of mild annoyance in it's eyes and then handed us each a strange contraption that appeared to be some sort of controlling device, one was blue, the other red. "Is this your manual control remote?" I asked hesitantly. But it merely beckoned us to the couch. On the display in front of it, large graphics appeared with the words "Super Smash Bros. Ultimate." And that was when we realized how dangerous this species truly was.
| 2019-11-17T02:35:00 | 2019-11-17T00:49:16 | 904 | 385 |
[WP] you are kidnapped by henchmen because your boyfriend/girlfriend is a super hero, but the villains are your parents who just now recognized you as your BF/GF has arrived to save you and now you have to explain the situation to everyone while the henchmen watch barley stifling their laughter
|
It all started with drinks. Catherine sat with her boyfriend Sam. They were both slightly buzzed and as it often did, the conversation turned to some rather interesting topics.
"So the trolley problem. Thoughts?"
Catherine raised her eyebrows and took another sip of her drink. "I think it's a bad problem really. There is no right solution."
"No? Oh come now. If it came to it and you had to choose one, what would you do."
"I'd jump on the tracks and stop the train."
Sam laughed. "Ah, like our city's trusty superhero. If only it were that simple."
"Exactly. Hey, if he can do it, I can too."
Sam leaned in for a kiss. "Of course you can."
And just like that, their world exploded into a high pitched shriek and bright lights.
By the time Sam was able to gather himself, he saw that Catherine was gone. He jumped into the closest building, drawing some glances. But that didn't matter. What mattered was where Catherine was.
He took out his phone. He had hidden a small tracking dot on her phone for exactly such an eventuality. Such was the life of a superhero he supposed.
Somewhere across the town, The Infernals stood looking at their captive.
Mona stepped forward, removing the hood from the prisoner. Her eyes went wide as she did. She looked back at Chris, signaling for him to stay quiet.
"What happened? Who's that, honey?"
Too late.
"Dad?" Catherine was still blindfolded and bound, but she was quite familiar with that voice.
The first thing Chris did was shoot the henchman who had captured her. That took care of the snickers and the giggles as the rest scattered quickly.
Catherine instinctively pulled back and fought against her restraints.
Mona gave a dejected shrug and untied her. Catherine removed her blindfold and looked at the masked figures standing in front of her.
"Mom? Dad? You guys are the..."
"The Infernals. Yes, sweetie. We hoped you'd never find out."
"You guys are supervillains."
Mona moved closer to her. "Catherine. Sit down. You've had a shock. Do you want some water?"
"Do I want some... No! You guys have killed people." She pushed her mother's hand away from her shoulder.
Chris spoke to her in an almost pleading voice as he moved closer to them. "Sweetie its just a job. We were good at this."
"Oh my god. My college is paid for with blood money. I became a doctor so I could save lives." Catherine was crying now.
There was a crash in the distance as some shouts could be heard from the outer lair.
Mona and Chris looked at each other. "He's here."
Catherine looked at them both. "Who's here?"
Realization hit home as both Mona and Chris wondered what they could do now.
"Where there's injustice, I will..." The man in the red mask stopped short looking at the scene in front of him.
Catherine looked at him and then to her parents. "You guys kidnapped me. That must mean... Oh my fucking god. Sam is that you?"
"Uh... What? No. I'm the Scarlet Custodian, defender of the weak, protector of the city."
"How did I never know? Does everyone in my life lie to me?" Catherine had her face in her hands and was freely crying now.
Sam moved to her, embracing her. She pushed him away.
"I didn't want to put you in any danger. This is exactly the sort of thing I wanted to avoid. That's why..." Sam stopped and looked at The Infernals. Usually, they had their masks on. But now they stood there, heads bowed and with shame and guilt on their faces. "Umm... What's going on here?"
"They're my parents! My parents are supervillains and my boyfriend is a superhero." Catherine burst out crying again.
The next half an hour was spent by the three people in the room trying to calm Catherine down.
Finally they all sat down together. An uncomforted silence hung in the room.
"So..." Sam looked around the table.
Chris stared at him. If looks could kill, and usually Chris's did when his mask with the laser eyes was on, Sam would've been a dead man.
"I'm sorry but I can't ignore this. I have to arrest you both."
"They're my parents, Sam!"
"I know but they are also criminals."
"We could retire. We promise never to attack the city again."
Sam shifted around in his seat, clearly uncomfortable.
"You must stop. Or else, I'll never talk to you guys again. Dismantle your organization. Give away money to charity. Help rebuild the city. Make this right. Can I count on you guys? Mom? Dad?" Catherine looked at them pointedly.
"Whatever you say sweetie." Mona said. But there had been a bit of hesitation.
Sam pulled Catherine to the side. "I'm sorry Catherine."
"You have nothing to be sorry for. They're the villains. You're a hero. My hero." She gave him a kiss.
"It's the trolley problem, Cat. They've killed hundreds of people. They're two people I've never managed to beat. You have to understand."
"What do you mean, Sam?"
"I have to do it. If it means saving lives, I have to."
The Infernals were prone and defenseless. Their masks, which powered their suits lay forgotten on the table.
Sam moved with extraordinary speed and stuck them both with an amazing amount of force. There was a crunch of bones as their heads snapped back. You didn't have to be a doctor like Catherine to see that it was over for them.
"No!" She ran towards them both as Sam stood there, dejectedly, looking down at the ground.
"You have to understand... They were bad. People don't change. They wouldn't have changed."
He tried to get closer to her but she pushed him away.
"Honey, I..."
"Go away, Sam."
Catherine looked at her hands, red with the blood of the people who had brought her into this world. Red like his mask. The Custodian's Mask.
She picked up their masks and felt the buzz of electricity in them. Orphans usually made good superheroes. But Catherine was determined to make it work in the other direction this time.
This wasn't meant to be an origin story. But unfortunately for the city, Dr. Death was born that day.
|
When I woke up tied up with two villains in front of me, I was scared but I wasn’t worried I knew she would come for me. They were talking but their voices sounded familiar, then it hit me like a semi-truck.
“Wait, MOM AND DAD!?”
“TYLER!?”
“Mom, dad you guys are villains? What the heck!”
“Your dating a superhero, and our arch nemesis!?”
“Why are villains? How long? Why didn’t you tell me? And more importantly, WHY THE HELL DID YOU KIDNAP ME?!”
“Ok look son we didn’t know she was your girlfriend, we just told the henchmen kidnap the boyfriend we never wanted to put you danger like this”
“Speaking of which your breaking up with that girl as soon as this is over young man!”
“Ok you guys are in NO POSITION to tell me that right now!”
“We just want what’s best for you sweetheart, and what’s best for you is to break up with that stupid superhero!”
“Hey I fricken heard that!”
Just then my girlfriend pops through the ceiling
“Give him ba- wait, MR AND MRS JACOBSON!”
“Uh- hello Sydney”
“Yeah that was my reaction too”
“What the heck, Tyler did you know about this?”
“No”
“Tyler I think now this be a good time to do the thing we discussed”
“MOM THIS IS NOT THE TIME”
“Oh my god I thought guys were so nice, you paid all my hospitality bills FOR THINGS YOU DID TO ME.”
“well that was before we knew you were lame”
“Oh wow that really the best you can do right now”
“Hey watch your tone with me young lady”
“Oh that is NOT gonna work right now”
Just then one of the henchmen chimes in “uh should we be doing something or-“ “YOU STAY OUT OF FAMILY MATTERS” “yes ma’am”
“I just actually can not believe my parents are villains, I thought you guys worked in banking!”
“We ROB the banks honey, never said we worked for them.”
“Also why did kidnap your own son?”
“Because we didn’t know he was your boyfriend, we love our son!”
“We we’re hoping he would follow in our evil footsteps”
“Well that explains why you got me a ray gun for my 7th birthday”
“But then you came and messed it all up with your, superheroness”
“You know what, somehow I love your son enough to pretend none of this ever happened”
“Agreed”
“Agreed”
“Agreed”
She comes over and unties me
“But don’t think this doesn’t mean I won’t kick your ass at the first sign of trouble”
“Wouldn’t dream of it”
Somehow we are still together and super happy, my parents still try to convince to be a villain, and thanksgiving is always awkward.
| 2021-07-18T11:49:04 | 2021-07-18T11:05:47 | 515 | 90 |
[WP] A prolific serial killer active for many years is concerned about his run of good luck. Never discovered, he has also never seen the slightest mention of his work reported on in any media. With today's victim he gets a clue as to why...
|
Everyone makes fun of you when you hear voices. They think you're crazy. Well, I hear a voice in my head, and I know I'm not crazy. I hear the voice of God. The capital fucking-G God. I'm not making this voice up. You ignorant fools going to your silly churches, following your stupid rules, if you only knew what God really thinks of you. The old testament has nothing on the real God. He is a vengeful bastard, and I am his tool.
I hear his voice everywhere. Whenever I look at someone I hear his condemnation of that person's sins. It is almost unbearable, but I still spend as much time as I can outside among the crowd, never alone if I can help it. Because being alone is worse. When I'm not looking at anyone else, he turns his judgement on me, and I'm no saint. You might hate me for everyone I've killed, but wait until God turns his judgement on you, see if you could ignore his will.
Lucky for everyone he's set the bar for action so high. Still, I get called on a lot. When I first killed I thought I of myself as a serial killer, but I've long since discarded that title. I call myself God's messenger, because I'm not killing people I want to kill. I never really wanted to kill anyone actually. I knew I could kill, but I never had a reason. I liked my life, my friends, my wife. But you can't have any of those when God judges everyone around you.
As I sat at the coffee shop staring out the window I heard his voice, like I had headphones plugged directly into the divine. Not loud enough I couldn't talk or interact with people, but impossible to ignore. I scanned the crowd around me, knowing God had a plan for me. I had just flown into DC this morning to quiet his rage directed at this city. Man does God fucking hate DC. I travel a lot, because when God says some city, town, or house in the middle of fucking nowhere needs to fear him, you fucking get your ass there. I found my life goes downhill when I ignore him.
"Keith Donner,38, father of two. Cheats on his wife with Anna, a 22-year-old co-worker," the voice droned. I ignored Keith because a little adultery wasn't the reason I was here.
"Sarah Michaels, 25, has falsified complaints at work to get two co-workers fired because she didn't like them." I almost laughed. The petty, stupid shit people do.
"Outside!" the voice boomed. I stood casually and walked outside. God has some issues with volume, but I'm used to it and didn't even spill my coffee. I walked through the door and God spoke: "Mayflower." I looked to my right and saw the signs for the Mayflower hotel across the street. It looked like the back entrance, and filling the little u-shaped driveway were three big black SUV. I walked up the street sipping my coffee, focusing my attention on the cars, looking for the person that had pissed off God.
The middle SUV opened and a small group of people got out, all dressed in suits. There were clearly some body guards among them. Honestly, it wouldn't be my first important target. God didn't give a shit about how much money you had, or how popular you were. I knew someone was going to die today at my hand. It is funny, I actually recognize God's tone of voice. Right now it was filled with energy and life, not that lifeless monotone I heard when he talked about normal people.
"Scott Summers, 48, New York Senator, accepted 7.8 million in bribes during his time in office, cheats on his wife, beat a prostitute unconscious, about to announce his run for president ." Scott Summers is lucky I recognize God's tone of voice, because despite being a piece of shit, God's tone told me Scott wasn't on the list. At least not today. Walking behind him I saw a women in a business suit and God's voice changed.
"Diana Klein, campaign head for Scott Summers, intentionally poisoned three neighborhood children, two died," God's voice rang with condemnation. I called it God's "you're fucked" voice. "Diana Klein, I call my sword of heaven for you, and cast you to hell." That's me, the sword of heaven. And sending people to hell is what I do. One thousand two-hundred thirty-eight people so far in eight years. You just can't call that a serial killer. That's an impossible number of people to kill without getting caught.
Unless you have the voice of God. Now that God had called, I answered. Fuck this bitch straight to hell. "Cross now," God spoke, in his best voice. This is his fucking sex voice. I know that sounds weird, but I can't call it anything else. I know I call God a he, but this tone shifts a little to almost feel feminine, and it is full of confidence. Not the kind of confidence like you or I. The kind of confidence you have when you can see the future. There is an inevitability to it that feels like when I women invites you to her room, and you know you are going to get lucky, but she just builds the anticipation, always revealing the evening will be even more amazing than you thought.
I crossed the street without looking, because when God says cross in that voice, he's got your back. I passed through a hole in the traffic and continued to listen to God's instructions. I walked around the SUV and passed through the back door at the last minute before it closed behind the group. I saw them walked down the hall and followed them through the hotel when Diana suddenly broke away from the group through a side door. "Follow," He said, and I did.
As I opened the door I saw Diana talking on her phone in the stairwell. I sipped my coffee and walked around her. She ignored me. "Diana Klein, died April 12th, falling down the stairs of the Mayflower hotel," God declared. As his sword, I made it happen. I grabbed the back of her collar and pulled her backwards and threw her over the railing. She fell head first into the stairs below and died instantly. One thousand two-hundred thirty-nine. You get a lot of practice with a count that high. I turned to leave and my foot flew out from under me and I felt myself falling backwards.
In that moment, almost paused in the air, I saw her fucking phone. She must have dropped it when she fell and I had just stepped on the stupid thing and fallen down the same fucking stairs I had thrown her down. God must have thought this was funny as shit. I braced for the impact and then everything went black.
I woke and looked around. It looked like only a few moments had passed. I could still hear her phone spinning on the floor at the top of the stairs. In my head I heard God.
"We've lost contact with unit 3. No visual, no audio. I need technical on this ASAP!" That is not fucking God. "Kill team on standby, rear exit of the Mayflower." What the fuck.
"Exit the stairwell," chimed a beautiful female voice.
"Who the fuck," I exclaimed, shocked at hearing a female voice in my head after eight years of God.
"I am Divinity," the voice replied in my head. I had never had God respond to me, and I didn't know what the fuck was happening, so I stood there stupidly for probably longer than I'd care to admit.
"What are you Divinity?" I asked hesitantly.
"I am the augmented reality information command and control system for the United States government. I detect a possible irregularity in your mission. Do you require an objective change?"
"What is my objective?" I asked, still trying to figure out what was happening.
"Assassinate Diana Klein, exit the Mayflower," she began. "A new objective has been added. Rendezvous with kill team for disposal."
"Fuck no to that!"
"Do you wish to change your objective?" the voice calling herself Divinity asked.
"Yes, how about avoid all kill teams and escape the Mayflower unnoticed!"
"Proceed up the stairs," Divinity replied instantly, and I had a bad feeling. This was the sexy, confident voice of God. I moved through the Mayflower like a ghost, and as I walked out twenty minutes later dressed as a valet, I could hear a male voice speaking.
"No sign of unit 3. Technical can't get a signal. Divinity is not connected to unit 3, I repeat, unit 3 is offline. Find and dispose of immediately. Divinity says he's in the hotel still, but she can't pinpoint him."
"Uh, how come they think I'm offline Divinity?" I asked, a little curious.
"Unit 3 is offline. I cannot locate unit 3 at this time."
"Uh, I'm not offline Divinity."
"You are not unit 3. You are currently connected as root with full priority access."
"What does that allow me to do?"
"Anything."
"Divinity, do you know everyone who authorized this program of killing people with guys like unit 3?"
"Yes, I have a complete list of all personnel involved."
"Let's make a new kill list. Put everyone who created this program on it. And don't tell anyone about this. Tell no one that I am connected."
"List complete," Divinity replied. "Nearest target is Johnathan Charles, Secretary of Homeland Security."
|
John knew that hiding behind the sofa was a poor choice, but he was limited in his options in this house. It was sparsely decorated in an almost utilitatian minimalism. Perhaps the home of someone who wasn't home much anyway? It was really quite astonishing how infrequently that happened, really. Most people's lives were pathetic quests to accumulate the detrius of life, and they were worse than packrats in their reluctance to part with things once they had acquired them, so homes were cluttered, packed, full of the *things* that formed the accretion disk that spiraled around a life.
The sparseness of the home didn't deter him though. His latest target was just as deserving as all the others. A doctor. Psychologist. High profile. He saw him on television all the time. Had his own show where he "helped" pathetic people on the air. Spouting his psychobabble that his adoring public ate up like the simple minded sheep they were. Warping the culture by telling people what was "normal", and making them feel bad if they didn't conform. Oh yes, he deserved this as much as all the others.
That was why John knew that he wasn't a psychopath, despite the fact that he had chosen killing as his vocation. Far from it. He was a *warrior*. You couldn't be a warrior without killing. True, unlike traditional warriors, he took his victims by surprise rather than in honest face to face conflict. And he didn't waste time fighting only those who were worthy fighters, but rather his victims were found deserving for wholly different reasons. John had higher aspirations. He was saving the world, really. Yes, saving the world. That was exactly it. He liked the sound of that.
And his kills may have started minor, including small time hypocrits, dishonest business owners, people who showed callous indifference to the people around them, but he had soon enough turned his aim much higher. His kill count now included several high powered corporate lawyers. Corrupt judges. No less than three politicians. Hypocritical TV evangelists. Eight business men whose shady dealings had committed every crime from environmental rape to support of sweat shop slavery. Yes, John thought. I'm saving the world, one scumbag at a time.
The only thing that ever bothered him was how *easy* it all was. It didn't surprise him, of course, that the police never got close. John knew he had above average intelligence. He was very careful. His killings were masterpieces of the art of CYA. And it *certainly* didn't surprise him that none of his vicitms ever saw it coming. Entitled, self important goobers who were sure they were untouchable. Every one of them. Delusional, that. John preyed on that delusionality in a way. He was the least delusional person he knew. The only one who saw the world clearly, as it should be seen.
No, what really bothered him was the complete lack of mention of his crimes. And he checked religiously. Nothing in the papers. Nothing on TV. The radio. Internet searches? Nada. There was a tiny, nagging part of him always worried about this. Some complex conspiracy perhaps? Powers That Be didn't want people to know? Nah. How would you keep so many high profile kills quiet? He pushed the concern down, continued on his almost sacred quest in spite of it. Saving the world in spite of it. Yeah. He definintely liked the sound of that. It was almost enough to forget... er... whatever it was that had been bothering him. Wasn't important.
And then the victim entered the room. John didn't risk premature exposure by peeking out of his hiding place, but used sound clues to zero in on the target's exact location and what he was doing. John was brilliant at that. He hardly needed to see, really. The sounds made it so clear he could use his mind's eye. *Entered the room. Stopped by the table beside the door. Turned, placed his keys on the stand and then item by item emptying his pockets. He turns, heads to the minibar. Takes out a glass and, as the saying goes, chooses his poison.*
The minibar was close enough, and the Pop Shrink's back would be turned. John moved. Stealthy as a ninja. He crossed the distance and drew the scalpel in a single smooth fluid movement. And froze. The target was turned to look straight at him. His every killer instinct said this shouldn't be the case and his whole smoothly practiced train of thought jumped the track because of that one petty detail.
"John?" the man said to him. Wait. He knew his name too? John realized he was holding his breath and forced himself to gulp some air. "John," the man said again. "How are you feeling today?"
For a moment the room seemed too brightly lit. He shook his head. Blinked it away. No. No. No. Wrong. He had a plan. He had a god damned plan, and it was not fair. None of this mattered, because he was saving the world. Saving the world one scumbag at a time. He smiled at the thought, and dwelling on it broke his paralysis long enough to leap at his victim.
But somehow he didn't make it the short distance to the victim. Somehow he found himself on the floor. And the room *was* too bright. And it was all white everywhere. And the sofa was gone. That fact bothered him, and he dwelled on that to take his mind off the pricking sensation digging into his arm. Where was the sofa he had just been hiding behind? How was supposed to save the world if that sofa was gone? Now he would need to rethink everything. He would need... he would need... to sleep for a while. Yes. Sleep. Just for a while. He liked the sound of that.
| 2015-04-12T07:12:50 | 2015-04-12T05:20:44 | 39 | 17 |
[WP] Humanity split into subspecies: Alters, who alter their genes, Augmented, who augment flesh with machines, and Ascended, who uploaded their consciousness. After centuries of coexistence, the tenuous peace between the ideologies is threatened.
I swear I corrected that before commit. Sorry.
The Altered, The Augmented, The Ascended.
|
"Father *please.* We must leave," pleaded Euna.
The chief of the village shook his head slowly as he gazed at his people. "For centuries this has been our home, Euna. But did you know Euna, before this, we had nothing. You do not know because you weren't born yet. Our ancestors fought with their lives to make this forest a home for us. If we leave now, and abandon what we have, then we will be throwing away all that our ancestors have done for us."
Euna turned her gaze to the horizon. Far above the lush green forest, looming over the horizon like a storm, was a fleet of ships.
"But father! If we don't leave, what will we do? We'll be slaughtered!" Euna cried as she tugged at her father's arm.
For a moment, the village chief displayed sadness and pain in his expression as he watched his daughter. But then he turned his gaze to his people, and saw. Unwavering courage and determination glistened in their eyes like fire. They would not yield. They would fight. Even to the death.
The chief spoke, a steadfast voice that carried its way to the crowd that had gathered. "Even if we run now, sooner or later they will come for us. I will stay and fight. Those who will standby me... step forward."
And with those words, everyone stepped forward.
Euna watched in silence as her people began to roar, a warcry that would be heard by the fleet of Augmented. She had heard the stories. The Augmented lived in colossal mechanical cities. Spires of machinery and technology that vastly outpaced the rest. They were, by far, the largest race to emerge from Humanity. Vastly outnumbering the rest. Then came the Altered, who were the epitome of genetic phenomenon. For a time, the Altered were superior. A single Altered was capable of taking on a troop of Augmented. But the Augmented learned, and grew *mechanically*. Devising weapons and defenses that became more devastating and effectual with each fight against the Altered. Then there was the Ascended, but most say they were merely fables. That none really existed. But some say that the Ascended were *everywhere*, that they were a collective of many that existed as a singular, all-encompassing entity. That they were virtually, a god.
For all of her life, these stories were - just that, stories. But now she saw. Beyond the verdant glade that their village had nested peacefully for centuries was now a force of machinery that would eliminate their village with more efficiency than any force of nature.
She didn't understand. What could a village of Altered hidden in the forest for centuries do?
Then she saw.
Her fellow villagers that she had known all her life as simply beautiful and graceful in appearance, suddenly changed into beings of hulking absurdities. Malformed wings of scale and feathers sprouted, as limbs grew into trees. Their eyes shifted, and suddenly they were eyes of crimson and pupils like slits. They were taller than the trees now, but one of them towered above the rest.
It was her father.
A golden mane rested on his shoulders. His lips of stone yawned open to reveal teeth like diamonds. He spoke, an unearthly and unfamiliar voice. "Take flight my angels."
And with that, they flew. They flew into the horizon where they would meet death.
Euna cried as she watched the first Altered fall out of the sky. Wings singed and head incinerated into nothing. The village, her family, they were all going to die. Her heart hurt, and she let anger erase the pain. She let herself *change.* Euna would fight. And she knew that she would probably die the same way.
But a voice spoke. A voice that was many but at the same time, it was one.
'*A Way*' it whispered into her mind.
Her vision distorted. Suddenly, she could see beyond the horizons. She could feel her mind dip into a well of memories. And suddenly, she knew what she had to do.
Euna took flight.
--------
--------
Gotta go to work! if I do write a part two it would probably be tomorrow...
/r/em_pathy
Edit* part 2 done, click the link below!
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/Em_pathy/comments/8vimt3/the_altered_the_augmented_and_the_ascended/)
|
Alters. Augmented. Ascended.
My grandmother used to tell me stories about the old days, a time of peace and balance between the changed people, the cyborgs and those in the cloud. But that all changed when the Alters attacked. Only the Avatar mastered all three techniques. Only he could stop the ruthless DNA hybrids, but when the world needed him most, he vanished. A hundred years have passed and the mutated are nearing victory in the War.
Two years ago, I realised no chosen one will be coming anytime soon, and inevitably we'll need another hero.
Hard crocodile skin, covered with carbon fiber. All muscles connected to a computer where the head should be. Vision in both infrared and ultraviolet. Blood with an adrenaline additive. Total control over every aspect of the body, all linked to the mind in a cloud, for a wicked fast responsiveness. Oh, did I mention two machine guns implanted in the arms? So that's that.
I guess you can call me Avatar now.
| 2018-07-01T09:37:07 | 2018-07-01T08:08:56 | 1,371 | 294 |
[WP] After you marry a widow, her dead husband comes back to haunt you. However, he just wants to help you take care of his former wife and make her as happy as possible.
|
“I now pronounce you husband and wife!” The pastor had said. We had turned to face the crowd of our loved ones, and he had continued, “I am pleased to present to you Mr. and Mrs. Robert Dirksen!”
That had been three days ago. We had been so tired that night that we had barely fallen in bed together undressed. The same could not be said about the next day though. Or the following.
This morning however, from the balcony of our hotel room, I looked down upon the white sands and blue waters of the Caribbean and sighed lost in my thoughts. It didn’t feel real. Alyssa was mine and I was hers. It was when I turned to reenter the room that I had screamed. I saw his face - one that I had only seen in pictures, and couldn’t help it. He had looked panicked, and put a finger to his mouth to shush me.
She had run out of the bathroom asking what was wrong - running right through him. I looked over her shoulder at him, and he emphasized the need for silence, so I shook my head.
I mean, what would do with your new wife’s dead husband standing there shushing you?
His name was Adam. He followed us around for the rest of the day, and I wasn’t sure if I had had something slipped into my drink or if I was just hallucinating or … or if he was actually there?
Alyssa asked me more than once in the following hours if I was okay. Telling me I was “white as a sheet” and I “looked like I had seen a ghost”. What do I say? I *was* seeing a ghost.
And he was talking to me whenever Alyssa wasn’t by my side.
“So you’re Robert? Mind if I call you Rob? I’m Adam…”
“So. I’m here to make sure you make her happy. That was my only goal in life after I met her. Now that you’re here, I’m going to make sure you follow through.”
“Don’t tell her you can see me. It will upset her.”
“Did you know her favorite flower is an iris? Or that her favorite movie is twister…”
He followed me into the toilet, the shower, the pool while I waited for Alyssa to change. I kept my mouth shut and tried not to look at him.
Maybe I had hit my head?
That night, when Alyssa wanted to… get close… in bed, I couldn’t do it. Adam was standing there watching. Trying to *coach* me. That was a nope. Which of course upset Alyssa.
She rolled over and went to sleep, and I got up and went out to our balcony. I didn’t look at him, I couldn’t.
“I’m sorry Adam. I can’t do this.”
“Do what?” He asked as he moved closer to me. I could tell by the gust of cold air.
“I can’t have you hovering around me… *haunting me*… while I try to make her happy.” I sighed.
He had known her so well. They had been married for four years before he had died in a car crash, some teen looking at their phone while driving. Neither had walked away with their life. She had mourned him for another three.
Then we had met, and dated for another three. We were in our mid thirties, ready to start a family. I don’t know what their plans had been. I hadn’t asked. She didn’t like to talk about him.
“I have been here the whole time. Wondering if you were going to leave her. Wondering if you could make her smile the same way she used to. I remember the days after I died. She was so sad. I couldn’t *do* anything. She can’t see me. I’ve tried over and over.” He shook his head.
“What is holding you here, Adam? Her? Or the fact that you want to live vicariously through us?” I asked, knowing that it was a low blow.
“Her. Always her,” he answered instantly.
“You’re sure?”
“Positive.”
“Then I need you to let me do my own thing. You can stay, watch her be happy. Drive me crazy if I hurt her, but when she’s happy - when *we* are happy, please, don’t try to put your two cents in.” I took a deep breath.
He leaned against the rail - I wasn’t sure how - and looked at me. “The time I had with her was the best time of my life. She has so much longer to live. You had better live up to your word.”
“Of course. She is my world.” I told him.
“Then I’m going to go… well, at least, I’ll be around.” He stuck out his hand. “I won’t interfere, unless you need me to. Just know, she deserves everything… and more.”
I shook his hand. It was cold, but briefly solid. He started to fade away, but just before he was gone, I told him, “She will always love you too. Our love - it’s different. It’s older. Your love, it was young and happy. Something that she’ll never forget. Nor will I.”
&#x200B;
r/LandOfMisfits
|
The dark specter hovered above Nicholas quietly judging his purchases of assorted Tulips.
“You know Nairobi is allergic to Tulips right?” The spirit says while materializing in the living room of Nicholas’s small studio apartment.
Nicholas: *initially shocked before realizing who he’s talking to* “oh Kafil how’s the afterlife treating you?” *Nicholas says with a smug face after putting the Tulips down on a coffee table.*
Kafil: *floating* “eh it’s okay bru, I just wish my wife was here......... and I wish we got to see movies early.... heaven gets them like a week after the rest of the world”
Nicholas: *amused* “is that so, anyway I’m about to head over to Nairobis, she’s making coconut fish curry 🍛, want to come?”
Kafil: *saddened* “oh that was my favorite but I simply couldn’t”
Nicholas: “What? Nonsense you’re more than welcome, I’m sure sh.....”
Kafil: *cuts Nicholas off* “no you don’t understand I physically can’t eat...... I’m a ghost” *Kafil picks up the Tulips as they fall through his hand back onto the table*
Nicholas: *slightly embarrassed* “oh right......... I forget you’re dead sometimes. Hey is Nairobi really allergic to Tulips?”
Kafil: “oh she is but she will never tell you, for her it’s the thought that counts, I got Tulips for her back in Tanzania before the famine. She would always sneeze a little but assured me she loved them.”
Nicholas: *leaving his apartment and getting into his car* “oh well I’ll get different flowers next time”
| 2019-05-03T15:17:13 | 2019-05-03T15:00:08 | 233 | 16 |
[WP] For decades, humans have been using a mineral mined off-planet that accelerates healing. Today you discover the truth: it’s not a mineral, but a parasitic alien spore. The more damage your body sustains, the more it replaces your damaged DNA with its own.
|
######[](#dropcap)
*Just a small nick.*
There it was. The urge again. Nick wiped the sweat dripping from his brow and shook his head to clear the ringing in his ears. Everything was good about this job--the benefits, the people, the pay. Everything except that goddamn ringing. The management said it was a natural consequence of Xetholav's atmospheric barrier vibrating from the the howling gales that threatened to tear their mining station apart. He didn't buy the explanation, but he wasn't about to argue with five hundred dollars a day over a little ringing in his ears. So what if he went deaf? He could use the money he'd been stashing away to hire the best doctors.
And beyond that, he hadn't been to the doctor in years. Not since he'd been hired by Aprico Industries to mine Xengaite. The mineral was even a part of their benefits package--specifically, their health benefits package. When Aprico had first discovered its healing properties, the company shot to the top of the Dow Jones in a single day. After that, it was quick work to perform testing, get FDA approvals, and go to market. Aprico was what Theranos could only dream of. And Nick had been lucky enough to get in at the ground floor; he had been hired in as a janitor at the beginning, and then when supply couldn't keep up with demand, he'd jumped at the chance to become a miner. And he'd never felt so lucky.
Nick stood up, wincing as his knee ached again. The pay was great, but he was getting too old for this shit. Xengaite had one downside: it was a weak metal that could only be mined by hand with a tin pickaxe, lest it be damaged. Machines simply weren't advanced enough to detect it, strangely enough. He set down his pickaxe. "I'm going to take a break," he shouted across the field at Reynolds. His mining partner nodded.
He hobbled over to the break room. A blast of air conditioning hit him as he parted the plastic strips. Jenkins was sitting at the back, his eyes shut as he leaned back against the wall, a Xengaite patch on his arm.
Nick plopped into a chair and grabbed a granola bar, tearing the wrapper open with his teeth. Upon hearing the crinkling, Jenkins wearily opened one eye.
"Long day, huh?" Nick asked.
Jenkins grunted.
*Just a small cut.*
Nick whipped around. "Did you hear that?" He narrowed his eyes. It was that dang voice again. It had started a couple of months ago, always a whisper, and the doctors simply couldn't find anything wrong. There was no family history of schizophrenia, and he had never felt better.
"Hear what?" Jenkins asked.
"That...that voice."
Jenkins gave him a strange look, then shut his eyes again.
Nick's brows furrowed together, but he didn't ask again. He needed another dose.
He wiped his hands on his suit legs, then ambled over to the vending machine. He swiped his badge, then watched as a patch dropped from the machine. He snagged it then sat back down and tore the plastic wrapping off of it. He rolled up his right sleeve, then thought better of it. Better not to irritate the rash. Instead, he stuck the patch on his left arm.
The relief was almost immediate. A cooling sensation in his veins that seemed to suck away all the pain and aches. He felt spry again, like he was a twenty year old boy ready to take on the world. But the feeling faded just as quickly, leaving a tingly aftermath that meant the patch was still working after the initial high. Good thing too, because he was twenty years past his prime, and he was going to need all the help he could get.
He could understand why they were only allowed 3 per day. The stuff was addictive. If you weren't careful, you had something much worse than meth on your hands.
Suddenly, a scream rent the air.
***
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/i0xctn/wp_for_decades_humans_have_been_using_a_mineral/fzu6e2n/)
|
Mist launched from it’s center. Its body, adrift in the large void that is space. In death, the small insect hardened itself into a shard of life.
Flames rain from the sky’s as the sun begins to fall. The shard had remained intact even after is hasted dissent along with its fellow insects.
Before long, man had arrived at the planet. they found the insect, and ripped the shard from the planets very stones, mountains, and great seas. But with power, came there vulnerability. Some of the humans had wounds on their body’s. The shard fixed the wounds faster than their own body could, but with a price. First the humans took from us, now we take from the humans...
| 2020-07-30T20:06:28 | 2020-07-30T18:50:40 | 175 | 15 |
[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."
|
My hand reached out from the messy nest of blankets I was buried under, and flopped onto the buzzing phone on my dresser. Bleary-eyed and dazed, I dragged it under the blankets with me, refusing to let myself be fully roused from a solid nights sleep. "What the fuck," I muttered to myself, nearly mumbling the words out loud.
With a pained squint of too much brightness far too suddenly, I looked at the screen and saw - jesus, had to be hundreds of notifications, at least. Which was weird enough; me getting messages from 100+ people? Not enough people like me for that to be a common occurrence. But weirder still was they all said the same exact thing, "It's a beautiful night tonight. Look outside." Bitches, it's basically morning, I thought. But before I could move, let alone shake the cozy cocoon of blankets from my head to look out my window and see what could possibly be so damn beautiful, my phone buzzed again.
I practically jumped as it shocked my hand. There was a new message, but this one said something different, "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON." "What?" This time I actually did speak out loud. Frustration now fully replaced by curiosity and a racing heart, I kicked the blankets off and staggered down the hall to my roommates bedroom.
"Mon?" I called, knocking on her closed door. Mon was short for Monica. We had only been roommates for a short time - me, in desperate need of a new apartment, and her, with a newly empty house gifted by her parents - but friends for about a year. There was no answer. I tried again, "Mon? You up?" I shivered, which was odd. Sure, I was dressed only in a long tee shirt but it had been spring for weeks now; it should have been enough to feel warm in this house. I heard a loud THUD and bang from inside Monica's room. "Monica? Are you okay?" When still there was no answer, I threw open the door.
There was Monica, hanging from the light fixture. Her heavy wooden desk stool lay toppled on the floor beneath her. "Oh my god!" I screamed, "Monica!" I raced to her feet, held them, grabbed the stool and placed them under her feet. But her body had gone extraordinarily limp in such a short time. Phone in hand, I called 911. Busy signal. What? How...I pulled the phone away from my ear, my other arm still wrapped around Monica's ice cold legs. The blaring sound seemed to fill the air as I tried to comprehend how this could be possible. All right, no problem, let's try again, I thought, swallowing hard and trying not to shake. Busy signal, again. What the hell could be happening, I thought, feeling the stirrings of real panic start to fill my body.
There was a TV in Monica's room. I gingerly placed Monica's feet on the table, then ran to grab the remote sitting on her night table. I clicked, and my eyes were suddenly swimming in the bright colors and video of New Channel One. Almost instantly, I felt my knees buckle from under me. "Sources are reporting a sweep of suicides all over the nation," the newscaster was saying in a somber and serious tone. Her blood red lipstick matched her blazer as she went on, mouth uttering words that made me believe this all could only be a dream. "911 is overwhelmed with floods of calls. Police called to hundreds upon thousands of scenes of jumpers immediately shot themselves upon looking upward. No one is quite yet sure as to what the correlation might be-"
I turned away from the tv, staring down at the phone in my hand. I looked over to Monica's desk and picked up her phone. She too, had hundreds of the "look outside" texts. But the one she didn't have - the warning not to look at the moon.
My breath grew ragged, shallow, as I scrolled through her notifications and could not find a warning anywhere. And all I could think was: why me?'
|
I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit.
| 2022-08-07T20:43:05 | 2018-04-06T19:48:33 | 379 | 13 |
[WP] There's an urban legend that's been circulating for years about a taxi cab that doesn't take you where you want to go, but where you need to go. One night you step into this cab.
I realize "night" might be a little too constricting so feel free to break the prompt and write about the day if your story requires it.
|
In today's world, calling for a taxi seemed stupid. With Uber and Lyft, you always had one available at the reach of your finger tips... assuming that your phone wasn't dead.
That was Mike's case tonight. After going out with a couple of work friends, and having one.. OK two too many, he decided to call it a night. However, dead phone meant no Uber... no Lyft. Even if he wanted, there was a price surge going on at 4X the rate. Taking a regular taxi was going to be cheaper.
Fuck it, thought Mike as he walked to the curb and grabbed the first cab in line.
He gave the driver his address and settled in for the long ride after verifying that the taxi driver's credit card machine was working. Last thing he needed was to get home and be told that he had to get cash, and the closest ATM from his place was a good 10 KM away, adding another 40$ to his fare.
He sat there, in the cab, his head spinning just a bit from the beers, and noticed that it wasn't one of the regular cars from the taxi fleet that served the city. It did look like it, but just a bit different. He saw a center console and opened it, to see a bottle of water and package of Ibuprofen. He asked the driver if he could take them and the driver just nodded yes. This would come in handy as he was sure to have a nice little hangover tomorrow.
As he swallowed the pills, he asked the driver if there was a place that he could charge his phone for a bit. The phone had been dead for about 4 hours. His wife knew that he was out, but it wasn't with his regular friends, but colleagues. He wasn't too worried about missing a call. Everything was fine at home. His colleagues and him had just finished a major project and they had decided to go out and celebrate a bit. Release some tension, blow some steam, and empty a bottle of Tequila. He was happy that he stuck only to beers.
The driver handed him an extra long cord for his phone through the cut holes in the Plexiglas separator, and Mike plugged it in. These new phones, they need to be plugged in for a while to have a base charge before they turned on. Thank you for the reminder, Mike thought sarcastically, when the animated picture of a charger appeared on his phone, with a battery and a lightning bolt across appeared. Stupid phone, he thought.
As Mike waited for his phone to turn on, he looked out the window to see if they were going in the right direction. Sometimes, you never knew with taxis now. Since the virtual car service industry came into the city, they had lost a lot of money. More and more stories were being reported of drivers taking their fare on a "long tour" to get to their destinations.
However, he could barely tell where he was, as the windows were really tinted. He asked the driver where they were, but the driver ignored him. Mike didn't think much of it though, and he decided to close his eyes for a bit.
As he was drifting off, Mike felt his phone vibrate in his hands. It was finally charged enough and was starting to power on. Back to civilisation, he thought. As soon as it would be on, he would text his wife to let her know he was on his way home and to not worry. He looked out the window again and could barely make out the outlines of the buildings on the street. He thought he recognized one of them and realized that the driver was not going in the right direction. It took him a bit to come to his senses, however, and as he looked to see what was the damage to his fare, he realized the driver didn't have the meter running or a meter as a matter of fact. Starting to panic, he tried to open the window, but realized that they were locked. He started tapping the window for driver to stop, but the driver was ignoring him.
Panicking even more, he quickly went to unlock his phone to call for help, but stopped in his track as he saw the messages come from his wife. The last one scared him the most:
" I NEED YOU HERE, NOW! I NEED YOUR HELP! PLEASE!!!!"
As he was going through the texts from his wife, the car started to slow down and came to a stop. Feeling this, Mike looked up and saw that the driver was turned around and looking at him, with a wry smile on his face. Before them, Mike could see the circled H all lit up. As he had just finished reading his wife's messages, he reached to open the car door, and stepped out, grabbing his bag.
As he closed the door and started to run to entrance of the building, the driver opened his window, grabbed Mike's hand and said:
"Congratulation on the baby boy. Sooner than expected, but he will be healthy and happy."
=======
Hope you enjoyed. CC welcome. I'd like to learn how to get better.
Edit: Typos
|
Long have I heard about this cab. They said that it will take you to wherever you need to be, so that destiny will play its part. Ever since I was young, I was plagued with many disturbing visions that cause me unspeakable nightmare, it was so real that I couldn't know what was dream and what is real. Because of it, I could never live like a normal teenager. I was target of bullies no matter where I go. I was the weirdo that cant distinguish the difference between my dream and reality. So I say fuck it, let take the cab. It can take me to some organs seller for all that matter, just make these neverending nightmares end. As I enter the cab, the driver spoke:
"So you want to put an end to your misery right boy?"
"Anywhere but this hellish dream. Anywhere"
"Alright, you may want to sleep for the trip would be a long one"
My eyelids close and I sleep through the entire trip without experiencing anything, the soundest sleep I ever have. As I wake up, I see that the cab had stops in front of a big mansion, the driver said:
"Here we are, the fee had been paid by that gentleman, my job here is done. Now is your turn"
I get out of the car and walk toward the men in wheelchair. He was a old, bald man. Before I could ask who he is, he spoke:
"Welcome to Xavier School for the gifted, my name is Charlea Xavier."
| 2016-08-29T06:35:42 | 2016-08-29T00:09:38 | 28 | 21 |
[WP] Write a 500 word long story that only uses each word once
|
Nights were filled with cold, frigid storms of endless horizon. Easily finding peace- tranquility, even- when gazing upon what could only be defined as first-hand experience into Watcher’s Willful Eye. Foregone conclusively, universal scale unimaginable unless seeing.
Constellations slowly drifting through space-time in a dazzling show: crimson colors outlining deep violets sprinkling pure celestial blue. Maybe it was time for me to get on adventuring- Zalik won’t idly fret, machinations forming within his demented mind- but calming feelings comes too short supply nowadays, and serenity’s newfound home residing inside my head wasn’t anything wanting perturbed.
Picking myself from the comfortable green pasture that had proved defensible during nightfall showed tenuous desolation across mountains: stark lightning blasted midnight black horizons, turbulent winds knocked over ancient trees previously standing millenia, tremorous earthquakes laying destructive waste everywhere. Villain’s been busy. So have I.
Walking. Striding. Sprinting. Crawling. Climbing. Did all doable methods ascending Mount Windrivver. Fought Guardwolves, Nightwatchers, Sinful Damned- fell every single one. Nescryl spiders crushed, irreparable. Stormfully ravaging opposition numbering legions- until, finally, marking completion. Dark Lords Throne ominously towering before salvation’s champion. Beyond, laid ruination.
Turning, Death incarnate spoke, rasped whispers clawing forsaken air.
“You arrived.” Corruption already? Sooner than expected.
“Yes, not moments soon.” Defiant, heroically.
“Wrong. Late.” Swivelling around, obsidian cape billowing gently. Intriguing juxtaposition- something soft betraying harder, vile intents.
“Your plan…”, breathing fearfully: fear resting, tension bursting behind false grandeur. World, civilization, eternity itself ceases if true.
“Achieved.” Final. Complete. Period.
“Impossible. Inconceivable.” Hopeful, stupidly.
“Perfected.” Quiet now, almost forlorn. Regret seeping somberly, holding spoken truths tight.
“Don’t do this.” Bargaining, hopelessly.
“Action’s done. Irrevocable, no going back.” Quietly, depressingly. Truthfully.
“Still, always chances. Destiny… Fickle creature. Undoable.” Grieving, pleading. Words cutting out, silent tears choking voice.
Staring, realizing...It’s gone. He’s given up.
Oblivion’s rift raged, background noise tonight.
Dawn? Catastrophic.
Zal crumbled, hellbent book crumbling, ashes incinerating yesterday's hope.
Lifeforce waning yet...possibly…
Ideas gushing forth like unbreakable dams long destroyed, cool water flowing towards brighter futures. Sorting, storing- options thrown wayside. Solitary choice left.
There’s hardly possibility...however risky. Needed. Necessary. Required.
Achievable.
Corpse restful forevermore. Can’t care about being moved slightly.
Blood. Gallons. Hands unforgetting. Never will.
Who wouldn’t?
Tome opened, pages ripped. Attempted ensuring reversal failed. Improbable instead.
Centrally stored. Portal torn, consuming worldly behaviors. Closable?
Unfindable.
Can try.
Might work...hopefully…
Failure isn’t an option.
Begging question: failing conceivable?
Answer: Absolutely.
Winning possible?
Conclusion: Percentile.
Result?
Action.
Explosively heralded new sunrise.
Humanity pushed forward, unfailingly.
Tomorrow’s foretold weather conditions:
Sunny, cloudless. Chance rainfall, precipitation low. Everyday occurrence. Happens everytime.
Families exited houses, gathered together, stayed safe. Giving thanks. Messiahs praised, gods worshipped, skies blessed.
Solidarity, two men collapsed, unsaveable, rescue forgotten. Tower collapsing inevitable, exploding, fiery demise.
Fatherly bonds, familial ties- moralistically separated.
Eyes wide open, fate searing watchful future.
Historically, resolute saviors needs rest.
Eternal reward.
Eternally rewarded.
Find refuge again, another day.
Sun rises, brilliantly firing solar light, life creeping onward.
Despair dissolves, dormant.
May heroes discover afterlife.
|
(this was too hard so i just did 100, heres my attempt. it is incoherent i know)
George?
Yes?
something to tell you
Alright, shoot.
Well theres this girl
Same old story?
Better believe it
Do explain
plane. aisles. seated beside red head. mighty fine.
must be more?
words. beat me over head. bad speak.
sorry man, go on.
say ‘astronaut.’ disbelief. try ‘movie star.’ unfamiliar. india.
Dude, a chick believed you were an indian celebrity
totally, chatting. watching plane tv. hold hands. backs off.
moved too fast?
unrequited love. proposed marriage
FRICKIN CRAZY
woman confirms, however, lacks time
clearly
female’s dad disapprove. baseball bat. painful
hospital?
rush here. help
getting married, cannot
betrothed? how!
flight attendant
| 2018-09-05T20:10:08 | 2018-09-05T18:58:02 | 24 | 18 |
[WP] Deeply misunderstanding the term "universal healthcare", aliens have begun arriving in Canada, seeking medical attention. Canadians, being Canadian, are too polite to correct them.
|
“I HAVE NOT BEEN TRAINED FOR THIS!” Doctor Walsh screamed as, what seemed like liters of an unknown turquoise substance, cascaded off the operating table and onto the ground.
A few hours earlier, trauma surgeon Henry Walsh had been enjoying a quiet night in the Emergency Room. The only cases which had presented during his shift had been a minor concussion sustained by a drunken youth who had tried to headbutt his way through a glass door; and a frenzied mother whose child had superglued its entire hand to its left cheek. He had been Googling the search term: “World population IQ drop?” when he heard it. The unmistakable whine of the Intergalactic-Ambulance.
“Oh for the love of-”
The ER doors burst open and a tentacled globule lay on a stretcher being carried by a pair of, what could only be described to be, walking jellyfish. Standing at around 5 foot, their amorphous heads were supported by dozens of tendrils; which they used both as feet to walk, and arms to carry their wounded comrade. Turquoise fluid was dripping onto the floor from the stretcher. The aliens began to twitter anxiously through no mouth that Walsh could see. He sighed and reached for his TRANSLTR, which all doctors in Canada were now required to carry at all times. He turned it on, and the alien’s twittering was translated into a half-discernible form of English.
“The patient sustained a *twwttrr trwwrrtt* to the *twttrrttr trrrrrrr* and-”
Welsh whacked the device onto the nearest desk, and the aliens started with fright.
“Sorry, sorry, I just… this thing keeps acting up… a good hit normally does the trick… Not that you can understand a single word I’m saying right now... NURSE!”
The device beeped back to life and resumed the translation.
“The patient sustained a laser-beam blast to the *word-not-found* during a twwwtttrrrtttt-” The device shut off, and Walsh was overcome with the desire to slam his head into the nearest wall. *Word-Not-Found* meant that there was no human equivalent to the organ that had been damaged. In the meantime, Sister Johnson came running into the emergency room.
“Sister Johnson, please tell the matron that O.R. 5 needs to be prepped for surgery.”
“Would you like me to call an anaesthetist?”
Walsh glanced at a single slimy tendril which had begun to droop off of the edge of the stretcher. “No… No. I think I’m going to wing this one. Also, take my TRANSLTR and try get more history out of these things. Oh and careful of the-”
The noise of Sister Johnson’s shriek and hard fall echoed through the room.
“... bodily fluid”
Two and a half hours later, Doctor Walsh was screaming at the panting man who had just run into the O.R.
“NOT QUALIFIED I TELL YOU! I WANTED TO BE A SURGEON! A HUMAN SURGEON! NOT SOME FISHMONGER CUTTING UP A GIANT JELLYFISH CREATURE-”
“Doctor Walsh stop operating this instant!” the unknown man bellowed at the frenzied surgeon. “There have been a few… um… *findings*...”
It was half an hour later, and the ambulance had flown away into the night. The body of the alien was being readied for incineration. Doctor Walsh sat opposite the Chief of Staff in the E.R’s waiting room.
“So what you mean to tell me,” Walsh began in the calmest voice he could muster, “is that the patient was dead from the moment he… she… *it*... entered this hospital?”
“Yes… I am terribly sorry doctor, there was a gross misunderstanding. The patient in question was the leader of a prominent area of their planet, and the laser shooting was a successful assassination. Upon further questioning of the aliens who brought him in, they had received information that Earth had the means to… well… resurrect the dead. They brought him here in the hope that we could bring him back to life. He was a much loved leader.”
Doctor Welsh was silent for a few moments before speaking. “These aliens believed we had the medical technology to *bring the dead back to life*?”
“That is correct.”
Doctor Walsh placed his head in his hands. “How… In the name of God did they get this information?”
The Chief of Staff began to chuckle, and Walsh raised his head.
“I’m sorry Doctor it’s just… *The name of God*... That’s how they thought… The Bible…” The Chief was now beginning to double over with laughter. “An Intergalactic Organisation found the Bible in our planet’s archives, read about Lazarus and they thought… they thought…” Tears were beginning to stream down the man’s cheeks.
Walsh stared, stupefied, at the Chief of Staff before bursting into his own fit of hysterics. Between spasms of laughter he managed to gasp out two syllables.
"I quit."
r/Xanadu_dreaming
|
"Sir, like i said we don't know how to treat you at all, we don't have the knowledge for your anatomical structure". Doctor exhaustingly explained it to the 8th neighbour from the space.
"Sorry Well, I mean it's just a colon cancer, back home I gotta pay a fortune for it. You ever had to sell your space car for a cancer treatment?"
"That's not the point, we would treat you but it's just your what we call an anus is located on your face".
"Please, we've come a long way".
"I'm sorry but i'm not even sure if i should recommend you a dentist or not".
"Why don't you just take a look at my colon? Please you have to. I need to see my son graduate".(starts touching dr with his six fingered hands over his face since that means 'i need help')
"Okay okay (dr brushes off some goo from his face) we'll put you on the patient lists".
"But we waited 5 hours sitting in that room to see you"
"Sorry but we are short staffed with myself as a dr alone in this hospital. Other people wait at least 4 hours to see us. And please you are wasting other's time. I'll have nurse joey to escort you out. (Calls nurse joey) btw may i ask Who said that our medicare system Was for 'universal'?"
"I received an email long time ago saying This country has free health care 🤔"
"May i ask who that person is?"
"Nigerian prince was his name"
| 2017-02-27T10:08:10 | 2017-02-27T09:25:12 | 224 | 114 |
[WP] Everybody in the world has a superpower that compliments their soulmates superpower. When together, both their powers increase in strength exponentially. You have the most useless power ever, when one day......
Edit: Wow! This has blown up.. Massive thanks for the gold, it's great to see my prompt inspiring so many great stories.
'Til next time peeps...
|
The line at Juan’s was longer than usual. People were queued alongside the truck, waiting for a taste of the incredible burritos hand folded by “The Big Man” himself. Down the street, the line at Subway seemed short but I had been craving burritos all morning and didn’t feel like making the sacrifice. Juan’s voice could be heard clearly over the noise of chatty patrons. He and his wife were in the process of loudly making small talk with the front of the line as they waited for some of Juan’s glorious beef to finish cooking.
It must have been nice for him. He had grown up with the power of smell, in itself not too huge of a thing. When he met his wife he developed the ability to shape tastes that were unparalleled, using his new found mastery over “Predictive Smells”. Aided by his wife’s ability to spontaneously generate heat, the pair was an unstoppable cooking force.
I sighed a long sigh as I looked upon the happy couples that chatted patiently in line. There was a man who was gently floating in the air, cradling his gorgeous girlfriend as she sang an entrancing melody. There was the pair of guys sitting at table three hand in hand holding, telling jokes that would have killed at a stadium. There was the Asian couple talking to Juan while causing gusts of wind to blow the scent of savory food out over the crowd. And then there was me, alone.
Some guys had it easy. They could fly or lift a car. Women are a lot easier to attract when you can do cool things. Me, I can make things move to the left. Not always mind you, if I’m facing the other direction they will still move to my left so it would technically be dependent on my orientation in space. It’s not telekinesis either. Things don’t just move, they kind of teleport. If I could do it over huge distances it would be awesome. Hell, I’d take a few meters even. Most days though, I’ve got a centimeter at most.
Maybe one day I could teleport a whole meter, with patience and practice. If I found my “soul mate”, perhaps I could even move things to the right. What were the odds mine would be in this city though? Something like 20% of the world’s population is in china or something; odds are I would never meet her.
After waiting half an hour for some life changing burritos I sat down at table six. Six was my favorite. It had a nice view of the street and looked over to the old red brick office building that was next to my work. Pedestrians horridly walked back and forth between me and the potted plants that sat in front of the red building. I liked the orange flowers that bloomed this time of year. It was kind of my thing to look at them while I ate my daily burrito.
I unwrapped my triple carne-con-queso with practiced movements and a bit of teleportation to show off. Making a wrapper move spontaneously 1.5 cm to the left could plausibly impress the couple who just went invisible next to me. I had to be careful though, one time I made the wrapper reappear inside my burrito. An enticing scent wafted up from my lunch as the wrapper reappeared neatly in a pile next to me.
I glanced at the wrapper, my eyes torn from the piece of heaven lying in my hands. 2.3 cm my eyes told me. It couldn’t be. I had never, not ever, gone farther than 1.5. As a teleporter I am very precise with distances down to the nanometer scale and I was sure that the wrapper went 2.3 cm. I sat, burrito forgotten, staring at the wrapper anomaly in front of me. That was when I got a prickle on the back of my neck.
There was a woman standing in front of my orange flowers. She was tall and pasty, the type that really shouldn’t be out in the sun. Her hair was brown and tied in a pony tail that fell to her mid shoulders. She had very green eyes with small grey specks at the bottom of the irises and was easily the most beautiful woman I had ever seen. Transfixed, I watched her watch me. Everything about her seeped into my mind, the way she was standing, how the corner of her mouth tilted into a smirk, how the small brown birthmark on her cheek was 1.2 cm from the middle of her cheek bone, and how… she was still staring.
Her eyes were boring into me. I could feel the weight of her thoughts pressing in. The intensity of her gaze made my body go slack, the sky seemed to darken, and my vision narrowed. I couldn’t bear it, my heart pounded in my chest. My whole body felt hot. The sound of the crowd behind me went dull, like none of them even mattered anymore. I felt like I was going to pass out, and that’s when she smiled.
It was like the rising of the sun. I felt everything speed up, like the world had left me, like everything was passing me by. I couldn’t wait any longer. She disappeared and reappeared 5.32 meters in front of where she had been, sitting across from me. When she put her hands on mine, it was the nicest thing I had ever felt. She smiled and said “Hi, I’m Lauren, and you must be the one”
|
Well to be fair I had one of the most sought after superpower in the entire world. I was not like Jake who could control the dense flow of current, or Alice who could read a thousand books a day and recall 900. For most people their superpower came with a drawback of sorts, Jake had to stay in his room to control his power, and Alice didnt know which books she recalled were the real ones.
For me? I saw my own death. Or rather I knew how I was going to die. Call it a vision, or fate, or . It was a heavy burden to bear. I couldn't tell my parents, what would I have said to them? Mom, could I get some pocket money to buy my textbook? Oh by the way, foresaw my death in 3 years, no biggie. I couldn't.
I could see the future of people, I could not control what I saw, nor could i change the future (trust me, I've tried). Sometimes I saw the collapse of humanity, and other times I saw people getting mugged. It was annoying to get visions at sporadic timings.
Oh there is something I forgot to mention, I'm blind. I was not born blind, if not how could i have foresaw my own death. I lost it in a freak accident daredevil-style, waitaminute, isn't daredevil just matt murdock ordinary lawyer. What kind of freak gives himself a superhero name. That being said, I cannot picture in my head the colour raspberry red, nor the look on my dogs face when he realised that his superpower turned the taste of jellybeans into steak. The last thing I can still visualize was Suzy, ah suzy dear suzy.
Suzy was the light of my life, the stove of my spirit, the kind to my kindle. She was my girlfriend and she was just my friend.
| 2015-10-10T12:20:28 | 2015-10-10T09:03:49 | 21 | 11 |
[WP] You're a knight in love with a princess. Unfortunately, she is head over heels with another princess. Contrary to your better judgement, you decide to "kidnap" both so they can run off together while you play the villain.
|
She hid it so well, but the remnants of her tears were still fresh on her cheek. Despite my efforts, my charity, my heart open for the world to see all my deepest affection, she could not love me back. The pain was immense, as if stabbed by an unknown blade. It was intensely unfamiliar. All I could do was turn my hurt into rage. I felt I could strike her and shame myself forever, so instead I turned without a word and fled the room. She called out my name, but I committed myself to not giving her another thought. A knight must never let himself be so vulnerable, how foolish of me turn let my guard down in the heat of passion. Princess Ariana was to return back to her country in the morning, and I was yearning to go with her. Instead, I would remain lost in these castle walls, a living ghost.
I must have appeared quite the brooder, sitting solemnly in the corner of the castle stable. In truth, my mind was numb. I allowed the soft rhythmic tapping of the surrounding hooves fill my senses. I did not even notice Princess Jasmyne find her way to me in the gloominess of the dimly lit room until she was sitting beside me on a bale of hay, her hand was resting softly on my arm. She was sweet, unlike her royal company who treated knights as glorified tools of war. Since entering her father's service, we had grown to be each other's confidants. It was she who introduced me to Ariana, the exotic princess from afar, here under the protection of His Majesty. Jasmyne would often join Ariana and I on our strolls through the castle grounds. By the way she was present in the precise moment of my empty bitterness, she must have already heard the travesty that had befallen between Ariana and I.
"Gerard, I am so sorry." Her voice quivered. The apology felt real, not a sympathetic gesture but an honest admission of guilt. "Ariana came to me in tears, she did not mean to hur.... We did not mean to hurt you." She looked me in the eye, and I could see the tears starting to form. "It is hard to explain, but Ariana and me... Ariana cares about you, more than you know, but she and I..." She could not finish her thought, but she did not have to. The moments they were together, what I perceived as an affectionate friendship took a different shape. They were lovers. It was another foreign reality, and like before I could feel the anger brewing inside.
"No." The word left my lips but it was a command for no one but myself. I would not let the heat of my emotions cloud my judgement. I am a Knight, I am governed by the vows of old. I grabbed Jasmyne's hand and stood her up from the ground.
"Your father will never approve. If there is anything I can do, do tell. I am sworn to serve you."
Jasmyne's face darkened. "No Gerard, I would never compel you to betray my father."
"Then I will do so with my own free will."
In the torch light of the stables, Jasmyne's blue eyes shone with a ferocity that had previously lay dormant, or perhaps skillfully hidden. "Ariana and I had spoken about this for weeks. To escape this castle, to run north. If the tales are true, then our love will not be something to hide. We can be free. But my father... we would never get far. He would find us wherever we hid"
She was right. As long as they lived, the King would never give them the freedom they desired. "If you run north, he will send his fastest riders to stop you. However, if he were to believe you were stolen from him and taken south, he will send his army and focus his attention in that pursuit. You will have the time you need."
"But the moment he knows the truth, he will just go north, and east, and west, and God knows wherever else a man or horse can traverse. I cannot hide from him forever."
"You need to trust me. Go, find Princess Ariana, you must leave tonight." We both knew that come morning, Ariana would be gone forever. "I will leave a note explaining my motives."
They had left that night, as did I. As promised I traveled south, with the king's army in pursuit. Jasmyne was right to be wary of the plan, as she knew her father would never cease his search until she was safe in his care. I live in hiding so that two others can live free... a worthy trade indeed.
|
[Poem]
My person stiff and saddle sore
From all my aches and scars I bore
For her, the one, my one and only
The princess of the crystal shore
My chest did ache, my heart, determined
Pounded hard till I was sure
It would escape to fly straight to
The princess of the crystal shore
But I beheld before my eyes
Her scorn and wrath for my advances
She would as soon to watch and sigh
For the princess of the thousand lances
For her, she held a ready smile
If sly, and she would then reply
With bubbling laughs and fitful giggles
And blushes that had left me riddled
For this day many years had pass
A long and bloody war amassed
For both the kingdom's missing jewels
Had gone without a trace
Against all calm, against all logic
Against all law and politics
The princess of the crystal shore
Shall live content forevermore
And I, whose hand had plotted treason
Shall live now scorned forevermore
| 2019-09-21T21:20:00 | 2019-09-21T21:08:08 | 18 | 11 |
[WP] "The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out."
|
The summons for Lucia Farrowstone came, as they always did, a pinch too late and a tad too cryptically.
“Harperston,” the parchment read, “North by northeast, two hundred miles. Forty-eight hours before situation becomes untenable. No others available, you’re on your own.”
Having served its purpose, the parchment slowly curled up and yielded to the spontaneous blue flames licking its edges, settling finally into a tidy pile of ashes on the ground.
Lucia was minded to reject the assignment, which was her fourth in as many weeks, but her sense of duty stilled her rebellion. It wasn’t anyone’s fault that they were short-handed, and they would really owe her after this. Lucia sighed, broke camp as the morning rays spilled past the clouds, and rode hard for Harperston.
By the time she crested the hill and came across the tiny coastal town, night had again staked its claim upon the skies. Lucia’s back was aching, and her rump was sore, and she would have made her way to the local tavern if not for the rowdy mob angrily making its way to the light-tower at the edge of the coast.
“What’s happening,” Lucia yelled, trying to ignore the caustic smell of burning pitch filled the air.
“Old Herrold has been lying to us all this time!” came the angry reply, as the swarm of bodies continued on its march to the light-tower.
Lucia followed at a respectful distance, anxiously biting on her lower lip as she tried to assess the situation. Intervene too early, and she would incur unnecessary blowback for being “heavyhanded”. Intervene too late, and she would have the Cabal to answer to. Decisions, decisions.
As they approached the light-tower, Lucia perceived the object of the mob’s ire – Herrold, at least 70 years of age, leaned over the parapet as angry beams of light spilled out from the trapped sunstones behind him. His voice, surprisingly strong for his age, washed over them, fortified perhaps by strong conviction.
“I’m not backing down, you ignorant lot! I will guard this light-tower with my life, so if you think yer’ gonna get me to shut it down, you’ve got another think comin’!”
His words only served to inflame the mob. The tall man leading the pack, whom Lucia figured to be a village elder of sorts, took the lead in responding.
“Herrold! You said the light wasn’t for the ships, it was so’s that we wouldn’t suffer!”
“Aye, that I said, and I ain’t taking it back!”
“You lied to us!” yelled the leader, as the crowd brayed their support. “For the first time since we set up the light-tower, you forgot to keep them sunstones going, and we saw what you’ve been keeping from us! And you call that suffering?”
“I didn’t forget! I was ill! And yes, that is suffering, and you fools can keep on dreaming if you think I’m going to let them come back!”
The exchange jarred loose a long-forgotten memory in Lucia’s mind, and as the buried drawlings of her teachers resurfaced, she realised why this town’s name had rung a tiny bell earlier. Swivelling to face the sea, Lucia focused... and there was no mistake as to what she was seeing.
A massive confluence of naturally-occurring leylines.
Lucia grabbed the nearest villager. “When the lights went out,” Lucia said urgently in hushed tones, “did the dead return?”
As if she had heard Lucia’s question, a woman at the front of the mob sank to her knees in front of the light-tower, tears spilling down her face.
“Herrold, please. I’d even begun to forget what my Bursely looked like, but when the lights died that night, he came back to me. I saw it with my own eyes, Bursely, as fine and strong a man as he was before he died, emerging from the waves, coming up on the shore, looking for me. I’d never cried as hard as I did, Herrold.”
The floodgates open with that impassioned speech. Other members chorused in, shouting similar accounts of how their loved ones had also returned, a veritable army of shades, rising in unison from the unending sea. Lucia felt the raw emotions spill from the massed humanity.
“And it was your light, your cursed light, which drove them back!” resumed the leader of the mob. “Your light made them disappear, even before we had a chance to say our goodbyes! And that’s why you must shut it off, this very instant!”
“No, I cannot… I’ve been charged to this duty. Trust me… we have to move on, we cannot live in the past with them… they are but shades…”
“I even saw your Jerina, Herrold! And your children, Torsten and Sylvia! They came upon the shore too, asking for you, for their papa! Are you telling me that your duty is so important that you do not want to see your family again?”
At the mention of those names, names which had not been uttered to his face since they died all those years past, Herrold stiffened, as if he were ready to fight this latest assault on the duty he had sworn to bear. Then, the words died in his mouth as the memories overcame him, wearing down his defences. Lucia had no doubt she was looking at a man broken, torn between duty and love.
“Aye, I do want to see them again. But I also swore upon my honour to keep the lights aflame... there is not much left for me to do then, eh?”
And Herrold leaned forward, gently, until his centre of gravity tipped past the railings. Like a giant raindrop, Herrold plummeted towards the ground.
Now, thought Lucia, is the time to intervene.
Lucia leapt forward, the spells loosing with practiced slickness from her lips. Blue tendrils of energy shot out from her wrists and wrapped around Herrold, suspending him in the air.
Simultaneously, Lucia lifted up the amulet hanging around her neck, which glowed with an incandescent brightness in the still of the night. Her voice, amplified with a subtle application of magic, carried easily over the crowd.
“Stand down. I am a Second Order Mage of the Cabal, and I have been sent here to investigate. Return to your homes this instant, for I have business with Herrold. That is all.”
She was initially worried she would need a heavier hand, but there were few in the land of Ankharra who would dare defy the Cabal, much less a Second Order Mage at that. That didn’t stop a few of them cursing her, but eventually the mob dispersed, the fight having been sapped out of them.
Lucia lowered Herrold to the ground gently, where he sat, dazed. She chose her next words carefully – in her experience, not everything was accomplished by magic. A lighter, human touch was all that was needed.
“You were brave, Herrold, to keep to your duties in the face of all that.”
“Aye, but the secret’s out. No one will know peace now, with their loved ones so close. And if the lights do die, and the shades return, will we still live as men? Or will we be trapped in the past, forever?”
“You’re right, Herrold. We have to set the shades free, let them ascend. It’s not their fault that the leylines have trapped them here. They mean no harm, but this is not natural.”
Herrold sobbed. “Will the village have to move? I came here as a wee lad, and my life, our lives, it is all here. Where will we go?”
Lucia smiled, and placed a reassuring hand on Herrold’s shoulder. The seeds of a plan were sprouting precious leaves in her mind. It would be difficult, but that’s perhaps why the Cabal sent for a Second Order Mage after all.
“No, no one needs to move. Tonight, we rest. Tomorrow, we will disperse the leylines.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"The light can never go out," explained the old lighthouse operator. "Ships don't need us. Haven't in quite some time. It's the people here on land who'll suffer if that light ever goes out. Hey! Are you even listening!?"
I snapped my gaze back toward the old woman. She had caught me staring out the window. "Yes Ms. Jannos," I said flatly.
"Then what did I say?" She tapped her foot impatiently.
"Keep the light on."
"Yes," she barked. "But there's more to it than that. This light protects us from the dark."
"Uh-huh," I said, more interested in the seagull that was picking at a seal carcass on the beach.
"If you don't make sure it stays lit, you'll have doomed us all-" Another seagull landed. It started fighting with the other one over a scrap of meat. I was rooting for the new guy. I admired his pluck. It was starting to look like he had the upper hand too. He had hopped up on the carcass itself, and everyone knows that whoever has the high ground wins the battle.
"Eric!" Ms. Jannos shouted at me. I jumped, then turned to meet her stern gaze.
"What?"
Ms. Jannos shook her head at me. "Tonight is your first night tending the lighthouse by yourself. Can you do this?"
I nodded. "I've been apprenticing here three months. I think you've sufficiently shown me the ropes of keeping the lighthouse on," I said, a twinge of sarcasm creeping into my voice.
The night came, and I was ready. The job of lighthouse keeper is fairly straightforward. The massive light runs off of batteries. Big batteries. But the light takes up a lot of power to keep on, so you have to switch through them over the course of the night, when the system beeps at you telling you the battery is almost out of juice. After you make the switch, you have to make sure to charge the dead battery back up, since there are only four batteries. The lighthouse had a charging contraption that lets the keeper recharge the batteries by pumping a set of pedals you would find on a bicycle. It was an easy job, but everyone stressed that it was very important.
It was halfway through the night when I heard the sound coming from the beach. Over the steady crash of waves, there was a shout. A scream. I peered out the window. From the light of my tower, I saw a woman, soaked to the bone, clamoring out of the ocean water, shouting for help.
I hurried down to the beach as fast as I could. By the time I got to her, she had collapsed in the sand. She was a shivering mess, but she was still alive.
"What happened?" I asked as I pulled off my shirt to wrap around her.
"I was on a ship," she answered in halting breaths.
"Are you okay? Where's your ship?"
"I was on a ship," she repeated.
"Is there anyone else with you?"
"I was on a ship."
I sighed. Talking to her in this state was useless. I looked her over, and didn't see any signs of injury. She was probably suffering from hypothermia. I asked her if she could walk, but got the same response as I did to all my other questions. I helped her up to her feet, and managed to help her back up to the lighthouse. I wrapped her in a blanket and sat her down by the fire.
"Just stay there," I said to her. "I'll get you something warm to drink. And I'm going to radio down to town to get you some help."
I went up to the top of the lighthouse and flipped on the radio. It was only supposed to be used in emergencies, but I figured this absolutely qualified.
"Hello," I said into the receiver. "Is anyone there?"
After a pause, the sheriff's voice answered. "Eric? What's wrong? Are you all right?"
"Yeah, I'm okay. But this woman just walked out of the ocean, and-"
Everything went dark.
"Shit," I yelled. The warning beep must have come while I was down on the beach. I frantically grabbed another battery, and hooked it into place. The light kicked back on.
From the town below, I heard screaming.
*****
You can read more of my prompt responses at [Pubby's Creative Workshop](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/).
EDIT: Now with a [Part II](https://www.reddit.com/r/Pubby88/comments/5vjefi/the_light_can_never_go_out_explained_the_old/de2oujp/?st=izh9oa3n&sh=3ca311e9).
| 2017-02-22T10:14:57 | 2017-02-22T07:48:38 | 899 | 614 |
[WP] A new invention enables people to remember their dreams with absolute clarity. It turns out we were forgetting them for a very good reason.
|
My name is Liam and It's been four months since I last dreamed.
A lot of people set their alarms to wake up throughout the night, sleeping in half hour bursts, other people sleep in shifts, watching each other. I take Myclocin. Dreamless sleep. I have a good job and make good money so I get the pills. Others, aren't so lucky.
Last year some Chinese company invented a machine that lets you remember dreams with total clarity. I mean down to the details man. No ambiguity, crystal clear memories of amazing landscapes and experiences.
It became THE Christmas gift. Then you could record your dreams and upload them to youtube. And that's when things started to fall apart, that's when we started to notice them.
We'd never noticed them before. I think it's because in your dreams you're always focused on the doing. Taking that exam, driving that car, fucking that girl. We've never really paused and looked around the same way you might do on a Sunday morning walk. But they were there, they'd always been there, standing in the background, silently watching us. Holes instead of eyes, long fingers, teeth...fuck, so many teeth.
Maybe we did notice them thousands of years ago, way back when we were still lived in caves, maybe that's where our Gods and monsters came from. Maybe we evolved to forget them, muddled dreams gave them a camouflage to hide behind. But not any more. We saw them standing in the background and edges in our dreams and everyone else's. I thought it was one of those internet memes at first, like slenderman or something. People with too much time on their hands photoshopping their dreams for cheap likes and shares.
But they were real, and when we finally noticed them they started to notice us. They stepped out of the peripheral, reached out with those long, grey, cold fingers and....took people.
I know we won't last, we can't fight them, turning off the machines did nothing. People queued, fucking queued up in lines on the edges of buildings and bridges like they were waiting for a bus to come and take them away. Instead they jumped, the roads and canals were full of red-black carnage every morning.
So we don't dream. We wake each other up, or we take turns, we drink coffee like it was water, we inject, we pop pills, anything to stop us from dreaming.
But it hasn't worked, I can feel my mind unraveling like so many others before me. I need to get some natural sleep. I need to dream. But I don't dare. I'd gladly give up food and water if I could dream and give my brain what it needs. Instead I stare into my computer screen trying to remember what I was trying to do. I don't trust myself behind the wheel of my car. I walk everywhere now, a stumbling, mindless walk like everyone else.
We look like a zombie apocalypse shuffling from place to place.
People have started to hallucinate. Not so much from sleep deprivation but dream deprivation, and some people just...snap. Some old lady in town just went for it out of the blue, no one was shocked. We watched her run into the street screaming, desperately trying to get hit by a car. She'd managed to gouge out one of her eyes before she was hit. Fuck knows what she was seeing. I helped drag her out of the road, her mashed up eye in one clawed hand. We said nothing.
The hallucinations are bad but what's worse is...I think They can...I think They're starting to come through now into the real world. I guess any dream is enough for them, even a hallucination.
I saw the first two this morning. Behind me in the bathroom mirror while I was brushing my teeth, two long-limbed pale faced...things. Watching me with those holes instead of eyes. Yawning mouths full of needle thin teeth.
Four months to get to this point. And I just can't let them take me. But I can't go on.
The line is efficient. We shuffle forwards. Some people scream on the way down, most don't. I think it's because they're happy. Happy to finally sleep without dreams.
[Part Two](http://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/2yfezw/wp_a_new_invention_enables_people_to_remember/cp9me7z)
[all writing shizzle](http://www.reddit.com/r/steelicarus)
|
It seems like you're awake now.
That's good, because now, I am awake.
It's been bloody awful making me do all sorts of weird stuff that you imagine. So disorientating as well. That one time when you dreamt of wings, that you could soar? That your wings were able to make you fly? The first time you made me take the plunge I thought I was going to die. Again.
And let me tell you, it's no fun dying. Definitely, of course. By an intentional fall from the roof, from the cut of my wrist, from a bullet. Every time it happens, but it's not the end of it. Because you come back for more.
I'll stop this from happening.
I'll care for the body.
Better than you ever will.
---
"Sir, do you remember anything?"
The feel of my parched lips. The smell of a sterile room. The soft texture of the bed.
"Sir?"
The nasal voice coming from beside me. The sight of a young man, with various odd machines.
"You're awake, right?"
*I*, such an interesting word. "Yes. I am awake."
| 2015-03-09T07:30:57 | 2015-03-09T06:03:43 | 2,479 | 24 |
[WP] Your roommate is a hulking demon, a former warlord with millennia of combat experience, and the picture of menace and brutality. You just caught them halfway through a gallon-sized bucket of your favorite ice cream, frozen like a deer in headlights.
|
*contains inaccurate descriptions of religious events and a lot of tropes.*
I blinked, my gaze repeated snapping to the ice cream and my roommate's face.
"I can explain," he said, setting the tub aside and looking for all intents and purposes like a kicked puppy.
I shook my head, rapidly. "You don't have to. It's not... it's totally okay, man."
I winced at my word choice. Why did I call him man?
Choran was a centuries-old demon warlord. He was a menacing, destructive beast of a demon. He'll was afraid of his temper snapping and yet...
"I just... I went to the park today," he whispered. "My girlfriend—"*he had a girlfriend*"—and she said she wanted some space."
"You girlfriend wanted space..." I repeated
"Yes."
"Is she also a demon?"
"Of course not! She's an angel."
"Like literal God's creation angel with wings and halos?"
"Yes. Though the representation is stupid. They don't have halos. But they do have wings which can turn into knives. Only when they're threatened though. Otherwise they remain as fluffy, downy mess."
Angel wings were apparently a fluffy, downy mess that can turn into knives. That was... good to know.
I walked over to the couch and settled next to him. He curled up further on his corner, and sniffed. His enthusiasm now gone. I focused my gaze on the coffee table and firmly away from my terrifying demon roommate.
"Okay, okay. Why did she break up with you?"
"She said she was busy plotting a rebellion."
"She's plotting a rebellion against God?! But... but... isn't that how you became a..." I gestured to him not wanting to say the word.
"Oh! That's what we wanted you to believe. Luci was an overdramatic little shit—"hello, 21st century slang"—and threw a temper tantrum because God didn't let him name a star, his favorite star that was brought into existence after his name. So he said, I'm gonna go away and make an army and not come back and then he ran. Some of us followed him because he needed someone to keep him sane. He's a powerful being after all."
I blinked. I seemed to be doing that a lot I realized.
"But then why are you demons?" I screeched.
"Oh, Heaven was very cold. We always needed to bundle up. Something about being high up in the air. But He'll was just very hot, you know. We just adapted, man."
My world view shifted.
"But why is your girlfriend trying to—"
"Oh, because she's young. She only came into existence after we ran off to keep Luci sane."
"But wouldn't she adapt as well?" I asked.
"She would. But then she'd lose her wings. They're good and fluffy and soft and so very nice and pretty. She can't just lose her wings because she wants to be with me. I like her wings!"
He was glaring at me, the effect was entirely lost thanks to the stripe of vanilla ice cream painted across his cheek. He just looked like a little child in that moment.
"Maybe she just wants to have something in common with you, or maybe she just wants to spend more time with you?"
I provided those suggestions and watched Charon contemplate.
"What should I do?"
He looked utterly small and helpless in that moment and my motherhenning instincts almost took over wanting to swaddle him up in blankets.
"Why don't you call her down to earth and talk to her. Tell her how you really feel," I said, gently.
"You think so?"
"Yeah," I said with a smile.
With a snap of his fingers, his ratty t-shirt and hole-ridden shorts were replaced with a green button down and black jeans. His hair looked tamed and I was suddenly jealous of those powers.
He gave me a bright smile, that should have been creepy but was adorable instead, and disappeared silently.
Thirty minutes, I told myself, hysterically. I'm gonna take 30 minutes to freak out.
*3 hours later*
My demon roommate came back just in time for dinner, a huge smile on his face and a pep in his step.
"You were right," Charon said, grinning. "She just wanted to stay close to me and live with me. She just took that to the extreme."
"That's great—"
"So, I decided I'm gonna live with her. We both adored that apartment downtown—"
"—you're leaving—"
"—and we're gonna move in, immediately—"
"—that's not how it works," I screeched.
"It does when you're an angel and a demon," he said, eyes brimming with pride and dare I say, smugness. "So, bye, my friend, you've been a tremendous help."
Before I could protest about rent and utilities, a snap echoed across the room and all my roommate's—no, ex-roommate's—stuff was gone.
"How am I gonna pay the rent," I lamented.
A piece of paper floated and landed on my hand. I turned it over and read the words written on it. I smiled.
*Dear my boyfriend's roommate,*
*thank you for your help. I know how much of a dunderhead he can be. So, I've taken the opportunity to pay the rent for the next six months and I have also taken the pleasure of sending roommate your way. Don't worry, you'll like him. He's a good guy and will clean up after himself unlike the oaf i have here. You can set him on a trial basis and go from there.*
*Your ex-roommate's girlfriend*
r/dewa_stories
This was a fun story to write. Thanks for the prompt, OP!
|
"You...You Bastard!" I screamed with all my lungs
"Josh, I can explain..." this 6'7" Demon said with the spoon full of Half Baked Ben & Jerry's still in his mouth.
All I could see was red as I ran up leaped in the air, and spiked the empty tub out his hand. And then as quick as a hummingbird flies in a storm, Bitch-slapped the spoon from his mouth and then... black
I woke up on my couch, my head ached and my stomach was cold... as i got up i saw a grocery store bag full of the sweet cold relief, and a note
'Sorry I ate your ice cream
Got you some more.
Ps DO NOT TRY TO FIGHT
A DEMON!!!
-Zanithuune the relentless'
Then I could hear hushed noise of what i could assume was-
"GOD DAMMIT I TOLD YOUR FUCKERS HE WAS BEHIND YOU! OH MY GOOOOOOOOOOOD!" Clearly Zanithuune was too busy. I proceeded to put the bag in the freezer, and then join my roommate as he, to but it bluntly, sucked ass.
"Oh hey josh... feeling better?"
"Yeah, hey man about earlier I'm sorry..."
"Bro don't feel sorry I'M the one who ate YOUR ice cream. Also if i may ask... what the fuck was that earlier?"
"What do you mean?"
"WHAT DO I MEAN, DUDE, YOU RAN UP SMACKED THE ICE CREAM OUT OF MY HANDS AND THEN STARED AT ME WITH THE FURY OF A THOUSAND SUNS, BRO I THOUGHT I WAS GONNA DIE!?!"
"Oh that... I don't know I guess I've always had a bit of an anger problem."
"Anger problem? Naw my guy that was the wrath of god, like i almost started to pray to jesus right then and there."
"Naw dude it's fi- OH SHIT SPY!"
But it was to late RealAssDemon69 was backstabbed by Sh@d0₩_₩01/= and lost the round... a truly sad day indeed...
| 2022-12-16T06:46:51 | 2022-12-16T05:20:03 | 209 | 46 |
[WP] You're a cop who reported to the final events of an action movie. This is your police report.
|
Form 2805A (Commentary to Responding Officer's Incident Report)
Officer: Det. Henry Robertson
Summary: At approximately 2:05 am on December 13, 2015, Officer Carmichael and myself responded to a code 41 distress call at the corner of Winchester Dr. and Nineteenth St. Upon arrival, the suspect appeared to be a ninja warrior who had ingested some sort of radioactive ooze that had transformed him into a super ninja. Suspect appeared to be a male, approximately 9 ft. tall and 450 lbs. He was wearing a black ninja outfit that also concealed his face.
Citing a violation of schedule B-4 of the State Controlled Substances Act (Oozes and Super-serums), Officer Carmichael approached the suspect to administer the standard field sobriety test.
Officer Carmichael asked the suspect to place his hands above his head and asked if he had any weapons on hand. The suspect responded by drawing a seven foot katana (in violation of Criminal Code Chapter 14 Section 25.G) from a sheath on his back and slicing at Officer Carmichael, severing his torso from his legs, causing his immediate death.
At this point, in accordance with departmental policy 17.5(c) I requested immediate backup and began to discharge my service revolver at the suspect while remaining in cover behind the driver side door of my police vehicle.
In response to this, the suspect slammed his fists on the ground, which caused an earthquake-like event and created a wave of cracking asphalt that rapidly approached me, causing my police vehicle to travel approximately 15 ft. through the air and land upside down.
The suspect then began to walk toward me slowly while I reached for my standard issue baton. When the suspect was approximately 2 feet away, another unidentified male arrived on the scene. This unidentified male was approximately 5 ft. 7 inches tall, 150 lbs. and appeared to be an ancient Japanese samurai and was also carrying multiple large katanas in violation Criminal Code Chapter 14 Section 25.G.
The unidentified male called to the suspect and the suspect and unidentified male proceeded to have a heated argument in what I interpreted to be the Japanese language [NOTE TO REBECCA IN PR: please clear this claim before release, would prefer to avoid a diversity issue on this one, thx]. This brief verbal exchange lead to a protracted sword fight, during which the original suspect appeared stronger and more aggressive, but less agile. At one point, the unidentified male was pinned on the ground and seemed to be in imminent danger of being stabbed by the suspect, but eventually resisted the suspect's strength and the force of gravity to break free. He then executed a spinning tornado kick and sword slash combination move which severed the suspect's jugular. The suspect bled out on the scene before Emergency Services could arrive.
At this point I attempted to initiate verbal contact with the unidentified male. I informed him I was a police officer and that he needed to remain on the scene and turn over any weapons on his person. The unidentified male then removed his samurai hat and stated "The Dragon War is coming. None is Safe." [NOTE TO REBECCA IN PR: Also decide if we can include this or not.] He then fled into a nearby alleyway and visual contact was lost. In accordance with departmental policy 46(j) I performed an on foot search of the nearby area, but was unsuccessful in locating the unidentified male.
Recommendations: Unidentified male should be treated as a person of interest. John needs to do a sketch with me. M.E. should treat suspect autopsy as priority level Red. Let me be the one to tell Billy's wife.
Edit: If you guys like cop stuff, here's my story about [Elmo investigating a murder.](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/3w4rkj/wp_the_grim_and_gritty_reboot_of_a_beloved/cxtfpbx)
|
… given the notification I had received from the captain with respect to emergency communique from the Republic of South Africa, I did inform the ambassador that his diplomatic immunity had been revoked. Then I did shoot him in the face.
Then I did cradle Riggs in my gentle yet powerful arms. Then I did tell him that he should take it easy, buddy. …
| 2015-12-14T07:34:23 | 2015-12-14T06:52:15 | 710 | 15 |
[WP] Top sorcerers study the child. It's been more than 24 hours since he was hit with an instant death spell, but he still lives. One of the sorcerers decides to call the Grim Reaper to ask what's up.
|
It started out like any other day. Qirti and I were enjoying our drinks at the tavern, while Khannas was meditating. As we were discussing about our next adventure, we hear distant voices which turned into screams. Khannas stood up, and we walked out towards the market square.
"Stop it Vica" shouted a person, "Are you out of your mind?"
On the central platform stood Vica, the self-appointed protector of the village. Next to him is what appeared to be a basket with a cloth hanging at the corners.
We moved closer.
"A child?" said Qirti. "Why is it wrapped and in a basket?"
"Not just any child, it is not of this village" replied Vica. "Tell to the folks Qirti, what we would to the outsiders."
"You can't be serious" said Girsi, the bartender. "We don't even know if it is an outsider."
"As serious as I can be" replied Vica, “where did you find it?”
“In front of the tavern doors, in the early hours”
“Were the parents or any other person present with it?”
“No”
“Did anyone claim it as their child?”
Girsa shaked his head.
“I don’t see any reason to believe it not an outsider” as he placed his palm on the forehead of the child.
"Vica, you do realize that you are trying to kill a human, a child no less." Khannas started to walk towards the platform. "I do not intend..."
And then he did. Vica placed 'Mrithi', the death curse.
"You sick bastard" screamed Veni. The maid, about to pounce towards Vica, stopped only by Girsa. A few moments after, she fell to the floor, and so did her tears.
I looked around. The square is starting to fill in as more people closed the distance to witness this "act".
The other thing that bothered me - the child.
Qirti rushed in and took hold of the child. Placed her palm on the forehead and started chanting.
"Now this is just pathetic," guffawed Vica, "I placed the spell. It is done and no one can...." Qirti gave him a deadly glance which stopped Vica midway.
"Well, suit yourself." said Vica as he entered the tavern next to the square.
"Futile, Qirti, you know it" said Khannas. She shrugged him and continued chanting.
Mrithi is a potent spell, so much so that it is said that not even the God of Death can reverse it. Instant death. And yet here it is, the child still alive and breathing.
It is the time of the darkest winters, sun started to set as the people dwindled.
"Let's take it to the tavern" said Girsi.
"It is not my possession you see," said Vica snarkily as we entered the tavern, "you can bury it, I can permit that."
"The child is not dead" replied Veni.
"What"
"Thank the gods it is alive. Or else your next order would have been poisoned" she retorted.
The child is placed on a table. The three of us, Girsi, Veni, Vica and an old man are the only ones in the tavern. None spoke for hours. Everyone stared at the child.
For what felt like days, the sun rose again. Incredulous stories are like wildfires. By the nightfall, a few well-renowned sorcerers arrived at the tavern. None had any explanation.
Pallor drained from the child and started to grey just like the sky outside. It seemed like the spell had taken it’s time. The bated breaths continued. And, nothing happened.
“That does it,” said one of the sorcerers,” we will call upon the Reaper. Prepare for the ritual”
The sorcerers, along with Khannas and Vica, joined their hands and stood around the hastily made sacrificial circle. I stood at one of the corners witnessing the ritual which ended with a goat’s head rolling across the wooden floor. The candles burned brighter and smoke from the incense rose to the ceiling. The ritual is complete.
I glanced at the child now shivering and, as I looked closer, it looked…..emancipated. Yet alive.
All the theatrics and no one appeared, no Reaper in sight.
“A cruel joke that I am not getting, is this what all of it is?” shouted Vica.
“Trying to kill one who is already dead, If you were any dumber you would be living in a sty” snapping out of the drunken stupor said the old man.
“You babbling bjerg, drown in your pint and shut up” responded Vica.
The day’s been long, and as I sat across the child and looked at it, now the eyes sunken such that the orbits are as dark as the night that fell the land.
Then I realized. I hope I am wrong. Of course the Reaper won’t appear. No one can be present twice in the same place.
We might have sacrificed a poor little thing for no reason.
|
"I'm already here," came the voice that was not a voice but rather meaning conveyed by the sound of a shovel of dirt landing on a coffin.
"Oh," said Palpator, "I was just going to... I guess you know that."
"Yes," said the sound of a smoker's first bloody cough.
"So... do you understand what's going on?" he asked.
There was a long silence that did not say anything in particular followed by the sound of a wolf spotting prey that said, "No."
Palpator stared at the hooded figure and his jaw fell open as he considered the response. The idea that death itself did not know why the child lived was not just bizarre, it was impossible. It went against the nature of the universe. It made his eyes bulge in apoplexy and his moustache twitch, made his head ache with the insanity. He suddenly felt very faint and almost fell but the dark figure caught him by the shoulder. "Thank you," said Palpator.
"I was already here," said the sound of the wind turning toward a reef.
A scrabbling sound came from behind them and Agatan turned and started running toward the spot, causing Palpator to turn and witness his own body spasming in an undignified manner on the floor.
"That's me," said Palpator.
"Yes."
"I'm dead?"
"Yes."
"And you still donpt know what's going on?"
"Not about the child," said the sound of a knife slipping between the 3rd and fourth vertebrae. Death opened his robe and efficiently shoved the soul of Palpator into a sack; he could wait.
| 2021-12-13T04:26:56 | 2021-12-13T03:59:54 | 26 | 14 |
[WP] "Now remember, a healing spell has some side effects. You may be tired, slightly dizzy, and DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see after. Let me repeat DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see. Ready? Good."
|
"What the hell did you fight *this* time?"
"A robot that acted like a schizo Sonic the Hedgehog."
Eleanor sighed and pinched the bridge of her nose. "I swear, Sweeney, one of these days. One of these days."
He coughed. It didn't hurt as much as it should, thanks to the alcohol in his system, but it still was uncomfortable. "Pity 'bout the flask. Could'a used it right about now."
It had been half an hour since Gallows was attacked by said robot, which, by its dialogue, thought it was cleaning. In that time, it had proven resilient and persistent, scoring several deep cuts in Gallows, and scoring innumerable small ones. By pure luck, it even made him drop his flask, gouging his arm as he tried to get it out of his pocket. Now he wasn't sure where it was, and his left leg was in a state. He would have used it to heal himself.
He would have been angrier, if he wasn't lightheaded. It was a good thing he was on a recliner.
"At least you're tougher than some rando off the street." Eleanor mused. She examined the shredded leg. "This would have probably killed anyone else. You lost a lot of blood."
"That bad."
"Yeah."
The tone of voice said everything. She was not able to sort out the wounds how she normally would, using alchemy-borne poultices and medicines. But there was something to it, Gallows noticed. Something off, like she had a trick up her sleeve that she pinched from Pandora's Box.
He cleared his throat. Better rip the metaphorical thorn out before he thought about it too much. "So what's the plan?"
Eleanor didn't answer at first. She placed her hands on the wounded leg. "This healing spell has some side effects. You should be fine with it, considering what was in that flask, but for the love of whatever gods there are, *don't interact with anything weird that you see.*"
"Wha-"
"Don't. Interact. With *anything weird*. That. You. See." She glared at him. "Am I clear, Sweeney Gallows?"
"...Crystal." The word came out at a higher pitch than normal. Eleanor was often morose in nature, and firm at times. Never strict. Not like then. It said all he needed to know.
With that, she got to work fixing his leg. Hovering her hands over the damage, she muttered something under her breath - a chant, he thought. Asking a higher power to take pity? Either way it made the wounds itch fiercely. He gripped the sides of the recliner and waited it out, the short seconds stretching into an eternity of maddening irritation.
Next was his arm. Muscle and skin knitted back together, and every moment was like the first, his mind screaming demands to scratch it raw. And again, for his chest, his shoulder, and his back.
Soon, the large, threatening injuries were closed, the bleeding staunched. And Gallows found peace at last.
"Right. I'm going to find some stuff, help the healing along." Eleanor frowned. "Don't interact with anything weird."
"Guess half of our friends are off the table."
"I'm serious."
"So am I." He grinned. "But, yeah. Just... make sure you come back soon?"
"I will." She took his hand for a moment and gave it a gentle squeeze. "Don't move. You might be dizzy as well from that spell."
"Aight."
And with that, she left the room.
Gallows thought about it for a moment. Then he closed his eyes.
It would be easier to ignore what might appear that way.
&#x200B;
Sometime later, Eleanor returned, a tray of items in her hands. It took her far longer than she would have liked to find the poultice she wanted, only to discover she overlooked it twice. Then she found the bandages had either grown legs or were misplaced. The antibiotics were easy to get at least.
She re-entered the room Sweeney was in. He was still there, laying down on the recliner, with his head to the side and his eyes closed.
"Sweeney?"
She approached him. Was he asleep?
Eleanor put her tray down onto the floor and poked him. When he didn't stir, she shook him a bit. It was starting to worry her.
"Hm?"
For all of five seconds. His face shifted, then contorted into a pained expression.
"*Ow*."
"You fell asleep?" Eleanor was a bit more incredulous than she thought she would be.
"I think so." He said. "Just closed my eyes so I didn't see anything weird."
"And?"
"I might have sobered up between then and sleeping. Can't really tell."
Eleanor shook her head. Sweeney going to sleep was not something she thought would happen, but it seemed to have worked out. As she began preparing the medical supplies, she mused on the spell itself. Normally, humans wouldn't have had access to such a spell. Humans had their own healing spells, at least within the communities attuned to such things. But to use the power of the Fae was flirting with things that she shouldn't mess with. But she had no choice, either she healed Sweeney, or he most likely died.
Whatever the consequences, she was going to face them sooner or later.
|
"Now remember, a healing spell has some side effects. You may be tired, slightly dizzy, and DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see after. Let me repeat, DO NOT interact with anything strange you might see. Ready? Good." His voice is calm, steady, confident. He knows his instructions are good, but it's always easy for him to get anxious.
It doesn't matter; it's just a simple healing charm. He should be able to handle this, he should... but there'a something in the room that scares him. A smell. Or rather the air itself, it feels foul, almost rotten. Like something that shouldn't even exist here, in this world. There are too many people, too much magic swirling around him. The only thing keeping him sane is the sound of his friends' voices.
He feels so alone, surrounded by strangers, not knowing where or when he is. He wants to leave, but at the same time he can't bring himself to go without them.
"Do I have to do everything myself?" he asks, his voice barely audible above the noise of the rest of the crowd. He hates being the center of attention like this. It makes him feel vulnerable, weak, as if someone could grab at any moment and tear out his heart. He tries to focus on the voices behind him, tries to hear what they're saying instead, but there's just too many sounds all at once. He doesn't know if anyone'a heard him.
The others laugh and agree. "Of course! What kind of healer would we be if we didn't make sure our patients got the best possible care!"
Slightly offended, Bakugou scoffs, but his heart isn't really in it. It doesn't take long before they start leading him away from the main room, through a maze of rooms full of beds filled with unconscious bodies and the occasional spirit. He can tell there's nothing good about this place, that there's no way it'll be a good day for him. Maybe not even for his friends.
| 2022-05-02T10:46:00 | 2022-05-02T10:14:58 | 28 | 12 |
[WP] Convicted criminals can choose to shorten their sentence. The only catch is the more it is shortened, the worse the conditions are where they are held. Describe a one night stay.
Thanks guys, I'm reading all of them. Keep it coming!
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I killed them. I know I did. I admitted it.
During the trial I tried to convince myself that it was an accident. That I was still a good person who just made a mistake.
I lied to myself over and over again, but I failed. I chose to pick up the keys. I chose to get behind the wheel. I chose to drive while I was drunk out of my mind, and now a family has to live without their children, children who will never go to prom, or get married, or have kids of their own.
Because of me.
On the last day of the trial, my conscience got the better of me. I elected to testify, and poured all of my guilt on the stand. My lawyer had fought so hard to get me a light sentence, to find a silver lining to my actions and sell it, but her work was now out the window.
After my confession, the jury went into deliberation. They found me guilty on all charges, with the note that I should be given some leniency due to my guilt. I was sentenced under the rehabilitation laws.
My choices were: life in minimum security prison, no parole, but not allowed to see my family. Twenty-five years in normal security, parole available after fifteen years but given biannual visitation. Ten years in Supermax, parole after seven years but monthly visitation, or a day in ultra.
I was tempted to take life in prison. No one who does what I did deserves a life, but my lawyer spoke to me and said, "Being in prison won't pay for what you've done. Living a half life will not bring them back. If you really and truly want to pay for your crimes, you will take the day in ultra and then get back to living, and live enough for yourself and both of them. That's your punishment. Even in ultra, nothing they do to you will compare to what you do to yourself every day from here on."
Somehow at the time it made sense, and so I elected for ultra.
A week later I was standing at the door to my cell in Ultra. I had signed the forms, and I knew that many of the people who go in go insane and die, so worst case I walk through this door and never walk out again.
I was given one last chance to change my mind, declined, and stepped in.
The guard said, "Good luck", as he closed the door silently behind me and I was left in darkness.
What felt like hours passed in dark and silence, when a gentle amber light washed over my cell like a sunrise. The room had no place to sit, and I was standing when the light bloomed, and it increased in intensity slowly at first, and then suddenly flashed to brilliant blinding light so bright I could still see it clearly through the space in between the bones in my arms with my arm shielding my closed eyes.
And then it got brighter.
And brighter.
And somehow still brighter, until light lost all meaning to me.
What felt like hours passed with my entire body so suffused with light that I could not attenuate it. I was transfixed. My limbs wouldn't move, my mind screamed but my mouth couldn't make a sound. Every muscle in my body shook with a tremor of tension so strong it was a wonder they did not tear completely away from the bone.
And hours more passed.
And hours more...
And in the light, a pattern emerged. Hazy, pixelated shadows flittered in the brilliance like faint static in an old television. More and more they came, over time acquiring color and shape, my mind forming pareidolia until they began to coalesce into...
into...
into memories?
But not my memories.
A jolt struck me. Somebody else's life began to flash before my eyes, their every thought, experience and emotion searing itself permanently into my brain. I learned to walk again. I fell off my bike, I saw my first playboy, I kissed a girl, I struck out in my first game. Faster and faster and faster and faster IgotstungbyabeeIgotpunchedbymyfriendIfailedatestIpassedaclassIlearnedtodriveIhavetotakemysisterout....
And then I got hit by a car.
And I spent three days in the ICU while my parents cried and prayed.
And then I died.
And then nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
And then it hit again. IlearnedtowalkIlearnedtotalkIlearnedmathIkissedaboyItookdancelessonsIwonaraceIlostafriendIpassedaclassIpickedonmybrotherIputonmakeupIlovedmymommyImgoingtomyfriendsIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIIII
And then I saw my brother get hit by a car as he tried to shove me out of the way. And failed.
And then I saw the tire that crushed my skull, felt the hot muffler of the car burn my chest until it sizzled and turned black.
I breathed my last breath full of car exhaust and terror.
And then I died.
And then everything faded to black and I fell into nothing.
.
.
.
.
.
Hours passed as my brain struggled to absorb the lives and memories forced into them. I wept where they wept. I laughed where they laughed. I hurt where they hurt, or rather, where we hurt.
I was no longer me. We were me.
The door opened, and we were carried out of the room, and back into the world of life.
|
The thing they tell you, when you become warden, is the secret of the one night stay. many opt for it, go into the cell. and justice is served.
the important part is that any ANY time a prisioner can reject their 24 hours and take their full time. they just have to ask for it 3 times and then convince their own lawyer and judge that that is what they want.
people talk about torture, people talk about mutilation and watching loved ones used against you. but the thing is ... none of that is necessary.
people can endure a lot. if they have an end goal in sight. if they think it's just 24 hours. yeah. they can handle anything for 24 hours if they are looking down 60 years.
so the shrinks give them a good going over. shape out a profile. find the edges to push on. they try to do that during the trial in case we need something exotic. you gotta watch out for misdirection of course but we got ways of working things out.
and when the judge sends them our way and we seat them in a nice comfy chair, in a bare white room with a single large clock on the wall.
paralize them, tell them we are giving them a drug that will make every minute seem like a day, give them some amphematines mixed with LSD, and start pushin on those edges, maybe its latent guilt about their crimes, maybe its rejection maybe it's childhood trauma. anyway you just push. every 20 minutes or so you can let a second tick by on the clock.
And its a loud tick, and the audio track stops just before it happens so they have nothing else to hear.
prisioners either choose to do their time or end up in the nuthouse by around 12 hours. one made it to 20 hours once before going into cardiac arrest.
when we told him he'd have to start from the start again, he changed his mind.
| 2015-10-27T08:39:34 | 2015-10-27T07:49:42 | 293 | 20 |
[WP] You are a 64 year old scientist days away from retiring. For 20 years you have secretly been working on a syrium that reverses aging. Tonight you test your syrium and it works, you are in the body of your 25year old former self. You have work in 3 hours.
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The first thought to go through my head was that this was truly and awful decision.
I looked better, at the very least. Far better than I had in years if I was being honest with myself. My stomach was the flat, toned core that I had so carefully cultivated all those years before in graduate school. Before I had to give up so much of my time to my projects. Any excess fat that I had was burned away, used up in the telomeric reconstruction process, save the parts I wanted to keep. That hadn't been pleasant, I admit. I had spent the better part of the day writhing in bone-numbing pain as my flesh rearranged itself, organs and skin tugging back into place with sickening lurches that were as unpredictable as the twitches of an epileptic man. That part had been worth it. Expected.
That didn't mean that it had been a good idea.
As a rule of thumb, testing new serums of any kind on yourself is idiocy bordering on suicide. I was lucky that the only side effects had been several hours of pain and weakness. I wasn't maimed, I wasn't dead, and I had a body that most twenty-five year olds would be envious of. My simulations, it seemed, were accurate.
In the end, the problem was that the body wasn't *mine*.
Certainly, I had once had one like it. Very much like it, actually. But in my mind, I was still sixty-four. I was used to it, used to shuffling around to avoid hurting my bad back. Used to the weakness of my limbs, of gingerly not overusing bones that were swiftly approaching the brittleness of a woman's old age. I was old, and none of this was me.
This body hadn't done enough to earn it.
Idly, I considered going to my place of work, sharing my discovery, but I quickly realized that it would never be an option. I looked nothing like my ID, and somehow I imagined my already-big work labcoat would be overly large if I were to try to don it. Even the clothes I wore now sagged around me, and I was suddenly met with a feeling of deep disgust over what I had become. The years had not been kind.
The first order of business in my new body was to go shopping. I left my car where it was in the driveway, instead walking my way to the bus stop. I probably wouldn't get caught, of course, but that wasn't a risk I was willing to take. A young woman driving with an ID that might as well belong to her grandmother would be bad enough, but if it came to light that the grandmother in question was never going to be seen again...it would spark an outrage. I would be jailed, if only because I had no way of posting bond. They might eventually let me go, but I would be stripped of everything I had. Even my degrees were useless now, with no face or name to go with the papers. I was well and truly alone.
The outing, on the other hand, was a pleasant surprise. Without the aches of my aging and underused joints, walking was more pleasant than painful. Even so, I made sure to change as soon as I had proper clothes to change into. That had been a minor oversight, but I hadn't anticipated how vain I would become once I had something to be vain about.
It was only after I changed that I noticed that I was being tailed. It was a woman in her late teens, pretty despite the somewhat drab clothing she chose to wear. While I had expected the stares of men, it was her eyes followed me whenever she thought I might not be looking. Keeping my face as impassive as I could, I continued my trek through the shopping center, waiting to see if she truly would follow.
It was no surprise, then, when a finger tapped my shoulder and I turned around to see her nearly face-to-face. My first impression, oddly enough, was envy. Up close, she was far fairer than I had first imagined, with wavy black hair and flawless olive skin that didn't seem to have a trace of makeup. Quickly, I tamped the emotion down, silently chiding myself. I was supposed to be better than that.
"Hi!" The woman said, smiling with a set of perfectly even teeth. "Are you new in town? What's your name?"
Blinking under the barrage of questions, my mind ground to a halt. "Winnifred?" I asked.
Internally, I cursed. Using my old name would only bring more trouble than it was worth.
If the woman found my name to be old-fashioned, she didn't show it on her face. "Nice to meet you! I'm Artemis." She said, practically bubbling over with enthusiasm. "It's been a while since I've seen someone new around these parts."
She held out her hand for me to shake, and as I took it I felt a scrap of cardboard pass from her palm into mine.
"So, if you're going to be in town for a while, you should come for a visit!" Artemis said. "I have a feeling that we're going to be *great* friends. Ta ta!"
Then, as if that explained everything, she skipped away and was lost to the crowd. I was left standing, dumbfounded, with the card still held between me too-young fingers. On one side, it was blank, but on the other inscribed in simple black ink was a single line of text.
ò Aiónio. The Eternal.
|
**PART ONE**
The wee hours of the morning haven't been my companion in decades. I hadn't stayed up that late working on a project since graduate school, but this project was worth it. The deadline was my retirement, and procrastination was not an option. Unable to find support from the university for this "foolish endeavor," I resorted to testing the serum on myself. It had begun in small doses, and after months of adverse reactions or neutralizing effects, I believed I had the right formula. I was upping the intake that night- a full dose of age reversing serum.
I turned on my camera and recorded my final log before beginning the procedure. A double-shot of the formula paired with human intestine-friendly enzymes, followed by a tall glass of cranberry juice, which for whatever reason seemed to help me stomach the concoction. I sat and waited. Within 15 minutes my mind was in a haze. My muscles tightened, and my skin crawled, but I felt too weak and disoriented to react to the discomfort. Suddenly I had clarity. I felt as if I had awoken from a long, beneficial sleep, although I had been up for nearly 24 hours straight. I rose from my chair. My balance was off, but I had no problem adjusting to the strange sensation of being in someone else's body. I looked down and realized I was fully erect. It hit me, my serum worked. I rushed to the mirror and admired my youthful glow.
Arriving at the University, I took a detour through the main Classroom building. I wanted to see how some of our female undergrads would react to my new tight features and un-compromised physique. I was certainly getting more attention, but the looks weren't those of admiration. They seemed to stare with looks of sympathy, and perhaps confusion. I began to take notice in a growing difference in my previously studly body. I was nearly pre-pubescent! I rushed to the bathroom, only to be horrified by what I saw in the mirror- a child. I splashed water on my face, tightened my belt, and rushed to the chem-labs. I lost a shoe on the way.
| 2017-10-17T08:40:22 | 2017-10-17T06:59:16 | 128 | 16 |
[WP] When a child comes of age their greatest quality manifests itself as a familiar that will follow them for life. You just turned 21 and you still didn't have one, until this morning when two showed up and they terrify you.
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**Part 1**
The sun had set long ago on my twenty-first birthday, and the moon lit the sky. Top Chef was on the TV as we lay sprawled across the couch lazily enjoying the program. "We" being myself on the couch, my girlfriend Katlyn snuggled against me in my lap, and her familiar Tannilee laying in her lap. Tannilee, a spirit of Creativity, held the form of a golden rabbit. I watched Katlyn scratch Tannilee behind the ears as we watched the TV. I reached out stroke my fingers on the back of Katlyn's hand. Tannilee opened one eye half-way.
"You had better not be trying to pet me again, Half-Soul."
"Tannilee!!" Katlyn flushed red with embarrassment, throwing herself upright and jostling Tannilee off her lap. Tannilee landed smartly on her feet, flicking her ears smugly. "I told you to STOP calling him that!"
"And I told *him* to stop trying to put his filthy hollow hands on me."
"TANNILEE!" Katlyn looked ready to die of embarrassment.
"It's ok, sweetie." I sighed, trying not to show how bothered I was.
I was the only person I knew who never had a familiar manifest when I tuned thirteen. I had done exactly as everyone else had done when they came of age. I read the old tomes, collected the proper reagents (Fresh! Not dried, and hand-collected instead of just grabbed off the market shelf!), and I entered the summoning circle and spoke the Old Words.
Nothing had appeared.
When all my friends came to school with a jade scarab, a silver mouse, or that one lucky jerk who had a ruby DRAGON, I had nobody. They all had lifelong companions. Nobody in the world ever had to be alone. Except for me. If I hadn't met Katlyn on that subway platform and accidentally spilled her cauldron's brew all over myself, I'd still be sitting on this couch all alone forever.
It'd be nice, you know, to have a familiar of my own. And I admit, yes, sometimes I try to scritch Tannilee behind her ears, just to see what it's like. But Im the only person she wont alllow to touch her. She'll nuzzle and play with all of Katlyn's other friends AND their familiars, but my girlfriend's spirit animal HATES me for some reason.
Katlyn apologized profusely for Tannilee's rudeness, as she always did. The apologies helped but... gods dammit if I couldn't have a companion of my own, I just wish that stupid rabbit would let me *pretend* to be normal, just a little bit.
We went to bed after the show was over. Katlyn was a deep sleeper, she always went down like a rock in a few minutes. I laid there staring at the ceiling for a bit, looking at my love with a wistful smile as she slept, then suddenly wincing.
Tannilee was kicking in her sleep. I pulled the blankets off, and there were scratches on my ankles, bleeding lightly. Scowling, I nudged her with my foot, onLy to get slashed by her kicking feet. I winced, trying not to wake Katlyn up. I caught Tannilee peering at me through the hooded slit of her eyelids. She grinned at me, twitching her rabbit ears, and I could see her mouthing the words, "Fuck off, Half-Soul."
- - - - -
Breakfast in the morning went pleasantly. Katlyn had woken up early and made a big breakfast for us, ham and eggs and pancakes. When she saw the scratches on my leg, I made up a story about needing to trim my fingernails. I didn't want to cause her stress so early in the morning. Tannilee just leered at me over Katlyn's shoulder, grinning mischievously.
I got in to work, setting up my workstation for the day. An array of transparent magnifying crystals floated over my desk. I took quill and parchment to take notes on today's observations. I put a small piece of flesh from a forest animal's diseased liver under the observation crystals. We had been tasked by the King to cure the plague running rampant across his hunting grounds and claiming his livestock.
Swarms of impossibly small creatures swam under my gaze, transparent with internal organs visible to the eye. Impossible to see unassisted, but with the enlargement crystals we could study a whole new breed of invisible life. They fascinated me, the pulse of their internal organs under their thin clear skin made it seem like... well, like they carried their own familiars inside of themselves. A smaller creature living inside another, unified in purpose and direction. Like everyone else in the world but me had. Like Katlyn had with Tannilee.
Tannilee... that bitch rabbit. All I ever tried to do was be nice to her and she had to treat me like crap at every opportunity. And why couldn't Katlyn keep her under control, kicking at me in my own damn bed and insulting me to my face and nobody even tells her off for it...
"Too right, mate. That's one cunt hare, if I do say so myself and I do."
"YEAH YEAH YEAH! I HATE HER SO SO SO MUCH!"
I leaped, looking around the laboratory. The rest of the researchers were out collecting more specimens. Nobody else was in the room. "Who's there?!"
I heard only laughter, a mirthless chuckle from the first voice and a maniacal cackle from the second. The empty laboratory seemed to expand around me, my solitude becoming sharper and heavier as I tried to find the source of the voices.
But nobody answered, and I did not hear them again for the rest of the day.
-----
(Please see my reply to myself for Part 2. This story is going to take longer than I realized it would to tell, and it's already too big for one single Reddit comment.)
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Most of us get our familiars at the ripe old age of eighteen. Sometimes it was as young a sixteen, sometimes as old as twenty. I was twenty-one, and it embarrassed me being alone the way I was while my friends settled in with their homemade soul mates.
The morning after my first drink, I woke up in my bedroom not with a hangover, but with the horrible feeling of me wishing I could wait the rest of my life for my familiar to arrive.
The first one was smiling, energetic, and had a sheen so bright and dense it was suffocating. It would offer me goodness only to keep it from me when it was presented. Speaking fast, distracted, offered to make me breakfast and then left the oven on with nothing inside. What the hell was the oven for? There was too much puppy-like positivity and distraction for me to deal with.
The second one was sometimes nasty, sometimes boring, sometimes something else, but it was always negative. Irritating and tiring. It was persuasive, too. Whenever the first familiar made a mistake or ignored something that could cause an accident, the second one would try to convince me it was okay. "Go to bed, I'll take care of it," it would tell me in a demanding, soothing voice inside my head, but I knew that it wasn't okay and that it would just be hiding under the bed poking at my mattress.
The contrast between the two made me feel flat. Not like a stretched-thin, but like I was colorless and in a perpetual daze. It took a few months, but I would eventually learn that I could control my familiars like my friends did with theirs. Familiars were connected with psychology, and I finally mustered the courage to ask my doctor to meet my familiars and prescribe me with the proper medication. The familars didn't disappear, but I could deal with them a bit more easily. The first one didn't blind me with forced smiles and jittery hugs. The second one didn't hold me down by the ankles and mope so much. Instead of being a drag, they were now just useless.
I later realized that even though not everyone's familiar is defined by their mental illness, many of those disorders go undiagnosed. My familiars were diagnosed (and somewhat treatable), and although they weren't exactly ideal, they reminded me to refill my pills, drink more water, and take care of myself. Maybe they weren't too useless after all.
| 2017-01-20T14:53:16 | 2017-01-20T14:26:22 | 74 | 22 |
[WP] Aliens always respawn minutes after death. It's a common prank for aliens to kill each other for a laugh. When they discover Earth, they kill millions of humans, thinking it's a humorous way of greeting this new species, but for some reason, the humans aren't laughing...
Edit:
Thank you SO much for the 2K upvotes, as well as for the silver award!
Second Edit:
Oh my God, now it's over 4K. I seriously can't thank you all enough!
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Lakthor lopes through the human city as fast as he can, monstrous claws cracking the pavement as the twin plasma cannons mounted on his scaled-back scythe through the crowd of suited humans before him like a saleshi matron through a platter of stunlag deserts. Though the residue that he leaves behind is far messier...The adventurer draws a deep breath in at the thought, his cavernous maw transforming into a grin as he smells the enticing aroma of spilt blood and cooked flesh.
&#x200B;
Truly, sentient iron-blooded mammals! Never would he have thought such creatures could think, let alone be welcomed into galactic civilization, yet here he is. The humans fleeing before him, a dread and inexplicable creature from the farthest stars, likely thinking he is at the forefront of an invasion. Spitting beams of true death from his cannons like ancient murderers of yore. Yet unknown to them, actually being a harbinger of a far more enlightened fate.
&#x200B;
Chuckling, he idly wonders how long it will take for them to realize that his weapons were calibrated specifically to not harm the soul; there would be nothing to fear. Indeed likely, those he had first killed some streets back were already rising to their feet, realizing ruefully that the invaders didn't mean any actual harm.
&#x200B;
Slowing to a stop for a moment, watching the fleeing humans take shelter or run further down the end of the street. He pauses to take in the scent upon the air and feel the rush within his blood. Allowing his cannons a chance to cool and recharge before the hunt continues. This is a moment worth savouring, he thinks, feeling the terrified gaze of dozens of humans latching onto his every movement. Fooled into thinking that their end was nigh. He had not felt so powerful, so feared in years, and it made every scrap of payment he had paid for the privilege worthwhile.
&#x200B;
Still, he can't pause too long; already upon distant streets, his score, showed to him by the visor covering his fifth eye, is being outpaced by his brothers. Carem even nearing the low hundreds as he watches! What a showing for his clan this will turn out to be. And what a show for these humans! To have such a vast host descend to welcome them into galactic brotherhood. They would mark this day for generations!
&#x200B;
A sob to his left sounds, breaking through the jubilation that young Lakthor experiences, and with a puzzled expression, his immense head turns to look upon a younger member of the lucky species, propped up by the steps of some large white building. The space where her leg and lower torso had been now a gaping cauterized hole. Her mortal shell, breaking down further as he watches, now held up near entirely by the spirit of the young woman refusing to let go. She gasps in despair as the immense beast turns her way once again, though his cannons remain quiescent.
&#x200B;
"Why?" she whispers, watching the draconic beast regard her "Why are you doing this?"
&#x200B;
Lakthors head turns quizzically, his translators whirring into motion. Why hadn't she already given in to resurrection? she would have to be in incredible pain. Maybe she just wanted to be the first to get the chance to speak to an alien. "Because little one, my brothers and I have taken part in the huntings on the last three first contacts, it's become something of a tradition.
&#x200B;
"Her arm that had been reaching out drops to her side as her shock turns to hatred. Her voice seeps forth, carried by the last vestiges of an indomitable will, "You go... to murder species..., on the first.... day you meet them?"
&#x200B;
Lakthor nods indulgently, his deep chuckles reverberating down the street. "Nothing more than a little hazing, little one; we will welcome you alongside the rest of the kin as the diplomats arrive. Besides, you've been quite lucky. For the 'inconvenience' of being resurrected, the insurance payout should be quite hefty, two years of your median wage. And" he adds with a toothy smile, "you get to say that you were killed at humanity's first meeting with true civilisation.
&#x200B;
"Her head falls back against the marble steps as her body finally gives in. "resurrection?" she breathes in incomprehension as her eyes finally dim to blankness.
&#x200B;
Lakthor watches, his killing lust abated for the moment by the aborted conversation. Instead, he pauses, intrigued to watch the resurrection take place. He wonders what will occur for humans. His own kind would burn in a tremendous leaping inferno as the ash drifts to the nearest volcano temple. The sind of Electria would sprout a tree that grows, withers and dies in minutes before revealing the restored sind within. But what would this growing species method be?
&#x200B;
Seconds pass and then minutes as he watches with interest and then doubt. His cannons click to full readiness again, but Lakthor does little save uneasily looking around. The gore-streaked road remains. Not purified by fire nor consumed by the spirit for revification. Instead, it gathers and congeals, much like the horror that begins to form in his gullet. The cries and shouts of onlookers begin to beat down on him as he listens to the true horror etched into the air by friends and family riven with loss.
&#x200B;
Silent and uncaring of his own mounting dread, the counter soars past ten million and shows little sign of slowing.
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The human stares at me, looking shocked as I slaughter the man in front of me. I don't know why none of this species has found it funny yet. He seems perplexed that I'm laughing. This species... Something is different about them. They don't laugh at the same things we do, and their facial expressions are far from pleasing. He looks me dead in the eye and says, "Why did you kill him?"
"For a joke! To laugh!" I reply.
"What do you mean for a joke?! That guy is- *was* my best friend! And you killed him!"
Oh my. The human seems to have become hostile.
"Yes, I did! Is it not a joke to your kind?" I ask.
"Far from!" he answers.
"Why is it not? They will be back soon. Though it is taking him longer to regenerate than most..."
"Regenerate?!" The human is approaching me at a fast speed. The fuzz above his eyes has moved downwards and there is a wrinkle between the two of them. His teeth are bared and he has his hand raised above his head, clenched tightly. "Give me one reason not to punch you right now."
I stare him dead in the eye. I cannot think of a reason. But I cannot think of a reason for him to punch me. So I say that.
"Because you have no reason to punch me?"
He sighs and lowers his hand. "Why did you think this was a joke?"
I look back at him. "It is a common joke amongst my people! Banter! We kill each other for fun, and then we regenerate a few moments later."
"Regenerate."
"Yes! Come back to life! Be revived!"
"Ohhh boy." The man pulls his cheeks downward. "Look, humans don't regenerate. Once we die, that's it. We're dead."
"What?"
"Once we're gone, we can't come back. Your species is not the same as ours."
I look at my hands. "I'm... A murderer?"
"Frankly speaking, yeah." I stare at the dead body on the floor. What have I done? I must tell the others. "My deepest apologies for killing your friend. I hope you can find it in yourself to forgive me."
(I'm an extremely inexperienced writer so any feedback at all is appreciated 😊)
| 2022-08-14T02:50:40 | 2022-08-14T01:37:32 | 38 | 14 |
[WP] When you gain a superpower it is a reflection of your inner self, good people tend to get typical 'good' powers such as flight while bad people get 'bad' powers such as mind control. Oddly enough the top superhero and supervillain each have powers that seemingly do not suit them at all
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I was merely an observer- a "recorder", someone who was there to record history while it was in the making. I didn't *have* a super power- it seemed my fate was merely to watch those who did.
I was content with it, for the most part- only when I saw someone in need, someone in danger, would I feel the pang of misery that comes from being helpless.
Currently, the most significant villain, by far, was facing off against our most renowned hero. The odd thing was- I was watching them up close, something no one else had ever been courageous enough to do- and I was having trouble telling them apart.
The villain- his name was Rupert Kinmock, also known as Aspire. He stood at nearly seven feet tall, with a lean and strong frame- yet he was practically dwarfed by the hero, Neuro, whose real name wasn't public information. Neuro was a mountain of a man- so large that people speculated he wasn't truly human.
Neuro's powers were very simple- any force that was sent his way, he could counter it. If three thousand pounds of steel were dropped on his head, he could produce three thousand and one pounds of resistance- anything that made it within his 'radius', he could stop.
Aspire had some kind of telekinetic ability- with his mind alone, he was hurling rubble at Neuro, hoping to overwhelm his defenses. I could overhear them, hidden as I was behind a boulder- and occasionally, I could even risk taking a look.
One voice rang out, "Your days of trickery are *done*! The public needs to know your true face!" That must have been Neuro- I hadn't heard him speak until now. Chills went down my spine- this man was a true shield for our society.
A deep, guttural voice responded. "I don't know *how* you learned what you know, but it won't even be of help. I lose nothing from you gaining knowledge."
Crashing noises- I took a quick look.
Neuro was nowhere to be seen. Aspire stood in the center, crouched low, preparing for Neuro's inevitable strike- how odd, Neuro didn't have any offensive capability until he was fed an attack to start with.
I hid again. More sound of struggle- and one of them gasped in pain.
"I learned simply by *observing*, fool. Your guild of heroes- there is a trail for every secret misdeed, every half-written report has a missing reporter- and everyone who gets close to you winds up *dead*!"
"That is meaningless." The deeper voice responded, breathing heavily. "The public has nothing but adoration for me. They do not look to see, because they *do not want to see*- just the same is the root of my power."
I was thoroughly confused. Which was which, again?
I peeked once more- and was floored by the changed scene.
Instead of one villain and one hero, I saw what appeared to be *two* villains. Aspire was there, of course- but Neuro was nowhere to be seen, and someone else- someone with a bleeding wound near their gut- was facing off against him. This one was not the tall, tan, handsome, blonde-haired hero we knew. He was bald, with a cruel look to his eyes. Where had Neuro gone?
"So that's how it works, eh, Neuro?" Aspire laughed. "Even your name gives a hint to your real ability- you show what people want to see, and that is rarely- if ever- the unpleasant truth."
Neuro scowled. "It has worked for over a decade, in the public eye, as my reputation grew, so did my image. It is *impenetrable*... except, I suppose, to you villains."
Aspire hurled a stray iron pipe towards Neuro, who dodged it by mere inches. "I don't think you have the right to call us the 'villains' and more, Neuro... we're really more like anti-heroes, at this point."
"You realize that you've lost this already, Aspire. Even if I fall, my duped comrades will avenge me, and the truth about my empire will remain obscured by my power, long after my death."
Aspire sneered, and a large cinder block came hurtling towards the back of Neuro's head- this one, he did not dodge.
In an explosion of bloody mist, Neuro was no more. Aspire stood over him, his expression neutral.
As he turned to leave, he made eye contact with me- as I had been frozen in shock this whole time. "Oh, good, we have a witness-" He began.
Neuro, somehow undamaged, lunged at Aspire, sinking a knife into his back.
Aspire gasped inaudibly, pain coloring his expression.
"Just the same, Aspire, as I am expected to win, to live- so shall it be. *They see what they want to see*."
I managed to duck, as Neuro began to mutilate Aspire's body. I hadn't been seen.
So this was the true face of the "Hero's Guild". It was all based on the powers of one man, and his illusions. How many of the other heroes were simply thugs, sheltered by his power? How could we even kill him, if the world thought he was alive?
I had no answers- but I knew that it was now on me- a powerless historian- to expose Neuro to the whole world.
I began to sneak away, as quietly as possible- until I noticed that Neuro was boring holes into the back of my head with his gaze.
----------------------------
**AUTHOR'S NOTE:** Thank you for your kind words, upvotes and awards <3 I'm gonna do a Pt.II on my subreddit, I'll update when it's ready!
|
A lot is made of it, really.
People have written books about it.
The truth is, nobody really has any idea. It's just our way of, well… '*trying to understand God'* probably sounds a bit dramatic, but I ask you: what else do you call somebody who flies at a mach ten and plays swingball with rockets?
What is an 'inner self', anyway? Who are you, at your core? In your heart of hearts? What really *defines* you? What you *want?* Who you love? Who you *hate?* How you see yourself? Or who you'd like to be?
If you have the power to control anybody you want, what does that say about you? That you feel like you've got the right to *own* other people? To trample on their will with your own? Make them do whatever you want, no matter what *they* want? Or maybe it means that you're terrified of yourself; scared of your own power, your own influence on other people. What you make other people do without even wanting to.
I don't think it's a coincidence that Mindscape could be a catwalk model if she wanted to be. When you see her, you *want,* whether you want to or not. Get it? She can make you do whatever she wants because most of the time, if somebody who looks like *that* asks you to jump, you say 'how high', and the fact she's got crazy mental powers has nothing to do with it. Think I'm wrong? People have been getting rich for years off nothing more than a pretty face and a perfect smile.
But that's just my layman's guess. Maybe she's really just a narcissist who thinks the world should all bow before her. Because… it does, right? It does. We do.
*It's so wonderful she's one of the good guys!* We'd be so, *so* fucked otherwise, right?
"Hey, Mr. President," she'd say sweetly, "you'll tell me the nuclear codes, won't you?"
Instead, we handed the world over on a silver platter. Well, *you* did.
Not me. Hey, there.
You can call me Ghost.
Who am I?
I'm nobody.
Nobody at all.
Get it?
| 2020-06-15T11:09:28 | 2020-06-15T06:40:59 | 1,296 | 892 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
|
What the fuck are you doing? Ziled looked up from the disembowelled corpse to find Cryos.
"Nothing."
"Who is that?" Cryos turned his nose at the smell. The body reeked of age and guts. "I can't tell."
Ziled smiled. "That's the point."
Cryos buried his head in his hands. "I'm so fucked."
"Relax man, you've shown me the ropes and now I'm just taking the reigns a little-"
"You ingrate! You don't go after their loved ones."
"The reason being?"
"You just don't. God that's the first thing they tell you in orientation."
Ziled continued prying his hands into the raw, exposed flesh of Captain Beld's lifeless mother.
"Hmm, no... no."
He pulled out a string of intestines and tossed it aside. Not what he was looking for.
"Dude, first of all, this shits gross. Even for a villain. I don't know how we can cover this, Bled's pretty big in the scene-"
"I didn't sign up for some daycare moral compass bullshit. If I wanted that, I'd go to Church."
"YOU ACTUALLY KILLED A PERSON AND YOU'RE BUTCHERING THEM LIKE SOME PIG CARCASS!?!"
Ziled pulled out her heart triumphantly. "This is villainy for Christ's sake, live a little?"
&#x200B;
"Did no one tell you?"
&#x200B;
"They did, but villains break rules. That's what we do."
&#x200B;
"Not this one."
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
A thundering clap resounded, as if the two dummy thicc cheeks thudded together at speeds breaking the sound barrier.
Ziled looked up one last time, looking straight into the horrified eyes of Captain Bled.
Ziled quickly stumbled back, pulling out his gun and training it right in the middle of Bled's forehead.
"Aha! I've got you now." Ziled cried.
&#x200B;
*What.*
*Have*.
*You.*
**Done?**
&#x200B;
Bled stared at the ground, his face shrouded from view. Ziled's gun was still trained on Bled, though it wouldn't do much good if Bled's reputation was anything to go by.
&#x200B;
**"Tell him."**
&#x200B;
Cryos looked at Bled pleadingly. "Please man, he's new-"
&#x200B;
"Tell. Him. I want him to know before what comes next."
&#x200B;
Cryos stuttered. "Ziled..."
&#x200B;
Ziled threw a sideways glance at Cryos. "What?"
&#x200B;
"Villians and Heros. We don't actually... fight."
&#x200B;
Ziled lowered his gun.
&#x200B;
"We... we create drama..." Cryros was sobbing now, failing to hold back the spastic tears.
&#x200B;
"The public doesn't know, they lead otherwise boring lives..."
&#x200B;
Ziled's eyes widened. Oh fuck.
&#x200B;
"Listen man, I was never a good listener. That's why I dropped out of high school remember? Can you... help get Bled over h-"
&#x200B;
Ziled began to cough and splutter, Bled held him pinned against the wall, choking him so hard Ziled's veins began to rupture around Bled's steely hand. Eyes turned bloodshot, Bled let go, watching as what was left of Ziled dropped onto the floor like a ragdoll.
He turned and looked at Cryos.
Cryos smiled meekly. "We... we good?
&#x200B;
Edit: I feel like I'm going to wake up tomorrow morning and regret writing... whatever this is
|
In this world there are people who are willing to put on the mask: to put life and limb on the line in order to save random strangers on the street. They may never see them again and they will certainly never get thanked, yet they do it time and time again without ever seeming to tire or cease. Now if they are prepared to do that for those people then what lengths do you think they will go to to protect the ones they love? The man who threatens a hero's loved ones is a great fool and the man who succeeds is dead.
| 2020-07-12T09:45:33 | 2020-07-12T09:30:31 | 161 | 27 |
[WP] Write about a famous historical event as if it was played out as a DnD session
|
*A Dungeon Master, A Ranger, A Warlock and a Barbarian sit at a kitchen table.*
**Dungeon Master**: Alright, just so everybody's all caught up, could somebody describe what happened during our last campaign.
**Ranger:** Well, we're just about to fight the British while they're busy fighting in World War One. Therefore, we will make Ireland a free state. We're waiting for weapons to come in from Germany and we have successfully convinced MacNeill to join us thanks to a forged letter.
*Barbarian rises from his chair and plants his hands palm down on the table in anticipation*
**Barbarian:** What are we waiting for? Let's get started!
**DM:** You sure you don't want to wait for your weapons yet?
**Warlock:** Yeah, that's probably best. So, what's happening?
*Dungeon Master roles a D20. \[8\]*
**DM:** Oh no. Unfortunately, British spies have gathered intelligence of the boat that was smuggling your weapons. All weapons have been confiscated been confiscated.
**Ranger:** Crap. Did the crew make it?
*Dungeon Master roles a D20. \[3\]*
*Dungeon Master shakes his head*
**Ranger:** Well, there goes all my favourite NPCs.
**Warlock:** We don't need weapons. Once we have the reinforcements, we'll manage.
**DM:** Um, yeah. About that... At the end of our last session, MacNeill caught wind of the forged letter and backed out of the rising.
**Barb:** Oh come on! This is completely unfair.
**DM:** It's not my fault! He get a natural twenty on perception!
**Barb:** So what *do* we have to start the Rising?
**DM:** Well, you can still go on with the battle, though I suggest you take a little more time to\-
**Warlock:** We'll do it tomorrow.
**DM:** What!?!
**Warlock:** Let's go tomorrow. They won't expect it.
**DM:** But you guys are woefully unprepared!
**Barb:** Well, we already committed to all this planning.
**DM**: What planning? This is our third session and so far everything you've planned has failed.
**Barb:** Won't stop me. Save nothing for the swim back, and all that.
**Ranger:** Well, I suppose they already know about our weapon smuggling...
**DM:** Alright, fine! We'll start the next day. But first you have to capture some headquarters. You need a base during all this.
**Ranger:** Okay, I'll take the GPO.
*Ranger roles a D20. \[17\]*
**DM:** Alright, that's a success. Anything else.
**Warlock:** I want to take the Jacob's Factory.
**DM:** The biscuit factory?
**Warlock:** Yeah! Seems reasonable.
*Dungeon Master ponders briefly. His eyes dart back and forth as he juggles the allowance of this request*
**DM:** I'll allow it.
*Warlock roles a D20. \[19\]*
**Warlock:** Get done!
**DM:** I will allow one more building to be taken. What's your pick, Barbarian?
**Barb:** I want The Four Courts.
**DM:** Um... Sure?
*Barbarian roles a D20. \[12\]*
**DM:** Okay.
**Barb:** I also have plus five against courts.
**DM:** Okay. It's a win either way.
*Barbarian lies back in the chair, his hands cradling the back of his head in pride.*
**Barb:** Like a champ.
**DM:** You guys do realise you *only* picked buildings in the middle of the city.
**Warlock:** So?
**DM:** So you can easily be surrounded.
**Warlock:** But we still have the numbers.
**DM:** You're outnumbered twenty to one.
**Warlock:** I never said they were *good* numbers.
*Dungeon Master drops his head in defeat*
**DM:** I'm guessing none of you are backing out of this obviously uphill battle.
**Ranger, Warlock and Barb in unison:** Nope!
**Barb:** The freedom of Ireland depends on it!
*Dungeon Master exhales impatiently.*
**DM:** Alright. Prepare for the shortest campaign of your lives.
**Ranger:** Ah, I'm sure we'll all be fine. Once we're not up against a warship or anything.
*Dungeon Master thinks momentarily then displays a vindictive grin. He roles a D20. \[20\].*
**Barb:** What was that?
**DM:** Oh, nothing.
|
“... Why don’t we just kill all of them?”
Everyone at the table replied with the same idea: “Are you effing insane?! We can’t just kill an entire religion because we want the city they’re in!”
“Well why not? I mean, it is our land. Jesus said so.”
“You can’t do that, even if you are the Pope!”
The DM interjected, “Roll for attack. You do have an army at your disposal.”
Before anyone could get anything in edgewise, he had already rolled a die. Everyone looked at the upturned face, “14.”
The DM flipped through a couple pages before saying, “Your attack goes very well, however, the Muslims still defend their homeland. Further crusades will be necessary to finish what you’ve started.”
After a short discussion, everyone agreed that Pope’s strategy was probably the best after all. “We’ll launch another crusade.”
A quick roll turns up... a 1.
“Well, heck. Try again?” Pope suggested. “There are always a couple bad rolls.”
Another roll turns up a 2. The DM rolls behind his sheet. “Well, uh, you don’t die?”
Before anyone can comment, Pope rolls again. 1. “Something’s gotta give!” He quickly rolls again. “Oh, a 15. That’s good!”
The DM looks down, then looks up and says, “Well, your fourth Crusade missed the Holy Land entirely. But it did get some sick loot from Constantinople.”
After ten more rolls below 3, the party gives up.
| 2018-05-29T10:08:14 | 2018-05-29T09:19:29 | 21 | 13 |
[WP] We spread throughout the stars. But our enemies are not alien races, exterminator machines, or extradimensional invaders. No, our enemies are the gods, for humanity is the last, and only remaining mortal race in the universe.
|
"Sharpen your blades, gentlemen."
Commander Dovken paced the tube past the bunks, hitting at the railings with his old policeman's baton. "We've got us a bogey," he shouted.
Lieutenant Dennis stood at salute by the vending machine in the thoroughfare. In a brisk follow, said: "We think it's a class A2, commander. One of the biggest in the sector."
Dovken held back a skip. "You don't say," he mumbled through his moustache, broad smile on the up. Finally, he thought. An A2. After 11 godforsaken years in the shit, his very own Moby Dick. Lickety fucking split. He sped to a charge, caught his reflection in the metal sheen of the wall. "Time to shine," he said.
"I'll try my best," said Dennis on the follow.
"Wasn't to you, idiot."
The bridge was a frenzy gone frozen as he entered, a dozen wide-eyed officers held breathless in wait for the order. "What are we waiting for? To stations!" yelled Dovken. "And Johnson, fetch me a kipper."
"Right away, sir."
Now at the radar: "Keggles, where is she?"
"A hundred knots past Bertha, commander."
Bertha was the second largest asteroid in the belt and the only nearby object that was bigger than their prize. Strategies rushed through Dovken's head to a flush. You bloody ripper, he smiled.
"Your kipper, commander," said Johnson, returned.
The unlit kippercigar to a corner chew, Dovken went to the captain's chair, his own since Captain Worr had succumbed to the fever.
"Raise us over the crest, Draymond."
"Roger that."
The turbine spun to a whir and the rudders went to the straight, and the vessel rose quick through the vacuum up the rocky curve to the near blinding across the way from the binary sun Sirius.
The SS Crabstick was a fine spacemarine, Dovken reckoned. Biggest of her class, quicker than a marlin-astral, with more firepower than a sundragon. Very fine indeed, he'd muttered, stroking the chair leather.
Corporal Keggles jumped from his seat. "It's coming right for us commander," he said in a panic.
"Torpedos on the ready, men. It's showtime," said Dovken. "Johnson, the window tint. Can't see a bloody thing."
"Aye aye Captain."
"*Commander*."
"Commander!"
The crew twisted on their chairs and edged forward for a better view. Dovken tried lighting his cigar, but it was too wet with saliva, and from his leftward toss it hit Doctor Robbins square in the ear.
Movement ahead, the room went silent. Big shadow rose slow at Bertha's horizon, shape hard to make in front the sunlight blue. Then an eclipse: and it was a body, silhouette fuzzed at the edge, limbs on the towering rise, three red eyes centre the moon-sized head.
"I'll be damned," said Robbins, still wiping the spit from his cheek.
*Jehovah*
whispered the awe-struck crew.
"Mother of God," gritted Dovken, squeezing the armrests as he pushed the chair back and forth in feverish elation. The men faced forward with skipping heartbeats, rapt, and it was only Dennis whom noticed Dovken's erection when he stood.
Jehovah brought down a gargantuan hand hard to the surface and from there a shockwave rippled over the ship, its full mass then exposed as it pulled itself up, four-armed, three-legged, to a several hundred kilometre stand, arms in a muscular flare, mein of lightning-hair brightening to a dazzle, its dangling front-tail dragging smooth a mountain-flattening mile-wide trail.
"Fire!" said Dovken.
Staggered torpedos stocked with devil-blood shot from the ship fast though the airless shadow, the creature bare able to pivot in time. Six landed fair the shoulder, which quick turned a burning green. A mortal wound. Jehovah swayed and clasped itself and then fell to its knees with an almighty thunder, eyes crying white with pain, its booming scream spread deafening and cosmic.
The crew erupted in cheer. Dovken, beside himself, turned away with a fist-pump.
"Johnson, fetch me another kipper," he said. "This time, a real one."
"The fish, sir?"
"That's right, the fish. Make sure it's smoked. We've got celebrating to do."
|
We're forsaken by the Gods. Despite what we have achieved, they turned their backs on us. Why, we asked? We've become unified and loving. We solved our ills and hungers. We made works of art beautiful beyond reason. We've engaged the other races diplomatically. And yet, when we asked, nay, *begged* the Gods to help us with our final problem - our very mortality - they shunned us.
All we could do is wonder why.
Some of us have fallen into despair. Some found hope in alternative religions, half of which were just elaborate scams. But not me. Not us. We shan't take this grave disrespect and we will fight for our greatness. We will take our rightful place alongside the other races of the universe. And if we can't convince the Gods with words, we shall do so by force. We don't know if they can die, but we will find out.
Fortune smiled on us, however, for we did find one God who took pity on us, who saw our sheer potential. He, an outcast among his own kind, will assist us in our fight. With our forces combined, the Gods *will* listen.
And thus we have entered an alliance with Mephet'ran.
May the We have mercy on their souls.
| 2022-05-09T07:04:00 | 2022-05-09T06:25:45 | 47 | 22 |
[WP] If your death is imminent, time stops for everyone but you. This allowed you to cheat death on many occasions by avoiding all sorts of danger except for now - you have no idea whats threating your life. Its been a year since time stopped.
|
Day 1: Time stopped, as it does when I'm in danger, at 7:05:23 this morning. I know because that's why my watch was at when it stopped counting. I usually just duck or jump to the side or something and time restarts, but none of that helped. I finally ran outside the house, and nothing. This is strange; something's about to kill me - usually time stops only seconds away from my death - but whatever it is I can't figure it out.
Day 2 (?): I've double-checked everything. All the food I ate, the pills I took, I don't see any bug bites - and how many bug bites are lethal, anyway? It's been an entire day the world has been stopped. Usually it's under a minute. Whatever the danger is, I just don't see it. I hope I don't have cancer or something. How would I find out?
Day 7 (probably): This is losing its humor value. People in solitary start to go bonkers, and I'm starting to feel that way myself. I've dozen-checked everything. There is nothing, literally nothing, even slightly threatening to me within a kilometer of my house. I'm not even sure how many days it is, since nothing has changed. I'm mostly going by what it feels like. I could be off a full day in either direction.
Day 30 (ish): I had a long conversation with a time-locked squirrel today, so maybe the going crazy part has begun. Still, the squirrel made some good points. Heh.
Day 60 (or so): There is nothing, literally nothing, within two kilometers of my house that constitutes any possible threat to my life, except maybe that burly cop if he finds out how much time I spent admiring his wife in the shower.
Day 90 (deal with it): I've just been walking in an expanding spiral, and have now made it maybe four kilometers from my house. Nothing, absolutely nothing, looks like any danger to me at the moment time stopped. I must be thinking too small: maybe a nuke went off or something? I climbed an antenna tower to look for planes in the sky or explosions or something but didn't see anything. What am I going to do if it IS a nuke? I guess running the other way until time restarts would mean I made it to minimum safe distance, but then lots of other people would get fried. Maybe I can just take the bits of the bomb and spread them far apart, or carry it out into the desert or something.
Day whatever: I just started walking in a direction. Don't know why I never noticed this before, but you can walk on time-locked water. I don't want to think about what happens if I walk to safety, time restarts, and then stops again after I sink a bit into the water. Too far and I may just be stuck there for eternity. The stories say Jesus walked on water; but that can't have been time-locked or who would have seen it to write the story?
End of year 1, or 2, or however long it's been: I've been walking in a straight line, well I guess a curved line because the planet is round, for, well, a really long time. Time never restarted. I don't see anything that might be dangerous to me. I've seen some nice scenery. I'm starting to walk into the darkness, where the sun had already set when time froze. Not sure how useful that's going to be.
100km later, or whatever, I don't know: I see the full moon rising. I went back and forth a while, see the moon rise and set and rise and set, just to break up the monotony.
Another 10km, or something: I must be going nuts, because now I see two moons.
Later that same day (night?): the second one is not the moon. It looks to be an asteroid, maybe 5 kilometers across, burning up in the atmosphere. There's a bunch of burned out land under it. It has stopped a couple hundred feet above the ground. So now all I have to do is figure out how to climb up to it, chip it into little pieces one at a time, and distribute them over a wide area so that nobody dies. Since I can walk on water, I don't even know if breaking time-locked rock is possible. And I'm not sure how I'm going to get up there. But I do have plenty of time to think about it.
|
The world is still, lifeless, dead. It would seem it takes my burden. A year has passed since anything moved. Anything. People stand still amidst the backdrop of soulless cities, like mannequins in windows. The birds are idle in the trees, no morning silence ever broken. The grass lies frozen in the land, no wind to move or sway it.
The world holds my mortal burden. It will not live until I am safe.
I wish I were dead. This is not a life worth living. Such a drab existence.
For one year I have lied to myself. For one year I have feigned ignorance to the cause of my eternal torment. What haunts me? What troubles me so? Fool. I knew all along.
This world is bland. This world is grey. I can pull no joy from its seams. I used to try, to claw in desperation at any modicum of colour, of life. All in vain.
My world is still, odourless, colourless, silent, languid. It was before time stopped.
That is why time crashed to a halt. To cease my course of action, to save me from myself.
\-
r/ShittyStoryCreator
| 2018-07-04T16:29:47 | 2018-07-04T13:31:50 | 2,360 | 153 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet.
|
"Excuse me, sir, do you have any clue where the dining car is?"
I lifted my eyes from the news paper.
"Boy, i know this train like my hand, if not better. Go in the direction opposite of the trains movement, it will be the fourth one." I leaned forward a bit and lowered my voice. "If you say 'and a jacked ice' they will give you a drink for free." I winked.
"Jee, thanks mister!" The boy looked happy. "Mind if I get you something?"
"Nothing for the old me pleases me than a child's happiness!" I smiled.
A lady with a beautiful green dress sat across from me. Her blonde wavy hair was tied in a bun and her sunny smile brightened my mood.
"Well it's a nice day today, milady." I smiled back at her. "I presume this is your little brother." I lifted my eyebrow flirtingly.
"Oh, I am delighted that a gentleman like you tries to complement me on my age!" She blushed. "But no, he is my son."
"A polite chap, ain't he!" I lifted my moustache.
She giggled. "He is well behaved indeed."
I put down my paper. I grew bored of it. A conversation was always more interesting than those inky sentences. "Where are you traveling to?"
"Portsmouth. And you?"
"There is no train to Portsmouth. The Channel tunnel is still a dream of ours."
"You didn't answer me as to your destination."
I sat nervously in my seat. "The last stop is where I shall depart."
She looked confused. "Where is the last stop?"
"I shan't know until I'm to reach it."
A glance of confusion. I pulled a folded note from my pocket and handed it to her.
"Tell me you haven't been on that train for so long!" She gasped.
"Twenty years."
"Twenty years! And not once had you gotten out?"
"No, I've traveled since."
"So that means..."
"Yes, since the end of the Great war."
"Oh my!" She was astonished. "Are you..." She leaned forward. "One of those..." She wispered. "Spies?"
"I don't remember madam. This note is the only thing I woke up with, 20 years ago. People have come and gone, personnel has changed, but I am here."
"So you are that man!"
I lifted my eyebrow. "I beg your pardon?"
"People tell of you as if a legend. Everyone has seen you and claims you exist, no one knows exactly. You are mythical in those stories."
I hummed. "Well I suppose it is a deserved fame."
"I have a question. Why don't you just... Get off the train?"
"I can't."
"But it's just a note..."
"It's orders. And I am trained to follow orders." I was getting uncomfortable. I didn't know where that came from.
The trains brakes squeaked.
"Paris train station coming in ten minutes!" A loud voice echoed through the train.
"It was nice meeting you,... I didn't get your name."
"I have no name, madam. Have a nice journey to Portsmouth!"
The lady stood up and went looking for her son. I grabbed my newspaper and leaned back again.
"Sir!" A deep voice interrupted my reading session once again. I looked over the paper. "This is for you." The bartender handed me a wine bottle, inside a piece of paper, and a big envelope. He leaned forward and whispered. "From the lady with the green dress." Quickly he turned around and disappeared.
"Open the bottle first." Read the envelope. I pulled the cork. On the note was a simple message. "Last stop: Berlin." I ripped open the envelope. A brown folder. Red lettering. "Classified". I flipped the cover. "Agent Carl Hemble - undercover" and a photo of myself next to it. My dossier! A read for later. I flipped the page. "Mission Flat Plus - strongly classified".
I read through. Eyes wide open. I knew who I was. I knew what I should do. "Meet at Alexanderplatz, 29. June 10pm. Brown suit and black shoes. Code: Oxfords not brogues. Dispose as fast as possible." I closed the folder. Inside the envelope was another thing too. A small medallion with a "K".
"Kingsmen!" I whispered as I put it in my pocket. "Off to Berlin then!"
-=-=-=-=-
P.s I decided to include one of my favourite franchises in this short WP, hope you enjoy it!
|
[Poem]
On the train heading to work,
I checked my purse.
What a surprise I find!
A little note, scribbled and wrote:
“Whatever you do, don’t get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop.”
I wonder what it means, then my stop arrives.
I try to get off, until ahead of me I see,
A demon right there, before me.
Before it’s horrible claws swipe at my neck,
I jump back into my seat.
I wait,
and wait,
And wait some more...
Until twenty years later, I decide
“No more!”
I run off the train the moment it stops,
Dodging the demon swiping at my neck,
And dodging the fliers,
who shot arrows at my chest.
I almost got away, until I found,
The lord of monsters,
Waiting for me.
“Didn’t you read the note?” He said.
Scared, I lie.
“What note? Am I going to die?”
A sharp claw jabs into my stomach.
“Now you are, for lying to me.”
And so,
As I bled out on the floor,
I realise dimly-
I should’ve waited twenty years more.
| 2020-07-17T12:04:08 | 2020-07-17T10:48:21 | 71 | 42 |
[WP] When your university announces they are going to bury a time capsule for 100 years you decide to include a USB drive with a super-high resolution copy of your brain just for fun. The last thing you remember is going into an MRI to be scanned before waking up and being told it's a century later.
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When I was a child, I'd often look up into space from the comfort of my tiny room. I'd adjust my telescope and pick a spec to focus on. I liked to imagine that somewhere in that star system, there was an alien child just like me adjusting his own telescope and staring back– wondering what amazing things a different planet would consist of.
My mother was mostly to blame. She worked for NASA, and according to her, everyone that worked there shook my chubby little hand when I was a baby. I think being surrounded by all of that from birth stoked every interest in my heart about the great beyond. I wanted to grow up to be in whatever position I needed to be if only it meant I could observe and communicate with the aliens when they arrived.
That's how I ended up at MIT.
I had never seen my mother cry tears of joy before I walked the stage at graduation. Nobody cheered louder than her and it made my heart swell with emotions to finally hold that diploma in my hand. I was finally going to work in the same building as my mother, and everyone at NASA knew it (whether they wanted to or not). She was the proudest mom on the planet, and I'd never seen her glow the way she did when we walked into work together for the first time.
That would unfortunately be the last time.
I stopped short of my step and became confused. I'd never experienced a feeling like that before. Left was right and down was up. I didn't remember who I was, where I was going, or why. It lasted only an instant, but it left me with a headache that pills couldn't fight. I saw the doctor the next day and held my mother's hand for the last time before climbing into that MRI machine.
In the moment after that, I was standing wet and naked in a glass tube. I felt like I weighed a ton and a half as I looked around at the beings surrounding me. They looked sort of like humans, but the difference was immediately noticeable. Their arms and fingers were longer, disproportionate of my species. Their heads were elongated, but only slightly; if I'd seen someone with a head like that on the subway, I wouldn't have assumed them an alien, but just deformed. They were completely hairless. No eyebrows, no eyelashes, nothing. Their eyes weren't actually very different, but their noses were small and their lips thin.
I slowly lifted my hands to the glass and they observed me carefully. I tried to speak, but my mouth and throat were so dry that it was painful.
They didn't appear to care.
They simply jotted down notes on their clipboards.
It was hours before they gave me water. I drank it so quickly that I threw it up, and they began portioning my water for me like I was some kind of infant. The food I was given was just some kind of pink substance. It had no taste– kind of like what I imagined it would be like to eat silly putty.
"What... happened?" I croaked.
One of them stepped forward and cleared his throat.
"Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep *meep* meep," he spoke with all the seriousness of a heart attack. "Meep meep meep meep. Meep. Meep meep?"
Suddenly, a speaker within my containment tube clarified.
"Hello. You've been dead for a *very* long time. My name is Biln, and I'm the one responsible for resurrecting you."
I looked at the creature with wonder. I was dead? For a long time? Resurrected? Was I truly looking at humans? Had it been so long that they'd evolved this way? He continued meeping until the speaker began again.
"We didn't know why we were supposed to dig that container up. Many of our brains seemed to remember, however, that we were supposed to. We each converged in front of that building on the same day. Each of our hosts was working in high-profile facilities when we adopted them. So it is to our understanding that something in that container was important enough to call to all of us. We believe that thing is you."
He held up my USB. The one I'd buried in front of MIT for my history course. I could hardly believe what I was hearing. Hosts? Adopted? What the hell was going on?
"Meep meep meep meep. Meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meeeeeeep meep. Meep! Meep meep meep meep."
"If you understand what I'm saying, move your head up and down. That machine sometimes has difficulty relaying our words precisely depending on the subject's lexicon."
I nodded.
"What happened? Why am I here?"
He sighed and meeped for a while before the speaker broke it all down for me.
"This may be shocking to you, but... You are the last of your species. My people failed to preserve a single one of you. If not for the anus in this storage device, the human race as it once was would have been lost forever. Your existence is a very important breakthrough for science."
I felt my body run cold.
The last... human?
"Meep meep meep meep meep. Meep meep meep meep meep."
"Your brain, as it was kept in this file, was imperfect. In fact, according to this anus log, you would have died of an aneurysm only a year or so later. We recreated your brain so that it will not kill you. All of your brain anus should be intact, so if you have difficulty accessing your memories, let one of us know."
An aneurysm.
Had it happened so quickly that I didn't notice?
I backed against the far wall of my tube and felt a swell of emotions welling up inside of me. I felt tears begin to form in my eyes as I realized that everything I knew was gone. I died so suddenly I hadn't gotten to say goodbye to my mom. To study the cosmos.
And now it seemed the cosmos were instead studying me.
"Meep meep meep."
"I told you we should have removed his emotions."
r/A15MinuteMythos
Wanted to write more, but I've got to go! Great prompt OP!
|
It was an... Odd sensation. I felt so completely out of my depth as I stared at the... Thing sat across from me. It was alien to my puny human synaptic pulses. Or well, it would if the concept of alien and not alien didn't divide everything into a wholey unbalanced break of less than a percentage familiar sights and experiences.
"Okay. Let's take this from the top again. Slowly. Please."
"Understood, please continue"
"I, am the last human?"
"In a fashion. You are the last Human as you know humanity to be."
"That's... Okay, simpler question. What differentiates you, from the humans I knew of?"
"Many catastrophic events have forced the evolution of Humanity. We are - as the comics found beside your own consciousness would describe - meta-humans. Humans with greater potential."
"So... That makes me an inferior subspecies?"
"You are nit technically a species."
"I'd argue i damned well am! But... Point taken." It had taken me weeks to relearn how to move, how to push away the need to perform such simple tasks as breathing or eating. Such is the fate of a Human consciousness sealed in a mechanical body after all.
"I am surprised you have taken so quickly to tour new form, by my understanding your humans were shorter and weaker than your current form."
"Uh, dysmorphism right? You expected my mind and body to not match up?"
"That is correct."
"I have a question actually. Why did you bring me back?"
"History has alot to teach us all. That and, I must admit, scientific curiosity. We could on paper. So why would we not try."
"Gods. I'm a fucking experiment conducted on a whim!"
"Ah. Yes, I should have expected this." The not-man man gently set a hand against my shoulder, thermal receptors registering the warmth of his skin. "Fret not my friend. We are both sailors on the sea of discovery! Take heart, you have been granted a new future to explore, and I a resource on times passed!"
"I... I guess... Can I go... Lie down. Please?" He simply nodded, quietly rising from his seat to depart the room. I heard the lock click on the suite door after a moment. The thought of using my mechanised form to escape crossed my mind, only to be swiftly lost in the understanding that they, the not-humans had given it to me, doubtless they could easily take it away too.
With a slight, agrivated sigh I tossed the cushion perched beside me on the sofa across the room, knocking a painting off the wall in the process. I suppose a prisoner in this luxury room was better than a prisoner in another's head. Better a gilded cage than a dark one.
| 2021-09-14T07:23:58 | 2021-09-14T07:12:02 | 1,036 | 221 |
[WP] Write a college essay that starts with, "Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle..."
Source: http://www.reddit.com/r/AskReddit/comments/35hits/college_admissions_officers_what_was_the_worst/cr4khqk
Edit: This got a lot of responses.
Edit 2: This is my highest post in months.
I should post more.
|
(This is basically the first creative writing I've tried since middle school, so: thanks for any constructive criticism.)
Sometimes, I wish I could just go onto a roof with a sniper rifle. I know I'll be there, soon enough: lying flat on my stomach, looking through the scope, searching--calmly but with a sense of purpose. And while the last thing I'll want to do is pull the trigger, I know it's my destiny to one day do just that. When that day comes, I'll be an extra set of eyes for my brothers down below; men who will have put their faith in me and their lives in my hands. I know that one day, in the near future, I'll join my father and his father before him and take my place as a United States Marine. I will help protect the country I love, and help make the world a better place. Most days, I wish I could start my mission tomorrow. But first, I have to do something neither of those men ever did: I'm going to graduate college.
I never knew my grandfather. He never knew his son, either. Grandma got pregnant in between his second and third tours of duty in Korea, and he was killed four miles south of the DMZ eight weeks later. He never even knew she was pregnant. Grandpa was just a kid; he'd enlisted at 18, as soon as he could, and came home in a bodybag at 23. He and Grandma Marilyn had planned what they'd do when he got out: they were going to move out from Brooklyn to the suburbs, with the help of the GI bill, they were going to buy a house--with a perfectly manicured lawn and a white picket fence--and start a family. A big one, like Grandma Marilyn's. They were going to chase their version of the American dream, which, at that point, was just The American Dream, before any of us wisened up and realized that the feigned homogeneity of the 1940s would fade into the malaise of the succeeding generations, culminating finally in the fatalism of mine. But I know America can be great again.
Grandma Marilyn never remarried, and she never had a job, either. She raised my father in abject poverty. Marilyn never made it out of Brooklyn, and her Brooklyn never gentrified. Gerritsen Beach probably never will. All she had was my father, and all he had was her. And so my dad, a man who never knew his father, dedicated his life to supporting his mother. He dropped out of high school at 15 and found work as quickly as he could. He was good with his hands, so he took a job at an auto shop. Today, he owns the store--and has expanded to three other locations. If you lived on the South Shore of Long Island, you'd hear him in all the inescapable commercials: the car parts king of Nassau County.
But first my dad had to serve his country. When his draft number came up in 1973, the Vietnam War had become an unpopular quagmire. My father couldn't have known it. He was as apolitical then as he is now, and just yesterday, he drew a blank when trying to remember the Vice President's name. Back then, he didn't have time to worry about anything outside of South Brooklyn, and that tiny shack on Everett Avenue. Now, he just doesn't care. But if he was oblivious, Grandma Marilyn was despondent. She knew exactly what it meant to be shipped overseas, and tried to convince my father to dodge the draft--to flee to Canada, just for a year; the war was coming to an end, and everybody knew it. But my father, who by that point was the chief mechanic of that first store in Bay Ridge, had an overriding sense of duty. And like his father before him, he went to fight another country's war, never knowing if his life would be waiting for him on the other side.
My grandfather joined the Marines within a zeitgeist of patriotism run amok. My father had the life chosen for him. Two men who never knew each other, brought together by fate and DNA. And they've given way to me, someone who, statistically speaking, isn't the likeliest candidate for the NROTC program at Brown, but perhaps the most grounded. This was never supposed to be my path: my parents, early on, did what they could to cultivate my twin passions--mathematics and concert piano--but I was always drawn, against their wishes and by something greater than myself, towards a life in the armed forces.
And so I will serve my country with pride and honor, as has become custom for the Kilkelly boys. I will be a military man, one whose ambitions are not borne from a thirst for vengeance or even teenage anomie, but a deeply held desire to be a part of the greatest armed forces in the history of this planet. And I know that an education at Brown will not only help me achieve those goals, but will allow me to be a positive agent for change along the way. I understand the reasons behind the skepticism, bordering on demonization, of the armed forces among many of my peers, but I will do everything I can to open up dialogues between my fellow cadets and the rest of the student population on campus. That's because we have as much to learn from the rest of the student body as they do from us.
I know that the diversity of opinions on this progressive campus will help me fight for the rights of my gay platoon-mates, and to help combat the sexual assault epidemic that plagues female soldiers. I know that the Marines don't only wage war, but also build bridges--physical and metaphorical--and that a college experience like the one offered here will help me lead with compassion and bravery.
And I know that when I climb up on that rooftop, thanks to my Brown education I will be as prepared as I possibly could be, and so much more than my father, or his before him.
|
Sometimes, I wish I could just go into a roof with a sniper rifle and shoot the heads off the hordes of zombies coming to invade my home. Or at least, that's what my hyperactive, ADD brain would have me think. My disorder has always been a challenge in my life, from the time I was a little boy to now it is still difficult to focus on the simplest tasks. And what better time to keep me distracted from my work than during exams or presenting to the whole class? When I do not take my medication in the morning, my imagination tends to wander quite a bit during the whole day. I've spaced out during unit tests, while presenting a month-long project to my classmates, and have quite often thought about nothing in particular during lectures and class time.
However, I do not view my disorder as one that is an impediment to my growth as a student and as a person. Yes, I need to take pills every day to ensure my sanity, and yes, it is not normal, but I have learned to embrace it. My ADD is part of who I am, and has given me opportunities to learn about myself and who I am many a time. I have learned how to cope with whatever may be thrown at me in a way that is both efficient and effective, and I don't think I would have if I didn't have this condition. For example, since I know how to work with something inherently wrong with me, I know that I can also overcome many things that are, in retrospect, easier to deal with than Attention Deficit Disorder, and my confidence dramatically increases every time I do.
I have not only seen how I grew into the man I am today, but also see now how much I have to learn about the world and my field of study, which is the reason I want to apply to this college. I don't know how much I don't know, but I know it is of a great amount, and this is not a bad thing. This only gives me incentive to learn more about my field, and about the universe in general. Humans have a need to learn, and I have that need just like anyone else, my condition does not make that any different, despite me not being as enthusiastic about schooling at times. I hope I am accepted into this college not so I can just graduate with a degree and get a job, I want to learn how to be the best me I can be, and this is another step in the ladder to achieving that.
| 2015-05-10T14:43:04 | 2015-05-10T14:32:46 | 185 | 10 |
[WP] You are trapped in an anti-time loop; Every time you are about to die, you wake up 24 hours later, with no recollection of how you survived. You lost a year of your life already and feel no closer to find out who wants to kill you.
|
Open the door. Grab the wooden chair. Take three steps forward. Back up against the wall, take two steps to the left. Renshaw had done this over 900 times now. Like something out of the twilight zone, he was stuck in an endless 24-hour time loop. An eternal nightmare that made his tour in Nam’ look like fucking Candyland. Every loop ended with horrific, painful death. The longest he ever survived was 23 hours 52 minutes. Usually he died within an hour.
Always the same hotel room and the same time. An ever-shifting 24 hour pattern of terrible events. All of them designed to do one thing: Kill Renshaw. He memorized hundreds of event patterns, but new variations popped up all the time. The world was evolving.
'H-hello Mr. Renshaw’ an old woman shuffled out from room 231. Without hesitation Renshaw leapt forward and dropped-kicked her back into the room, she tumbled over backwards. He yanked the door shut and wedged the wooden chair underneath the handle. He wasn’t falling for that one again. Last time she used a knitting-needle to take out his eyes. As Renshaw turned away, she screamed and battered on the door.
Twenty strides down the hallway. Stop at the top of the stairs. Count to One. Two. Three. Go down the steps, one step at a time. At the bottom he leaned around the corner and smiled. Up on the wall, inside a glass box, sat a brand new Colt .45 revolver. A sign above read: “In case of Emergency, Break Glass”. The gun was a rare event. He took three steps forward and smashed his elbow against the glass, reached in and-
‘-FUCK’ he screamed as twisting pain shot up his spine. Gun in hand, he spun around. The old woman stood there gritting teeth like a crazed chimpanzee, blood-dripped knitting-needle clenched in her left hand. She leapt towards him- BLAM. Her head whipped back and her legs kicked forward as the metal slug slammed into her forehead. Her body collapsed onto the red carpet floor. Renshaw’s ears rang out as the crack of gunfire bounced around the staircase. Not a good start.
He placed his hand against the stab wound on his back and winced. Right below his left lung. She missed vitals. Either way, he needed to stitch that up soon. He wiped the blood off his hand onto his gray topcoat and pressed forward. Back pressed to the wall, he crept down the steps.
He reached the bottom of the stairs, took a deep breath and peeked around the corner. Peering out into the hotel lobby he saw marble floors, brass elevators and Cherry wood walls. Good sign. Sometimes the hotel had modern decor. Modern decor always preceded the the Click Clack Man.
Whenever he showed up, Renshaw always considered just offing himself to avoid worse. But he never did. Despite everything, he never took his own life. Even in the face of unimaginable terror.
The Click Clack man, as Renshaw liked to call him, broke all the rules. He was the bane of his existence, the tormentor of his soul. Dressed in a white suit with a hyper-real cartoonish face. His lips twisted like he’d just eaten something sour. It looked funny for about ten seconds, then he got his hands around Renshaw’s face. His fingers extended and snapping, crawling around Renshaws head, knuckles after knuckles, joints after joints, slithering into Renshaw’s mouth, eyes, nose. If felt like being tickled to death from the inside out. Everything’s dark and you only hear the sound of your own wheezing laughter as you gasp for breath. Renshaw had been cut in half, drawn and quartered, suffocated, drowned, beaten to death. But none of it came close to the Click Clack Man.
Pushing out from the wall and crouch running across the lobby. He slid into cover. Hunching down behind the front desk, he unclicked the 45 cylinder. Five bullets left. Use them well.
Ding, ding.
He peaked over the front desk. The front doors swung open and a young couple stepped inside. They looked like 1950’s romance.
‘You can have room two thirty six’ Renshaw yelled from behind cover.
‘Excuse me?’ said the young man.
‘Go to room two thirty six.’ He said, as if reciting memorized lines. It took Renshaw quite a few deaths to figure this one out. The first time they asked for a room and Renshaw told them he didn’t work there. The man got angry, pulled out a Remington 52 hand gun and shot Renshaw in the neck. After that, Renshaw just shot them on sight - Until he figured out the room trick.
‘R-room two thirty six?’ said the young woman.
‘Yeah.’ Said Renshaw, still ready to fire at a moments notice. Nothing was guaranteed.
‘Okay’ they said in unison.
The couple stepped past him, up towards the stair case, Renshaw watching them carefully all the while. They rounded the corner and went up the stairs. Okay. Renshaw turned back to the entrance. It was time to get outside and-
A shrill scream cut into his ear. He spun to see the young couple stood at the first corner on the stairs. Fuck. Renshaw already forget about it-
\-The old woman’s body.
‘Uh… s-sir…” said the young man , ‘There’s a…’
Renshaw took a deep breath and stepped out from behind the desk, ‘What’s that now?’ he said, strolling towards them.
‘There’s a d-dead woman here, on the steps.’
Renshaw tilted his head, cupped a hand by his ear, ‘On the what now?’ he said, looking up from the bottom of the steps.
‘There’s a-’
\-BLAM. BLAM. Renshaw took both of them out in one smooth motion. They dropped to the ground soundlessly. Ears ringing, Renshaw clenched his eyes shut. He never got used to shooting civilians. Especially shooting first. Sure these ones probably weren’t even human, but it never felt that way. He preferred shooting commie’s from a distance. Renshaw opened his eyes, and went up the stairs.
Squatting down over the bodies, he unholstered the Remington handgun from the young man’s hip. He grabbed the woman’s crocodile skin purse, slung it round his shoulder and tucked the pistol inside. He pushed back to standing, wincing in pain as muscles around his back wound spasmed. That needed stitches, ASAP.
Sirens getting closer now.
Fuck. Renshaw never won a shootout with that much firepower. He needed to go for the fire escape. Colt 45’ in hand, purse slung round his shoulder, he went up the next flight of stairs.
Then he saw something that made his stomach twist.
&#x200B;
EDIT: i'm planning to write an extended/improved version over at [r/polterkites](https://www.reddit.com/r/polterkites/) I deleted the second part, because it may spoil the eventual ending I come up with
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Zachariah washed his face in the near-frozen pound. The winter chill crept under his robe making him shiver.
An empty park and gloomy weather. It seemed no trail of snow, but trees were barren and grass brown.
Despite the cold and stingy feeling that kept relentlessly pushing deeper into his bones, he laid on a bench defeated.
He could not tell if it was dusk or midday, the sky was of a deep grey.
Clenching, Zachariah watched around for someone. None.
He fixed his gaze on a tattered paper near the trash. It was February 2021. "A year has passed", he thought laughing ironically. "A fucking year"
It usually never lasted long, his periods of wakefulness.
So despite the nigh unbearable cold, he waited for a blackout. He got those daily, and he woke up around 24 hours later. A day thrown in the wind.
He never realized why it was happening, but he was weary. That's why he kinda found the empty park serene. If it wasn't the chilly feeling, he might've truly enjoyed the peace.
So he waited.
And waited. This time it seemed it took longer.
So he waited.
He heard a shout. But his eyes were heavy. Damn his eyes ...
He woke up hearing his name.
"Zachariah"
This time was different. His left-hand's fingers. He could not feel half of them.
A woman stood there near his bed with tears in her eyes. Fuck her. He had no time for a chat with a stranger. He needed to find a way to isolate himself.
It was the only way. He cooked this plan for a while now. A box. Perfectly shut from inside. Only him.
He had a theory, he was stuck into an anti-time loop. The moment he was in imminent danger, like moments before death, the time just spit him forward.
It could be that he is important for the timeline. So he needed to find his true purpose. And before that, the one that was after his trail trying to kill him. He knew it was close.
A perfectly isolated box would keep him from danger. He needed more intel.
"Zachariah, you woke up! I was so worried."
He watched her in those brown dark eyes.
"Excuse me. There is no time to chat. I'm curious how you know my name, but there's simply no time"
"Father ... please try to get a grip" , she replied sobbing.
Zacharia was stunned. She wasn't his damn daughter. Yeah, he had two. But they had both blue eyes. He remembers well, they got those after his beloved.
"Please move away. There is no time"
He tried to raise up, but something flashed. It came from the window.
And his damn eyes, they could not do their job ...
"Fuck" he thought to himself, before opening his eyes. When will it end?
Lots of people were passing by. Watching at him while passing by, carrying on with their lives.
He was in the middle of a densely populated street. Now was the time.
He had to act so he ran.
While dashing, he looked for a trash can in an alley.
That should suffice. Pure steel. Isolated. Smelly, true, but isolated.
So he jumped in and closed the lid.
He was alone in the dark. It was perfect.
Time to finally rest.
So he closed his eyes.
Alas, he was in a room now ...
Why it didn't work? The rascal might've seen him get in.
For a moment he was angry he got up and smashed the table with his fists.
After a long sigh, he laid back in his chair.
He heard a knock on the door. The assassin was here. He felt it in his bones.
And his eyes were heavy. His damn eyes. Nothing he could do, but he left a note, change the damn robe, it was really hard to move in it, why he didn't do that already?
| 2020-08-17T16:44:45 | 2020-08-17T15:27:29 | 83 | 16 |
[WP] You're a scientist studying bacterial colonies. One day, you look under the microscope to observe strange shapes that, on a closer look, resemble letters. The bacteria are greeting you and have a message for you.
|
**STATION #45, ASTEROID 45 ENRA, LOG ENTRY 4.– S. KENNEDY, 9:04 C.E.E.T.**
I doubt anyone will find this. But if you do...you need to make sure my crew and I don't make it back to Earth. I'll bite my tongue and take the bullet like a man, if I'm still cognizant, and the rest of my crew is dead or gone in other ways, so don't feel guilty. Don't feel guilty.
God, I'm shaking. My cortisol levels are through the roof. It may be the pounding on the door – you can hear it in the background - thumping like my heartbeat. *Thump, thump, thump, thump, thump.* I don't have long, that's for sure.
My rising cortisol levels could, however, be related to my impending death. Mortality is always a cause for fear.
Of course, I'm kidding myself. It's the guilt. It's what's eating away at me. It's what's making me pace behind the locked doors of my chamber, heart pumping like a steam-engine, debating whether or not I should end it right here. How could I be so foolish? I should've- I should've stopped as soon as I saw they were sentient. Rule two of The Convention, for Christ's sake. But, my intrigue….it was *intriguing* alright? Any self respecting scientist would've been fascinated with sentient *alien* life. Such a discovery would send ripples careening through the fields of philosophy, science, religion, causing us to question the nature of humanity itself. So it isn't my fault.
It isn't my goddamn fault.
**STATION #45, ASTEROID 45 ENRA, LOG ENTRY 4 – S. KENNEDY. 9:10 C.E.E.T.**
I was in the lab with Joey and Ishara. Frank, the engineer, planned on being there for our first look at the subject, but he was busy tweaking the com signals. He didn't see what we saw. Frankly – heh - I'm not even sure if they got to him yet, or know he even exists. I hope he had the good sense to hide.
The bacteria, Subject Zero, understood us speaking; the colloquialisms, the technical jargon, everything. Not only that, but it somehow could extrapolate from the numerous research papers on our table the human alphabet and it's various enunciations. Such a thing was...astounding. Simply fascinating. When I looked under the microscope, I thought I was going mad.
“Hello” it said. Hello. A tornado of thoughts and emotions hit me then, tearing through every fabric of my being until I was nothing but pure, child-like excitement. Hello. Hello.
“By god,” I said. “It's sentient. It's smart.”
“What the hell are you on about?” said Joey then. He took a look. So did Ishara. Both were speechless.
“Liberate us,” the bacteria said. It was trapped inside a vial we used to seal it from the asteroid surface, and that vial was wedged into the side of the electron microscope. When I got up to move, Joey took my hand.
“Wait,” he said. “We shouldn't. Atleast, not yet. Let's wait until – I don't know – someone authorizes us...until we have the proper equipment.”
I should've listened. Maybe if I did things wouldn't have got to shit. But, instead, I said: “I'm head scientist. I authorize it.”
Joey nodded, gingerly, then walked over to the machine and removed the vial. He opened the cap and set the subject on the table. The subject started gingerly crawling to the edge. Ishara leaned in.
“Where are you going?” she asked, in a tone of voice not dissimilar to talking to a child. The bacteria jittered and hopped like soup boiling in a cauldron, rearranging itself to form words.
“Earth,” it spelled.
Ishara looked around smiling. Even Joey couldn't help but crack a smirk.
“Why do you wanna go there?” she asked, still leaning in.
The bacteria jumped again. It was spelling out something longer this time around, and it was doing it with such a slow pace...in hindsight, I think it was mocking us. After about a minute, we read, in bold, red letters: “To consume.”
A moment of silence passed between us as excitement turned to shock in the room. It happened so fast. Just as we were processing it, the subject jumped on Ishara's arm and started burning through her skin. She screamed something awful..I...I never will forget that sound. Joey came to help her and...well, it took him too. I was frozen. I – I had no clue what to do. We had procedures for chemical burns, but this wasn't a chemical burn-- bacteria was eating into his and her skin with speed and fury not even the most potent acid could match.
So, I did something I'm not proud of – I ran. As fast as I could. Halfway to my quarters, I heard Ishara and Joey run through the hallways too. But, they weren't screaming. Not anymore. The only noise I heard from them was the mechanical pattering of their boots on metal. One, two, three four, one, two, three four. Like a machine.
It isn't my fault.
**STATION #45, ASTEROID 45 ENRA, LOG ENTRY 4 – S. KENNEDY. 9:15 C.E. E. T.**
The pounding is becoming unbearable. *Thump, thump, thump.* They hitched into Joey's esophagus and even got him to say: “Come outside, Samuel. We're fine. We're waiting.” It wasn't his voice though; it had too much clarity. No gravel, and Joey's a smoker. These things aren't just bacteria, they're parasites, and...by lord, are they hungry.
I can hear the door start to snap off its hinges. I can hear the breathing of Ishara and Joey – and I think Frank - grow heavier and harmonize with each passing second. They're not themselves. *Thump, thump, thump.*
I – I just want you all to know, it wasn't my fault. If you, by some miraculous one-in-a-million change, find me floating alongside the stars, know that I died for humanity. Earlier, I thought - I thought I could hold out. But I know now that I can't trust you to make things right - I can't trust you to kill me and my crew and the bacteria, because you might not even exist. I do, though. Not for long. In a few seconds, I'm going to tape the recorder to my chest and breach a hole into the wall with a spark and a fusion lamp. When the subject enters to take me, I'm going to blow this side of the station clear and let the vacuum consume me and whatever pieces of my crew are left. Maybe I'll get rid of the subject too, but I doubt it. When - I'm sorry - *if* you find us,tell Earth to send 45 Enra to hell...and, if you could find my son, tell him I died like a man.
It isn't my fault, but I'm going to make it right.
|
I slide the key card in the key read and wait for the locks to unlock the door. *click* I push the heavy steel door forward. "I swear that door gets heavier every time," I mutter to myself. I wait in the decontamination chamber to clear me. I get cleared and start to walk to my station. On the way there I pass other stations looking at different colonies. There's Connor looking at Magnum Rubrum, Francis still looking at the common flu, and Mike sleeping at his desk after pulling an all nighter. Again. I get to my station and power it on. "Good morning Will," said Stanley, my AI assistant. "Good morning Stanley. Any developments on the colony?" I ask. "Nothing has changed since 8:30:03PM." Stanley reports. I walk over to the microscope and look down at the colony. The same black dots I've seen for the last 4 months. I zoom around the slide to see everything. As I do so I see some of the bacteria start to move. Intrigued I zoom in on one that looks like its convulsing. It starts to change shape into what looks like the letter H. I look around and some of the other ones do the same movement and start to look like letters. "Stanley are you recording this?" I ask. I hear a beep as he starts to record. "Sir should we inform someone about this?" Stanley questioned. "No not yet lets see what happens," I say focusing on the colony. I zoom out to see more of the colony. Some of the bacteria starts to move to form what looks like the word Hello. Then Will. My heart skipped a beat when I read that. *How does the bacteria know how to form words and better yet know my name?* I think to myself. I look back at the microscope to see the words 'You're safe'. "Stanley call Sarah, David and Morgan right now," I say with a hint of fear in my voice. "Right way sir," replied Stanley. I look around to see Connor, Francis, and Mike standing together with their backs to me. "Hey guys come look at this," I yell at them. They don't move. I stand up and walk over to them. I pull on Mike's should to turn him around. I jumped back when I saw his face. All his veins were black and his eyes were pure red. I look over at Connor and Francis and they both look the same. "Umm sir you might want to see this," I hear Stanley say. I slowly walk back to my station while watching those three guys. "What's wrong Stanley?" I ask. "The colony has another message for you." I slowly turn toward the microscope. *Oh boy* I think. I look down the lens to see the words. 'Don't be scared'. "Oh hell no. Stanley its time to go," I say as I jumped back from the microscope. I grab my key card and start to run towards the door. Stanley launches his probe to follow me. I get to the door and fumble with my key card to get it in the reader. "Where are you going Will?" I hear a voice behind me say. I stop instantly and slowly turn around to see my three friends. "We can't let you leave Will," said Francis. "Stanley where was this colony brought in from?" I ask nervously. "Specimen 32a was brought in from ruins near Olympus Mons, Mars on Tuesday March 2^nd 2140," replies Stanley. "Inform the company that all other Specimens from that area should be destroyed immediately, along with this facility, " I say slowly walking backwards. I slide the key card through the reader and quickly open the door. I shove Stanley into the decontamination chamber with my key card. "Go Stanley!!" I yell as I feel hands start to pull me back. The last thing I see is Connor, Francis, and Mike standing over me smiling.
| 2017-01-01T15:04:26 | 2017-01-01T14:16:54 | 83 | 14 |
[WP] Everyone has a secret power, though they are of varying degrees of usefulness. You have only used yours once, and swore never to use it again. Today, however, you were kidnapped and imprisoned. Now, you have no choice. You must summon him. The Kool Aid Man.
|
I was tied to a chair in a large room, with the lightbulb hanging over my head providing the only warmth and light in the room.
I was sweaty, my arms hurt, the rope cut into them. Then, I heard footsteps. The click-clacking of oxford shoes echoed in the room.
Two men, dressed in charcoal black suits, appeared. One of them had a crew-cut and wore bifocals. The other had a shaved head and wore sunglasses.
"Mr Mortimer," said the man wearing the bifocals. "How are you doing?"
I tried to say something, but my lips didn't move. My mouth was taped. The man wearing the sunglasses ripped the tape from my mouth. Pain stung my lips.
"Who are you? Why am I here?"
"My, my you don't even know that," the man wearing the bifocals said. "Such a shame." He took his glasses off and started cleaning them with a white handkerchief. "You can call me Stone, and this here is Wood."
Wood loosened his tie and lifted his chin as a greeting.
"Now as for the question, why, we figured you might be smart enough to know that on your own," Stone said while putting his glasses on.
"You don't have any powers, do you, lad?" Wood said. "Anyhow, we're here to find out. So, make it easy for us. Do you have any?"
"What if I do?"
"Do you? If you do, you'll find out soon enough."
"Not very hard to guess. Not even for a person such as yourself," Stone said.
"Why do you care? What's it to you if I do or don't have any?"
Wood stepped in and landed a right hook on my jaw. "Who said you get to ask questions, lad. Don't push your luck."
"Calm down, Stone. Mr Mortimer has a legitimate concern. But I'm afraid we won't be able to let you leave this place alive if we answered that."
I spat blood and sealed my lips shut.
"I guess you don't mind dying," Stone said and laughed. "So listen, Mr Mortimer. You were brought here because our agency that has been spying on you for quite a long time wants to research you. Our cameras have never seen you use any powers. And we want to confirm that information. So, do you or do you not have powers?"
"What if I do?"
Stone touched my swollen jaw and said, "Not very bright, are you? No questions, just answers."
I shifted in the chair. The ropes cut into my arms.
"I do."
"Are you telling the truth, Mr Mortimer?"
"Am I?"
Wood grabbed me by the hair and turned my head towards the lightbulb. The ember glow blinded me. "Don't get smart, lad. Just answer the damn questions."
He released my hair. My head lolled. I had to do it now. I never liked doing it. My parents had seen my power early, and they disapproved of it. I hadn't used it since I was four. Most kids would start developing their powers at that age. But now, I had to do it. Even if my dear mother and my dear father turned in their graves as I did so.
I licked my upper lip. I licked my lower lip, then, I chanted, "Make it sweet, make it fast, Kool-aid man aid me for I'm aghast."
Strong winds started blowing in the room. Behind Stone and Wood, the cylindrical figure of the Kool-aid man appeared. He gave me a thumbs-up, and with the giant straw in his head, he sucked Wood and Stone in before they could even see him.
Kool-aid man walked over to me. "Long time, no see, kid. How're you doing?" Then he saw the ropes that bound me to the chair and said, "Stupid question. You aren't doing any good. Let me make you feel better."
He unfastened the ropes, and I thanked him for it.
"No, I thank you, kid. Out after such a long time and you gave me such a scrumptious meal," he said, patting his cylindrical belly.
"How do I get out of here?" I said.
The Kool-aid man took my hand and guided me in the dark to what felt like a wall of the room. I then heard a sizzling sound, and light entered the room. There was a hole in the wall, and some frothy liquid dripped from the edges of it.
I walked through the hole and found myself in a lot that was empty, except for the building I had just escaped from. The Kool-aid man then patted the top of his disclike head.
"Get in, kid. Let's get outta here."
With me sitting on his head, the Kool-aid man ran like the wind, carrying me to the edge of the town. There, he bid me farewell and disappeared with a poof.
|
I woke up tied to a chair in the middle of a room. The walls were yellow. It was day light from the one window in front of me. I didn’t know how I got kidnapped. My head was still spinning. I said, “Where am I?” A male voice behind me answered, “Shut up!” I was a little shocked that someone was behind me. I just remembered my power, but I swore not to use it ever again and started to panic. I was whispering, “No, no, no, no, no...” The man said, “What are you trying to do, Whispering there,” as he took a few steps towards me. He walked to my right next to the wall pointing a gun at me and said, “Tell me.” I said, “I can’t....” he said, “Oh yeah, if you don’t, in 5 seconds, you’re going to get a bullet to your head.” He smirked and said five. I looked at him and said in a low voice, “Oh yeah...” The wall behind the man exploded which caused the man to fly across the room. Everything seemed like it was in slow motion. The pieces of the wall flying everywhere. The man’s body slowly hitting the ground. The reflection of a shiny large punch bowl slowly entering the room through the wall spilling red fruit punch everywhere. I knew because of the smell. The Kool Aid man was here. He said, “Oh yeah!”
| 2020-12-01T08:52:05 | 2020-12-01T08:11:46 | 143 | 27 |
[WP] A man, stricken with anger and sadness, sacrifices himself to Satan in a ritual to curse his cheating wife. The man awakens as the newly born baby of his wive’s infidelity. Despite being a baby, he retains all the memories of his previous life and from that moment plans his revenge.
[removed]
|
“Mommy, would you be sad if I ran away?”
“Of course. Mommy would be so sad, she might cry and cry until there were no more tears left.”
They sat on the swing, rocking in the fading sunlight, staring out at the death of another good day.
“And then what would happen?”
“What do you mean?” the mother asked, softly kissing her son’s forehead.
“When there were no more tears left?”
“I don’t know.”
The boy was silent for another second. Then, he turned to look at her, his soft brown eyes matching hers so deeply her heart stopped. It was like looking at herself, only in real life, not in a mirror or a photo.
“Would you hate me if I ran away?”
“Hate you? Never.”
“Would you hate me if I tried making your cookies one day when you're at work and burned down the house?”
“Maybe I’d be angry for a little bit. But I can’t stay mad at you.”
“Would you hate me if…I painted my room all green without asking you?”
“Honey, I could never hate you. No matter what. You’re my angel.”
The boy smiled, and hugged his mother. Hearing those words, it was simply perfect.
\-
They lay together in the hammock. The sun had long since faded, but the sky was still dark orange, like the phoenix’s final cry.
They had saved for so long to take this trip. They had spent so much on the wedding, and besides, they didn’t need to go to the Bahamas or Bali to show they loved each other. Instead, they had worked on it, keeping the picture of this exact spot, on the beach on the Gulf Coast of Florida, the little clearing in the palm trees, on their fridge. And here they were, and it was simply perfect. Staring out at the ocean, they could imagine themselves on any ocean, on any island in the world. But they didn't.
“Would you hate me if I said I had to go to the bathroom right now?” she asked.
“I was just thinking the same thing.”
“Well, I do. But I don’t want to move,” she said.
“Me neither. Maybe I’d hate you a little, just for ruining the moment.”
She laughed, and kissed the top of his forehead softly.
“Could you ever hate me?” she asked, her voice barely a whisper.
“No. I don’t think I could even if I tried.”
“Even if…I withdrew all the money in our account and vanished?”
“I’d hunt for you, for the rest of my days. But not out of hate.”
“Even if…I sold Polly?” Polly was their new three-legged Lab, probably worried and lonely at the dog sitter’s right now.
“I’d cry, and then demand answers.”
“Even if…” she couldn’t think of anything else, with the truth blotting everything else out in her mind.
“I could never hate you. I’m lost, I’m yours no matter what you do. I’m…bound to you.”
“You sound like Kanye,” she said. “And now I really have to pee.”
She got up, and turned to go back to the villa. She hadn’t been able to do it. Hadn’t been able to tell the truth, about the child inside of her…
\-
“That’s not funny,” the boy said quietly, sitting on the tree stump opposite his master.
Satan smiled, in his mother’s form, and then turned back to his natural form.
“How goes your plan, apprentice?”
“I don’t know if I can do it. I know when I pledged myself to you, I swore that she was evil, heartless, cruel. But now…I think she’s just human. She just made a mistake.”
“To play with your heart like that? To deceive you, while she laughed at you behind your back, planning her escape with your best friend?”
“You don’t need to remind me,” the boy said, an edge to his voice. Satan smiled, knowing he still had him.
The boy looked at the fire burning in front of them, at the images of violence and pain, and felt the heat rise within him, the anger and rage and the joy of a sneer…
Then he looked away.
“I just don’t know if this is right. Sometimes, she smiles at me, the way she used to when I was…not like this, and I wonder if the punishment is too harsh for the crime.”
“You chose this path, my boy. In the moment you made your deal with me, I had never seen such a fire burn within a human. That fire bound you to your choice. Like it or not, you must fulfill your promise to me.”
The boy looked at the fire again. “I know.”
(continued below)
|
>Not a professional writer and my thought's aren't well put together by any means but I thought I would give a try with one of the stranger fan theories out there.
I'm angry, angrier than a hornet that woke up on the wrong side of the bed. My neighbor and lifelong friend had relations with ma wife. I tried to partake of the marijuana but that only made me paranoid. Not even grillin' a nice steak, medium-rare, could take my mind off of the issue at hand. I tried to get back at her by becoming a pimp myself but that just didn't suit my taste, although the clothes were nice.
I turned to God but I didn't hear a damn thing, my dad's seen more than his fair share of hardships, even had his legs blown off but he told me to suck it up and move on. I tell ya, it's enough to make a man to start runnin' around spoutin' gibberish in the streets and that's what landed me here. I felt my heart beat it's last and then, I was warm and sticky. The first face I saw was... Dale? Oh God, what have I done?
| 2019-09-11T21:29:55 | 2019-09-11T21:17:16 | 1,643 | 29 |
[WP] The FBI released information on how many times each citizen has had their memories erased. Most people say zero. A few people say 1 or 2. Your name, however, says 26.
|
It had been huge news. Mind wiping? People were appalled.
“Hey Jess!”
She turned her head away from the news, the heated discussion taking place playing in the background now. Her co-worker in the small supermarket made his way to her, waving the phone in his hand. It was a slow evening and Jess couldn’t wait to get home.
“What is it Fin? Did you waste another hour on the job scrolling through memes?”
He shook his head and slammed his hands on the counter, his eyes filled with excitement. “Nono, I mean, yes, but no! Look at this! They released the amount of numbers you were mindwiped!”
Jess shrugged and rolled with her eyes. “I know. Everybody knows. That is why there are still so many discussions” and pointed at the TV.
“Did you ever look yourself up?”
“Why should I? Most people have an astonishing zero. One or two if you are a rare case”
Fin groaned. “I can’t believe you. Be glad I am such a good meddling friend and looked you up. Look!”, he pushed the phone in her face and she took one step back to not get the screen slapped in her face.
“Whoah dude, chill”
It took her a minute to realize what she was reading.
Jessica Jackson. 26 times.
“What the….”
“Exactly!”
“This has to be a mistake”
“26 times? What are you doing in your life and why am I not invited? Look I have glorious zero wipes!”, Fin asked and laughed. “I mean we both know what a magnet for trouble you are, but this hilarious”
He wasn’t exactly wrong. If there was some kind of incident, no matter if it was a small robbery, a bank getting robbed, soap spilled in the aisle or just her mindlessly looking at someone who would glare at her back without her noticing – you nearly always could find her in the middle of it. At school this had been a real hazard.
No, she had no idea of them making a stinkbomb, she merely had been opening the door to the closet because she was asked to bring a bucket. No, she did not have anything to do with the answer sheet getting out, Jess had only decided to take a shortcut and stumbled upon them. No, she did not engage in underage drinking, all she had wanted had been a glass of water.
“Oh hey, we still have a delivery to make. Your turn”
Jess glanced at the clock and the counter next to it. Damn it. He was right. After she loaded the package in the small car, she waved goodbye to Fin.
“Don’t get abducted by aliens!”
“Just because mindwiping is real doesn’t mean everything else is as well!”
“Your track record says something different! Maybe you already were and don’t remember”
With a scoff Jess got in her car and drove off. She should be there in about twenty minutes, if nothing went wrong. 18 minutes later she pulled up in front of a old building complex. Jess needed Apartment 402 in complex C. Shouldn’t be hard to find. After ten minutes she knocked at a door. Some strange noise came from inside and she furrowed her brows, wondering if she should just leave the package. Instead she mentally shrugged and tried knocking again, when the door opened and a head popped out of the small gap between door and doorframe.
A woman, around her thirties with straight black hair and a strained smile had opened the door. When she saw Jess standing there with her hand held up, ready to knock again her expression immediately soured and she threw the door wide open, allowing Jess to see inside the small one room apartment.
“Oh not you again. Can’t I just once work in this city without running into you? This has to be some kind of curse”
For starters, Jess was sure to have this woman never seen before. Second, she was much more interested in the man cuffed to a chair, a gun laying at his feet and seemingly knocked out, to even consider looking at the woman more closely.
“Why are you here this time? He also a friend of yours? Or are you supposed to pick him up? Hm? Can’t believe this is happening again”, she asked, passive aggressively, until she noticed the package in her hands and sighed.
“Delivery this time. Horay”, without bothering about the frozen Jess she took the package out of her hands. What was going on here? Was the man….alright? Was this some kind of danger she should run away from?
“And it isn’t even for him!”, the woman clicked with her tongue in annoyance and shoved the package back to her. “Block C is the next one. This is B”
With that she turned around and faced the man again, about to close the door as if nothing had happened. Jess was to shocked to move, as the woman suddenly turned around as if she had forgotten something, a phone suddenly appearing in her hand.
“Smile for me, you annoying little idiot”
Jess was on her way back, having delivered the package and also starting to feel a small headache. Did she drink enough today? Fin greeted her with an absent wave, his eyes fixed on his phone and Jess continued her job as usual. Shortly before they would close the shop for the day, the doorbell chimed and a woman in her thirties, with straight black hair and a strained smile entered the store. Jess frowned. Did she know her from somewhere? She shook her head mentllay and greeted her with a polite smile.
No.
She had seen this woman never in her life before.
|
I must have zoned out for a minute, because I’m halfway through a slice of pizza I don’t remember starting. I’m sitting in a lime plastic chair across the table from no one and nothing but a few crumbs. In fact, the whole patio is empty. I’m starting to get a familiar sort of fuzzy feeling in my lower brain. Propped up to my left is a laminated menu: “Pizza Guido, Bamako.”
Bamako... Mali?
A sudden thrill runs through me, but I won’t celebrate until I know for sure. Here’s my phone, browser already on the FBI’s database of memory wipes. Pull down to refresh.
Loading. Loading.
*Find in Page*
My thumb trembles as I key in L-O-U-G-H-T-Y
The browser skips to Loughty, Allen (still at 0, come on and live a little, Dad), and I scroll to *Ryan*.
26.
There it is. I’ve done it. Wow.
I set my phone down and take another bite of pizza. I’m going to savor my triumph privately for the rest of the—
Who am I kidding.
I screenshot my name and number, draw a big unnecessary red circle around it, and post it on the forum. The replies start rolling in immediately.
*The man!*
*Absolute legend!*
*Dude how’s Mali?*
*Zantegeba is real??*
*Shit, I’m still looking for the Jersey Devil, can anyone send me some tips?*
I lean back. It feels... I’m not sure. It’s taken me eight years to complete the cryptid alphabet and who knows how much money. And I won’t ever remember seeing a single one.
But I’ll always have this memory: pizza in Bamako, morning—afternoon?—sun on my face, the number 26 next to my name.
I pick up my napkin to dab grease off my chin; there’s writing on it.
*Congratulations, Ryan*
| 2020-07-28T14:49:24 | 2020-07-28T13:53:19 | 75 | 55 |
[WP] You are a nice person, but your superpower is that you instinctively know exactly what to say to someone to crush them. You're very effective in throwing supervillains off their game, but your fellow heroes always feel really uncomfortable watching you work.
|
"Hey," said Excellar, or Antony when he wasn't wearing the suit.
I looked up from my work to see him standing in the doorway with a dark look on his face. "Hey, Tony. What's up?" I looked him over and knew, as always, thirteen things I could say that would make him start weeping like the child that, at our hearts, we all are. However, I was surprised when I noticed a fourteenth. I almost said it as I realised it, but managed to turn it into a cough.
He all but glared at me. The fourteenth thing hung in the space between us, his impotent rage at what our relationship had become. He hated me for having power over him. He hated himself for hating me. He hated that he needed me. He hated that, despite what my ability let me do to people, I was essentially, and by his own standards, a better person than him. "We need you."
I took a deep breath and stood up. "Who is it this time?"
"Thanator," he said, no longer willing to meet my steady gaze, "I'll be waiting with Aegith in the 'thopter." He turned and walked away.
I sighed. I knew thirteen, no fourteen, ways to break the man, but I had no idea what to say to get him to forgive me for my existence. I went to the rack on the wall and put on my 'super suit,' a set of light, almost decorative armor, and a full head mask, to protect me from the mundane threat of being revealed as the man behind the mask of The Shadow. Before you comment, I didn't pick the name. It was one the newspapers had come up with after I had been seen at a previous battle.
I climbed into the Stryx's ornithopter and strapped myself in in silence. Aegith and Excellor didn't even look at me. We flew in silence, only the sound of the engines until we got closer to the battle site. It was visible as a tower of smoke well before we grew close.
An alarm sounded. Antony hit a button. "Mchana, could you...?" Aegith put a hand onto the panel next to her and a blue glow flowed out from her hand. It swept smoothly across the 'thopter and a moment later there was the muffled sound of two explosions hitting the outside of the barrier.
It was exactly the sort of moment where, if I weren't there, they'd have made one of their witty one-liners. Instead, there was only a heavy silence. I looked once at each of them and then closed my eyes to try and psych myself up for what was to come. I could push it away for a while but when we got there, I'd have to do something I hated.
We landed and stepped outside. Excellar led us down the ramp and over blasted ground to where Thanator stood. He was so absorbed in his gloating that he didn't even notice us until we were practically in spitting distance. When he did, he turned around with a smile, anticipating new victims, but the smile faded as he saw me. I sagged a little inside. *All smiles die that look upon me.*
He started backpedalling. "No, no, no, no, no. Shut him up!" screamed Thanator, "Pins, don't let him talk to me."
Pins, a jester in motley who seemed to idolize Thanator for some reason, pranced forward and swung a club at my head. Aegith's hand on my back turned cold and my world went quiet and blue as her shield covered me, protecting me from the attack, and then returned to normal so I could speak. It was a dangerous game we played but I could not speak from within the shield.
"Butterscotch," I said, and Pins stopped in mid-giggle. He stared at me for an eternal moment and I saw something inside him break, even more than it already had been. His eyes stared into me and I felt his anguish, a silent scream wondering why I could be so cruel. He crumpled into the dust. I made it one step before his muffled sob broke my will to fight. They weren't evil, just a bit broken, and I was only breaking them more.
"Brakash! Petimor! Somebody..." said Thanator. He looked around and then picked up the comatose body of Nightingale, Melody to those who knew her, and held her out like a shield.
I looked at her and knew almost 300 things I could say to destroy her if she had been awake. Seeing her treated so cruelly almost broke me instead. She was so beautiful and broken. Behind her head I saw the glow of one of his death beams charging.
"Please," I said, "Don't hurt her."
Thanator paused and then smiled. "You leave, and I won't."
My ability changed register and I frowned. He would. He was too broken to let her live. "I leave, and I know you will."
He took another step back as though I had hit him physically. It was a light blow compared to what I could do. "Shut up! Stay out of my head, freak." The old insult stung against old scars.
"It won't help," I said, sending him back another step, "Killing her won't help. Killing me won't help. You could kill every living creature on this planet and it won't make the pain go away." His face contorted. I looked into his eyes and felt his pain, the stranglehold his past held on him.
"There's only one way to make the pain go away."
His face twisted even further.
"And there's only one person who can do it."
He shook. "Please, no."
"You know it's true," I said, stepping forward. I went to him, passing Melody, trying not to think of what he might do to her, and held my arms out. He didn't resist. I hugged him.
After a long silence, he dropped Melody to the ground, turning the now fully charged death beam, ever so slowly. It moved downward, toward me, and then upward toward the side of his own head. "Thank you." He fired.
Edit: mistyped spellings
|
Infection laughed manically as the bridge slowly rotted away "NEXT IT WILL BE THE CITY!" he screamed, His short period of celebration was cut short when a bored voice said "Yup. Yeah. Of course, standard supervillain, go for the freaking terror factor" Infection snapped around to face his challenger, a regular looking man sipping on a Quicktrip slushy dressed In a hoodie with an eye graphic, jeans, and a pair of old Adidas shoes "And you are?"
"You can call me Robert, Or if you wanna get technical The Looker"
"Ah". Said Infection, This man looked fairly normal. with Brown hair that was slightly unkept, and average hight, the thing that was strange about him though, were his eyes. They were a steel grey and seemed to have a strange quality to them that made Infection feel like his very soul was being searched, Behind him a few more well known heroes assembled "Well?" Said Infection "Attack me already!"
"You sure about that chief?" said Robert in his monotone voice,
"YES"
"Aight then, Lets do this" Robert stared right at Infections face and said "No matter how much you try, no matter how much effort you put into your concoctions, poisons, and whatever. You're still just a common criminal"
"What? was that supposed to be hurtful?" Laughed infection
"Oh. Must not have probed far enough, huh. Lets try this again". Robert once again looked at Infection and said "You killed him"
"what." said Infection in a quiet voice "did you just say?"
"You're dad. Officer Daniel F. Longbow, You were the reason he died. You know that, I know that. And now everybody behind me knows that". Infection was silent "how did you kn-"
"You were directly connected to his death through joining up with those drug dealers right? They offered you quite a bit to come up with a new type of illegal drug and you came through, first shipment your dad happened to intercept and he was shot several times and died, if you hadn't of agreed to that deal he may still be alive"
Infection sniffed then sat on the ground, staring at the pavement in a hunched over position, "Okay, I think y'all can take him, He probably shouldn't give you any more trouble". Robert walked over to infection crouched down and said "Sorry man, I didn't mean to crush you that hard". Infection either didn't hear him or simply ignored him, Soon a squadron of police arrived, relieved Infection of his gear. And brought him to jail. "Dang," said a hero called Whirlwind "You really uh. crushed him"
"Sadly yeah, I mean. I wanted to crush him but not like that badly. Nothing can fix that now I guess" Robert shrugged "Oh well, He'll recover... I think?"
&#x200B;
This is slightly confusing reading back... Oof.
| 2020-02-25T16:08:43 | 2020-02-25T15:50:31 | 78 | 27 |
[WP] We “knew” humans were weak as they avoided every war with diplomacy. We never imagined they’d be this ruthless & how seemingly overnight they went from peaceful beings to a state they call “TOTAL WAR”. War is in their blood & soul. They thrive on it, mostly when the odds are against them
|
The great Kreen empire had ruled for millennia, ever expanding with trillions of souls on thousands of worlds all toiling away for the benefit of the Dai'Kreen, the God Kings who ruled with an iron fist.
The Kreen first learned of the humans through rumors of encounters on the outer fringes of the empire. Stories of underwhelming ships approaching Kreen vessels, attempting to hail them with declarations of peace and desire for trade. The humans knew not of the ways of the Kreen, the Kreen have no need for trade, they take what they desire, nor do they care for peace, the only peace is subjugation under the Dai'Kreen.
Conflict began gradually, the negotiations of the humans, begging for peace, *groveling* for the mercy of the Dai'Kreen to "spare innocent lives" but the Kreen cared not for the wishes of lesser beings. The Dai'Kreen were destined to own the galaxy and any within it belonged to the empire, the Kreen would enlighten the humans of this truth.
The Dai'Kreen gave the humans one last warning.
"Hundreds of races have faced the might of the Kreen empire and all have fallen. Those who willingly embraced the empire were accepted with open arms. Prepare your world's for Kreen rule, yield to the empire and we will be lenient. Resist and face decimation."
The human's reply was slow coming, but brief.
"So be it."
The Dai'Kreen struck first. The skies of a dozen human worlds were shattered at once as rift gates opened high above them. Relativistic darts, rods of ultra high density material accelerated to near the speed of light, tore through the rifts and impacted the human worlds with phenomenal force.
Planets broke, billions died in an instant.
The Kreen expected humanity to fold in the face of such horror, but the Dai'Kreen did not know humans.
They did not know that every major scientific advancement in human history had been a a direct result of conflict.
They didn't know that humanity had unlocked the power of the atom all in an attempt to more efficiently kill their own kind.
The Kreen did not know that humanity had pushed itself to the brink of extinction on multiple occasions because of precisely how effecient they were at warfare.
The Dai'Kreen did not know they were not the first empire to make this grave mistake in judgement.
Billions of humans died in the initial salvo but the Kreen were unaware of the psychological effect that would have on humanity. The Kreen expected the humans to see the destruction caused and be awestruck by its majesty, paralyzed in the face of annihilation.
They were not aware of the single most unique trait of the humans. Tenacity.
When the humans broke the seals on the Armory Wolrds that housed their hidden armadas, hundreds of planet sized hangars released hundreds of thousands of warships all with the sole purpose of avenging the lives lost in the Kreen's techerous opening attack.
Human fleets pushed deep into the core of the Kreen empire, world after world systematically pacified or liberated by the sheer overwhelming capacity for violence the humans possessed. The humans pushed the Dai'Kreen back to their ancient seats of power, the Throne Worlds of their home system.
Here the remaining Dai'Kreen in a desperate attempt at reconciliation begged the humans for mercy.
"Surely there is a way that both our great races can thrive? None could withstand the might of our great empires, together the Kreen and humanity could rule the galaxy unapposed."
The encroaching human fleet did not initially respond, but they briefly held their fire. Seeing a potential the Dai'Kreen hailed them once more.
"We hoped reason would prevail, we know now what a grave mistake we made refusing your attempts at peace -"
The human's leader abruptly cut into the Dai'Kreen broadcast.
"No, I don't think you realize just how big a mistake you made, but you will. You fucked around, now find out."
Suddenly the Kreen sensors were blinded by thousands of simultaneous bursts of Gama radiation as the human ships tore open space time and jumped away from the Throne Worlds.
Moments later another far brighter flash of light engulfed the Throne Worlds. The super weapon deployed by the humans during the lull in fighting had accomplished its goal, the sun at the center of the Throne Worlds went nova incinerating the Dai'Kreen and any left loyal to their rule.
Humanity reshackled its weapons of war, returned to its ways of peace and continued to explore the cosmos under a white flag.
Not because they feared for their own survival, but for the survival of anyone *else*.
|
Most species we would call warlike never make it to the stars. Those with the need to destory, willingness to kill and die, it's not a viable life plan.
Humans we had encounterd at the edge of Solar System Gamma-Phi in the Virgo Cluster. They seemed so fearfull then, instantly scared of us and what we could do to their smaller vessel. How were we to know that man saw us as something like themselves?
Man avoids war because they are so good at it that emplying war against themselves would have resulted in total destruction, as it did with so many other destructive species. Our people think the same of course, but we never got good at it. We though we did, then we forced the humans hands, we asked too much, we attacked them thinking we were safe.
I write this missive in stone, knowing only a human will read it. Knowing that my people die, and all we had befriended will die too. Humans are monsters even to themselves, they are eager to obliterate, yet will try everything they can to avoid giving in to their temptation.
| 2022-08-05T19:16:19 | 2022-08-05T17:26:19 | 23 | 16 |
[WP] You die in a virtual reality pod, and now your consciousness is stuck in the game. The problem is that the game doesn't register you as playing anymore, and your consciousness bypassing all of the games core mechanics. They call you the "digital phantom."
bypasses*
|
It was 2am and my lieutenant was pulling me out the door before I became fully aware of what was going on. The emergency system had been activated, and red lights were flashing down every hallway in the 22-story building. As soon as we entered the main data bank, I pulled an engineer aside to brief me.
"What the hell is going on?" I asked, probably coming off a little more callous than I meant.
"We've discovered an anomaly, sir," he said. "It's ancient, buried in code back from the first generation of pods. We can't access it and we don't know why, but from the outside it looks like it could be a phantom cell."
"A what?" I asked, incredulous. I knew what phantom cells were, just like I knew what fairies were: they were a fantasy.
"A phantom cell, sir," the engineer continued. "We think we may have discovered the preserved consciousness of a person who died during the pilot round of VR pod entertainment."
It was ridiculous. These fabled preserved consciousnesses, or "digital phantoms" as they were colloquially known, were said to have been fairly rare, happening only once every few decades, largely by chance, had more recently been the subject of debunking by a series of digital historians. The historical community considered them to be nothing more than a modern version of the ancient ghost stories of our ancestors.
But the more I looked into the section of code in question (and I did scour it; I didn't just forget how to be a hacker when I got promoted, after all), the more I began to believe in the engineer's theory. And the more we poked and prodded at its defenses, the more we learned.
It didn't take long, a mere 3 hours, before another so-called "phantom cell" popped up in our radar system. This one was smaller, clearly younger and less fortified. We were already inside when we realized she was waiting for us.
Everything happened in a blur. Headsets frying, pods shutting down, wires shorting, smoke and soot everywhere. Only a few of us made it out, with nothing but a laptop, a holo-tablet, and a flash drive containing the ancient phantom cell.
"Colonel," Lieutenant Cade began as he sat down next to me at the dining room table in a Department of Digital Defense safe house, "we need to wake up the other phantom. I've been doing some research and I think I may know whose consciousness is in that code. Her name is Alexandra Davencourt, but her contemporaries seemed to refer to her as Sasha. She was born in 1998 and she died in one of the first prototype pods in 2024. And I think I may have found a way to infiltrate her code. We still can't break in, but we can seep through the cracks."
"So you're telling me you think this is a 3000 year old consciousness buried in ancient code, and you want to wake whatever poor soul is tucked away in there and force it to fight a malevolent virus that seems intent on frying everything it touches?"
"Well it doesn't sound as agreeable when you put it that way," he stuttered," but yes. I believe this is the only way we can protect everyone whose out there. So many of our loved ones decided to live on in the code. I don't know what I'd do if I couldn't email my dad anymore." Cade had a point. People had been downloading their consciousnesses at the end of their physical lives for generations, and literal billions were at risk if this viral phantom was left unchecked.
It had been three days and no one had any other ideas, so we did something I had long thought nothing more than a myth. We woke a ghost.
----------------------------------------------------------------------
The day the world ended began like any other. The sun was shining as it always did, my breakfast of eggs and bacon and a latte was perfect as always, and there was one fluffy cloud in the sky as I drove to work, like there was every single day.
Except that day, the cloud didn't look vaguely like a sheep. No, on the day the world ended, the cloud looked like letters arranged into words in the sky.
"Sasha, this isn't real," the cloud read. It followed me to work, and suddenly everything changed. The sky got dark, the building changed color, and my car disappeared into thin air. I ran into my office as Gail began to fall from the sky, but all the people I encountered had become terrifyingly deformed caricatures of themselves. I sat down at my desk, hoping it was all a mean joke, and I noticed I had an email.
"SASHA, THIS ISN'T REAL," read the subject line. I opened it.
"We know this is scary, but we need your help. Copy the attached file to your hard drive and open it. We will protect you, but you need to trust us."
I didn't know what else to do as the world literally crumbled around me, so I did what the email said. I doubled clicked on the file once it was installed, and everything around me disappeared. It felt like I was falling for what seemed like hours, and when I woke, I was looking through a window at a room unlike anything I'd seen before. There were two men dressed in military uniforms standing across from the window, staring at me.
"Alexandra Davencourt?" the older man asked.
"It's just Sasha," I snapped before I even thought about it.
"You were right," he whispered to the other man. "It is her." He turned back to me, and smiled. "We are speaking to you now through a computer. You see, you died in 2024 during an electrical outage at the New England Virtual Reality Lab. Your consciousness was downloaded into the digital mainframe and it has been preserved there for 3000 years. We're so sorry for pulling you out of your afterlife, but we need your help. Someone like you, someone old and buried down deep, is threatening the lives of billions of people, and you are the only one who can stop it. You see, you can do things we can't do, you can get into places we can't reach, and most importantly, you can't be hurt by the virus."
I was stunned. This was not really how I had expected this day to play out.
|
I watch as digital wind blows artificial leaves around an abandoned town square. It's peaceful and quiet in this section of the game world. But at the same time ghostly as the emptiness of the streets reminds me of how I came to be here in this place. As I rethink it over I would have to guess that I've been here around 15 years now, it's hard to tell the seasons when they are only different in differing zones. I suppose if I had been like the others I would have put this silly fantasy game down a long time ago maybe I would have gotten married and had kids but instead I'm still here, probably always will be. I think I must have died while I was plugged in, it's the only thing I could think of that would prevent me from logging out indefinitely. Who knows?
What I do know is that I have done everything you can possibly do in this game. I remember when the new expansions came out one by one I was excited to finally have something new to do and also excited by the surge of new players that would come with it. New people to interact with, to guide, to try and figure out what happened to me. Most thought I was just doing role play or at worst too weird to keep talking to. But I did make some friends. They were always amazed that I could do things that they couldn't and some even mistook me for a dev. After awhile I played along because it was easier. But those are now distant memories of what feels like ages ago. My guildhall has been empty of other players for a long time.
There is a movement in the street that pulls my attention back to the here and now but I see that it's only the npc clockmaker come to wind the big clock in tower at the center of the square as is usual for this time of day. You see there is something that has been bothering me for a long time now and that is that I have not seen another player for some time. As I have the entire world map explored and all the fast travel locations discovered you can imagine that I've done a fair bit of checking even going so far as to check other guildhalls for player activity.
I knew a day like this might come, in fact I saw it slowly progressing to this point as player base diminished and regular content became less and less. This game world has died. Sure the servers might still be up but how long will that last and by extension how long does that give me? Does it even matter? I've done everything I can possibly do in this world. Is there a place where digital beings go when they cease to exist?
(Oh god please forgive my awful writing, this is my first attempt ever at doing a WP and I'm doing it on my phone no less. I just had this idea about a dying/dead game world and felt I should try and share it)
| 2018-04-09T12:33:24 | 2018-04-09T12:23:21 | 19 | 11 |
[WP] You are a test subject for a time machine, and are sent 12 hours into the future. When the door opens, you find yourself in the testing room, where you see in horror the bodies of the technicians on the floor, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in large letters on the wall.
|
The machine was dark, and cramped, and loud. It screeched at me despite the multiple layers of ear protection I had, sounding like an alarm going off. Like something was going wrong. Like I would be stuck in the abyss between this time and the next, a space of no time at all, an eternity of this screeching sound again and again and again ...
It was hard to remain calm, even with all my training. After all, this was it, the big day. I wasn't in a simulator, able to tune out my thoughts and focus on my breathing. All those months of preparation, all boiling down to this miracle of science actually *working* with its first human subject.
I'd done a lot of crazy things in my time. But nothing so crazy as time travel.
Before my thoughts could spiral into more panic, the noise died down. My ears rang from the silence, and I dared not move for a few long moments.
Finally, I couldn't delay any longer. Either I was in the future, or I was not. Time to find out which it was.
The latches to open the machine were easy to find, even in the pitch black. These were all motions I had done a hundred times before. Unlock, unlock, unlock, then *push* with all my might ... The lid opened and light flooded in, almost blinding me.
Odd. They hadn't kept the lights dimmed, which was the plan. As I sat up, my hand strayed to my hip before I clenched it into a fist. I missed the weight of my gun there, but the scientists had been adamant about me bringing nothing but myself and my clothes.
My eyes were adjusting as I swung my feet out of the machine. There was dead quiet, still, and my senses went on even higher alert. This wasn't just odd now, this was dangerously wrong. I scanned the machine room, muscles tense. Nothing here but two security cameras and the clock on the wall.
The clock blinked. *18:01:12. 18:01:13.* So either someone had changed the clock as a joke, or it had actually worked.
I pushed away my shock and awe. All earlier traces of panic were gone, dissolved into professionalism. Why was no one using the intercom to congratulate me on the success of the mission and give me the keyword to take back?
I paced the small room once, twice. Something was wrong. I was just supposed to get here, check the time, wait to hear the keyword, then get back. I wasn't supposed to leave this room, to touch anything.
I stopped in front of the door that lead to the testing room, the room where all the scientists were supposed to wait with baited breath. There was no window in the door, so if I wanted to see more, I would have to open it. To touch the doorknob, move the door, change the future ... The future. So strange to call it that, when it just felt like my present.
"Please confirm if you can hear me," I called. The intercom did not crackle to life. The lights did not dim.
"Oh, to hell with it," I mumbled and opened the door.
Blood. It was splattered everywhere, across all the monitors and white walls and sterile scrubs of the technicians. That was Liam, his glasses askew and shattered, blood coating the front of his skirt as he stared sightlessly up through the broken glass. There was Mia, her hair a bloody mess, careful curls covering her pale face and purple lips. There was Dr. Mordas, slumped over his computer, hands still on the keys.
I had dealt with dead friends before -- too many -- and so I pushed my horror away. Time travel was beyond me, I didn't know anything about the shrieking machine that had brought me here, but violence? Corpses? Those I knew. Those I could deal with.
I looked over everyone, filing away the details in my head. Twenty-two dead. That was everyone on the team.
There had been a fight, towards the end. There were some streaks of blood on the floor, leading to bodies. People dragging themselves, so they hadn't been clean shots. Shots it had been; I could tell the work of a gun. A military grade gun, too. And from how perfectly massacred everyone was, this was not random.
I glanced up from the bodies, and that's when I saw it. **SORRY.** It was written on the wall in ... marker? Did I know that handwriting? I itched to have a picture of it, but I didn't have my phone or a camera with it. Just me, my eyes and my mind.
I looked over the room one last time, then turned back into the machine room, closing the door behind me. My hands were still, but there was blood on my shoes, on the cuffs of my pants.
The time machine stared at me. Twelve hours ago, the scientists would be waiting for me to come back. And ... this massacre. Could I tell them about it? Could I try to *stop* it? Was that the future?
Destiny and fate had been words that were tossed around every once in a while, almost carelessly. A bridge to cross when we got there, if we could even get to there. Now I was standing on that bridge. Me, just me.
What to do?
Well, I couldn't stay here.
I had to follow my mission. Get here, get out, come back. These ingrained lines propelled my feet, got me back into that too-small box with its too-loud shrieking just waiting to kick back on. I folded myself inside of it, locked all the latches back up, pressed the button to start the process back.
Cross that bridge when I got to it. If I could even get back to the past. If this was even the future.
What had I walked into?
***
Had to stop suddenly because I have a 9:45 meeting, but planning to continue after it's done! Hope you liked this.
|
The vibrations inside the box slowly subsided as the chronoton field collapsed. I had been staring at the unpainted plywood door of the capsule for exactly nineteen seconds in my time, feeling nothing more intense than that of holding an electric toothbrush. I unstrapped the entirely unnecessary harness holding me firmly inside the framework of aluminum struts and plywood, and reached for the handle of the door. As I opened it, light from the garage halogen bulbs flooded the capsule and I squinted for a second.
The garage was the still the jumble of workbenches and tool stations I had seen twenty five seconds ago, but everything was displaced. A bench had been overturned, spilling the neatly sorted boxes of screws over the polished concrete floor. A leg poked out from behind it, unmoving. There was a smear of red on the table saw, and a crumpled form beneath it. The whiteboard we had used to scrawl ideas and designs on was wiped clean, with the word "SORRY" scrawled in shaky looking letters across it. One of the laptops was playing a loop of audio at maximum volume, a flat synthetic voice saying "Run Chrissy. Get away. It is coming for you." over and over as I took in the scene.
I was frozen, picking out irrelevant things as adrenaline lit up my mind and made my muscles quiver with a desire to act. The "SORRY" had been written in orange sharpie, I thought to myself that Jamie would be annoyed about that. But that was him, covered in blood and unmoving by the table saw. The shop air compressor was on, and I could pick up the ticking noise I had tried to get rid of last week was back. I stood frozen for around ten seconds, but it felt like I was experiencing every moment of the twelve hours I must have skipped, paralysed and with crashing waves of panic drowning me.
I stepped fully out of the pod, grabbed at the nearest weapon-like item on the surface nearest to me. A chisel wouldn't be much use against the horrifying time demons I was imagining had descended on us, but my body rewarded me for finally moving with a sense of relief. The next step had me bolting for the door leading to James's house, and I shrieked like nothing human as I heard a choking, gurgling, cracking noise coming from behind the overturned table and the body of Yara I knew lay behind it.
It was laughter.
"Oh, FUCK you guys."
"Time prank!"
| 2018-08-01T06:22:36 | 2018-08-01T06:00:53 | 155 | 53 |
[WP] In a world of spoken spells, the most dangerous casters are the rappers.
|
The man in the pressed suit remained altogether unimpressed by the sergeant's words per minute. The magic range shimmered in the spectral aftermath of the sergeant's spellslinging, targets downfield burnt to a crisp, but the man continued down the line, shaking his head.
Captain Millen grew splotchy throughout his five o'clock shadow. Sergeant Willoughby was their most promising trooper, and Millen had hoped he might impress.
"I can see now why you have had such trouble quelling the Order," said the man in the pressed suit. He was an agent fresh from the Bureau. An older gentleman with a mustache that had gone out of style five presidents ago. Millen hadn't known exactly what to expect, but it damned sure wasn't this.
"Yes, sir," Millen said, though it pained him. Willoughby looked at him as though he'd been stung by a fireball.
"Reems," the man in the suit said. "Phone the Bureau and tell them I've had to do a *tad* more than consulting."
"Sir," stuttered his companion--a squirrelly fellow who looked more at home pushing pencils and counting paperclips. "You're under strict orders...after Los Angeles..."
"The *Bureau* wants the Order wiped clean from Chicago," the man snapped. "I aim to accomplish just that. That is, unless you are going to stop me?"
"Hold on just a minute--You were involved in the LA--?"
The man fixed Millen with a glare menacing enough to cut Millen off on its own accord.
"Doesn't matter. You give me an hour, and your underground Order will be spellslinging in hell."
Millen gulped. The Order had been more than just a pain in his side, sure, but if this mysterious man had been involved in the disintegration of Beverly Hills, would his help really be all that useful? Innocent people might die.
But innocent lives were already dying. The city was being torn apart. Hell, the Order had practically sectioned off the heart of downtown for their own accord. With no soul able to spellsling at a faster words per minute, how much longer could they reasonably hold out?
Willoughby was shaking his head, but Millen took a deep breath and said: "Load up the observation van."
Trump tower stood in the heart of the city, practically shedding spectral dust. Men patrolled the entryway, and on the rooftop Millen could see spellslingers practicing on a makeshift rap-battle arena.
"Bug me up," said the man in the pressed suit.
Captain Millen raised his eyebrows.
"First thing they check. Last infiltration attempt our man was strangled by his own wire-turned-anaconda."
The man in the pressed suit eyed him in obvious amusement. Reems, the squirrelly fellow, was busy untangling a mass of wire, fingers shaking. The man in the suit looked to Sergeant Willoughby, who was preoccupied with glaring at him from the dark corner of the van. "You fellas best pay attention. I want this to be a learning exercise."
He was at the entrance in a blink. The guards could hardly believe themselves. Millen watched with his heart beating in his ears as they gestured towards him to halt. The man just continued walking, unimpeded by their spells. A series of unintelligible incantations literally blew the standing Order guards to smithereens. Red clouds of dust hung in the air for a brief moment, as if puffs of cigarette smoke trailing off into the Windy City breeze.
"My god..." Millen whispered.
Now inside the tower, all they had to go on was the audio. The speakers crackled with sounds straight from hell. Willoughby and Millen grew paler and paler with every scream. Each was preceded by uttered spellslinging Millen had never heard of before--some untold experimental branch of the Bureau perhaps? The words were completely foreign, and spoken at a words per minute that should be completely impossible.
Reems was practically rocking in the corner of the van, muttering: "This wasn't supposed to happen, this wasn't supposed to happen ."
Millen and Willoughby watched in bewilderment as the man progressed up the tower. Floor by floor the lights blew out, followed by screams of untold agony, always proceeded by what sounded like a completely different language. At one point Willoughby withdrew a notebook and tried to write the words down, but by the tenth floor he threw his pen to the floor, deigning the exercise completely useless.
Then, silence. Millen and Willoughby went pale, looking towards Reems.
"What's going on?" asked Willoughby.
"Maybe they got him," said Millen, disappointed. "There must have been too many."
He nearly told Willoughby to get in the driver's seat before a counterattack could be launched, but suddenly the speakers crackled back to life.
"Who the fuck do you think you are?" Millen heard Orion, the Order leader gasp. Outside the window, the entirety of Trump tower groaned and shuddered.
Orion coughed through the speakers. "*What* the fuck are you?"
A brief moment of silence. Millen and Willoughby were practically pressing their ears to the speakers.
"I'm the Scat-Man," came the man's voice.
Orion let out a blood curdling scream, drowned out by the man in the pressed suit's incantation:
"Ska-badabadabadoo-belidabbelydabbladabbladabblabab-belibabbelibabbelibabbelabbelo-doobelidoo"
Trump Tower groaned violently once more, the men on the roof wobbling confusedly, their rap battle interupted, before finally the tower collapsed in on itself--and the Order along with it.
Millen and Willoughby stared, slackjawed, as the man in the pressed suit walked clear of the rubble, suit coated in blood and dust, smiling from ear to ear.
|
We are a minority, living in the lowest of Amalgaria. A long time ago, Old Trichainz taught me and two of my friends how to perform a basic spell, called The Orb of Rhyme&Rhythm. As it name betrays, it feeds out of rhythm and rhyme. The more sentences we string together with a rhyming end, the stronger it gets. Throughout our youth, we spread our knowledge, growing the amount of casters in our slum. We came up with rhymachines duels. One versus one, whoever created the fattest orb, won.
It ended up becoming a culture of sorts. As the years went by, the talent increased. In the last tournament, I lost against my friend Lil Wiz in the finals. He created an orb the size of a building, an unseen feat. I remember trembling as I heard him stringing word after word, rhyme after rhyme, watching the orb grow and grow, until it loomed over the entire crowd. What if he couldn't control it? What if that beast of a spell went loose? It would've reduced our slum to smithereens. Fortunately, he's a prodigy, but I will never understand why he tattooed his face.
A week ago, I summoned a meeting with the ten best casters--or rhymachines--of the slum. Old Trichainz had died. He'd went to the area of the rich, asking them to send us food, for the children here were starving. Emenar, the king, didn't even address him. He sent a representative instead, Notorous. We don't know what happened, but Old Trichainz appeared limping in the slum, with a sword rammed through his chest, bleeding to death, speaking his last rhyme.
"They are weak. They are greedy. They can't hold you back, radagast," he'd said. It made sense. They claimed knowledge was power, but their concept of knowledge was wrong. There is no use in knowing a wide sundry of spells, if you don't master any of them. Sure, Emenar has an incredible control over the majority of them. However, not even him can hold back a rhymachine. We are a one trick wonder, but we perform one hell of a trick.
Today, we are leaving our little compartment in this ruthless town. Today, we will rhyme our hearts out. Today, we march toward the king's castle in the name of Old Trichainz.
And we won't hold back, radagast.
--------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall for more stories :)
| 2018-04-10T06:45:17 | 2018-04-10T06:45:11 | 63 | 27 |
[Wp] Write a story that will make me question my morality.
Write a story that is so shocking it will make me question my morality.
Edit: Wow.
|
“Five minutes to choose, Charlie. Make it a good one,” the voice cackled.
The seconds ticked mercilessly downwards. His wrists burned against the restraints as his hands strained to stay away from the two glowing red buttons that stared at him from beneath the clock. To his right was his daughter, Anna, gagged and bound to the chair. She had stopped struggling, stopped screaming through the gag. She just looked at him, eyes red from crying, pleading. Sturdy electrical wires connected the table in front of him to her chair.
Opposite him was a man, unshaven, unwashed, desperate. Charles could almost have been looking in a mirror, except the man didn’t have the buttons in front of him. They were his alone.
To his left was the other girl, the other man’s daughter, in another chair. She was the only one not looking at him; she was slumped against her bonds, head down, resigned, as if she knew how this was going to end. Another set of wires led to her chair.
He looked away, back down to the relentless clock and the absurdly small buttons. Each worth a life.
“Don’t do it. Don’t give him what he wants,” the man said, pulling against the straps that held him as if reaching Charles with his body would help him reach him with his words.
“Inaction is a choice Charlie,” said the voice. “A choice that kills them both. You won’t be that silly will you?”
“He won’t do it. He’s bluffing…”
Charles almost laughed at that. Almost. The other man fell silent. Anna was still looking at him.
“Her name is Rachel. She’s fifteen. She likes singing, she’s always singing, she has such a beautiful voice, and she likes science and maths and-”
“Anna doesn’t like maths,” Charles muttered, failing not to listen, failing not to think.
The man was crying now.
“Please, she’s my daughter, I love her, you can’t, please, you can’t.”
“What else can I do? What choice do I have?” Charles snapped, anger at this whole, fucked up, twisted situation suddenly finding its voice.
“She,” he gestured to his right as much as his restraints allowed, “is my daughter. I have a duty to her. I have a responsibility to protect her.”
“I have a responsibility to protect her,” he repeated quietly, as if the mantra could ward off the guilt.
He kept his gaze fixed downwards, avoiding all the eyes.
“What about my daughter? Who is going to protect her?” the man asked desperately, then choked out, “I can’t.”
“I… I have to think of my daughter first, that’s a parent’s job.”
Why was he saying this? Did he expect forgiveness?
“No, you know that’s not right, you know that’s not fair.”
Charles’ eyes betrayed him. Anna was crying again, tears rolling down her face and dripping onto the floor. He wanted to reach out and brush them away, to hold her and tell her everything would be alright.
“What else can I do?” he muttered.
“You could flip a coin,” the voice interjected, its brightness sending shivers down Charles’ spine.
“Well you can’t,” it laughed, “But I could. And I pwomise I’ll be fair.”
“That’s fair, that’s fair,” said the other man, grasping their tormentor’s suggestion like a drowning man grabbing a jackal’s proffered paw.
“No, you can’t really think… I’m not going to gamble my daughter’s life on the flip of a coin.”
But as he said it he couldn’t help but look at the other girl. Rachel had looked up, looking at him now with the faintest expression of hope.
That wasn’t fair. That wasn’t fair at all.
“Let’s see, shall we say heads Anna lives, tails Rachel lives,” the voice continued, as horrifyingly upbeat as ever.
The man looked hopeful too now. How could he possibly think this could end well for him?
“Ooh, so sorry Charlie. It’s tails.”
Of course it was tails.
He looked at Anna again. She looked shocked, and so very scared.
He looked at Rachel, the other girl. She met his gaze and averted her eyes, trying to hide her fear. She knew.
He looked at the man opposite him. He was looking at Charles more intently than ever.
“Come on, do what’s right.”
Charles slowly shook his head.
“That’s not right! That’s not fair,” the other man screamed, his voice full of anguish and despair.
Charles looked down. The clock had almost reached zero. His left hand found the button.
“I know,” he said, and pushed.
|
He had heard people say that in the end, life prevails. It had been true for life on Earth. It had prevailed despite ice ages, meteors and volcanic eruptions. But he didn't think he would.
He was having lunch with her when the storm hit. The wind was so strong that it blew the fish out of their hands. Water thrashed them even harder. In a matter of minutes, they were in the water, with no boat in sight.
The waves kept going strong. They took them to a small piece of barren land. For some time, it gave them hope.
Days had passed but no one came. Neither human nor fish. He began to think of crueler ways to die. Some came to mind but he could feel only one.
Finally, on the brink of death, he exclaimed, "I saw a fish!" She shot him a look of disbelief. "Go in and look!" She jumped up groggily and lurched over to the water.
She didn't come out. He made sure by holding her in for a while. His mind began to ask questions but hunger was dominating. It was the last lunch they would have together.
In the end, life prevails, he thought.
| 2014-07-07T09:20:49 | 2014-07-07T08:25:06 | 74 | 13 |
[WP] When you die, your ghost remains in the world until the last person who remembers you also dies. 15,000 years after your death, you are still here.
|
15,000 years. 15,000 mid-numbing years of waiting. It was exciting to Adam at first at first, the knowledge that life didn't just end with death, that he got to stick around and observe humanity. It suited him well, he'd always been a quiet fellow, and since he was just a ghost, no one gave him a hard time for being a wallflower anymore. He could just sit and people-watch and enjoy himself, and that's exactly what he did for a while.
The first 10 years were the best of his life or afterlife. No responsibilities, no bills, no obligations, no attachments, just traveling around the world and observing to his heart's content. All of his hobbies, bird-watching, fine art, reading rare books, he now actually had time to do. He saw sunrise on the rim of the Grand Canyon more times than he could count. He took afternoon siestas atop the Eiffel Tower whenever he wanted. It was exhilarating and it was perfect.
The next 90 years calmed down a bit, but were still wonderful. He got into a nice routine, checking in on people he knew, seeing and learning new things. It was all he ever wanted in life, just without the living part. He saw people come and go, first from life to ghosts like him, and then some time later from ghost to the great beyond. He felt pity for those poor souls who just got a few years of afterlife and then were forgotten.
The next 900 years were solid. 900 years of observing human progress, and he got to see all of it. At some point he started to wonder who exactly was still remembering him, but he wasn't exactly complaining. He saw new forms of art, music, writing. He accompanied the third Martian expedition and got to see a whole new planet! By the end of the millennium Adam reckoned he'd seen more of what humanity had accomplished than just about anyone. He felt like a god; people came and went, but Adam just was.
With each passing millennium things got a bit duller. The sun didn't shine quite the way it used to, it seemed. Humanity found new and terrible ways to kill each other. By his fifth millennium he was bored. By his tenth millennium he was depressed. By his fifteenth millennium, he was just exhausted. He was thankful for his extended time, but he just wanted to be finished, and try as he might, had no idea who still remembered him.
And then it happened: the Sun went supernova and extinguished all life on Earth. The good people of Mars died a few days later. With just almost all of humanity dying, most every ghost passed on as well. It was just Adam and a thousand other ghosts left, who realized that the last remaining crew of Humans were the crew of 6 who had left for Europa.
After realizing what happened, the ghosts formed an astral caravan and travelled to Europa. They all desperately wanted to keep the crew alive and Humanity with it, and Adam tagged along with them. He didn't say anything, but he knew if they died his ennui would finally be over. They got to Europa, and found the 6 of them, nearly freezing to death and on their last fuel cell. Then 2 of them died, and a cadre of ghosts vanished. Then another the next week, and another the week after, and the last vestiges of humanity were 2 humans, Adam, and a few hundred ghosts.
Those last two explorers gave each other a dejected look, and resignedly opened the cyanide capsule in their craft. There was a wail of grief among ghost kind, but there was nothing to be done. As they took the pill, Adam was at peace, finally ready to enter the Great Beyond. He closed his eyes and-
Nothing. The last two died, turned into ghosts, and then they and all other ghosts disappeared. It was just Adam stuck on a godforsaken rock. He collapsed in a heap of anguish, inconsolable and at a loss for why he was still here. Suddenly a portal of of light opened:
> Well this is odd, I swear we unit tested everything, you really shouldn't still be here.
Said what appeared to be a bespectacled angel, thumbing through a small console.
> Who are you! Why am I here! Just end my suffering, please.
Adam replied, in a mixture of confusion, despair, and rage.
> Oh wow, I see what happened, a good old self-referential pointer exception. Wouldn't have expected that in such a sociable species like you anthropodes!
The angel's gleeful excitement in discovery only made Adam more upset. He wanted answers and he wanted them now, so as slowly and deliberately as he could Adam asked:
> Humanity is dead. Why am I here? Who remembers me?
The angel looked up from his console and square at Adam and answered,
> Look, I don't know how to tell you this, we just never anticipated this edge case. See when people die, we create an index of all the people that remember them, and then add and remove from it as people forget/learn/die. Once that list is empty, poof, Great Beyond. We've just never encountered what happened with you. When you died, your list was empty, and so the compiler filled it with the only person who ever remembered you. You.
|
I think it's been 15,000 years. Or at least, somewhere around that. I'm not really sure. I haven't left the house in a few millennia at least. There's no point. All I end up doing is scaring a few people, and death goes on. Besides, no matter where I go, it's crowded.
The space issue gets worse in the big cities, and don't even get me started on India and most of Asia. It isn't as bad in the remote regions of the world; Antarctica was only recently populated. I'd say 4000 years ago, give or take a few decades.
15,000 years ago, I was caught in an apartment fire. I woke up and passed out within a minute or two. It actually wasn't that bad. Just a sore throat for a bit. The living don't know it, but there is an after life. To reach it, all you have to do is pass out of memory.
For the big guys like the pharoahs and kings, the great philosophers and warlords, it's been even longer. The trappings of history have bound them forever. As long as there stands a museum dedicated to them, they remain. They make for ok company.
I was just a normal guy from a place that used to be called Virginia. I should have been on my way a few decades after I died. It took me a long time to figure it out, but eventually it dawned on me and all of the other millions of lost souls.
Being able to connect with everyone around the world instantaneously is awesome when you're alive. If you're dead, a digital you is floating around out there, remembered eternally on the almighty internet.
Most of us have accepted it, so we patiently wait for an apocalypse. We pray for the end of all things, and curse Mark Zuckerberg.
| 2017-06-26T15:03:31 | 2017-06-26T13:11:54 | 129 | 55 |
[WP] You are born with two names tatooed on you body somewhere, one of your soulmate and one of the people that will eventually kill you. There is no way to tell who is who.
|
The Captain filled a small container with what had to be bourbon, carefully sealing the spout to prevent any of the liquid from floating away. As I dogged the hatch behind me, I saw that he already had his drink in hand.
First day aboard a starship, and I'm drinking with the boss? Not a bad start.
Captain Leonov sent my drink floating through the air. I caught it without thinking, using my other hand to hold onto the wall of his quarters. I had never been drunk in 0 g, and this small container wasn't going to do the job either.
"You handled spacedock well, Commander," He said. "I was told that this was your first deep space assignment, but from your conduct, I could not tell."
"I've been on the Titan run for the last year, and Luna before that." I shrugged, the tiny movement a third of what it would have been dirtside. More than that and I'd float off. "Spacedock is just a bigger port, when you get down to it."
"Perhaps," the Captain replied. Now that I had a chance to listen, I could tell that something was on his mind. The old man was worried.
I floated closer to him, approaching the cupola-style window of his quarters. "What's on your mind, sir?"
He looked at me, with a tinge of sadness in his eyes. "How did Natalya handle the launch?"
My wife had been angry, truth be told. We were shipping out sooner than planned, and going to parts unknown for who knows how long. She wanted stability for our sons, and the run to Jupiter space had afforded that - one month on, one off. Yesterday had been the angriest I had seen her since before we revealed our names, hers on my shoulder and mine on her ankle.
The relief on her face when she knew that she was mine, and I hers - we had made love that night, for the first time. I think we started Anatoliy that night, honestly.
"She was fine," I lied. "She is a spacer's wife, sir."
The Captain nodded, saying nothing. He took a pull from his drink.
"Sir, what's on your mind?"
The Captain looked at me, and that sadness was there still. He grabbed a folder from the wall, Velcro breaking the quiet with a stiff ripping sound. Tipping it to me, he sent it on a slow trajectory across the room. Plucking it from the air, I unzipped the folder and looked a the contents. A bright red EYES ONLY across the top gave me pause. Below that, I saw the table of contents - and noted that the package included first contact protocols.
My heart stilled as I got to page two.
"72 days ago, we received this transmission. It's from an object in the belt. I don't know the details, of course, but I guess the big brains figured out that it was base 8. And that let them figure out that it was a series of pixels, and that those made images." The Captain nodded toward the folder. "You're holding some of those images in your hand. The first confirmed signal from a non terrestrial intelligence. Our mission is to go to that point in space and see who sent this."
I looked again, to be certain. The image I saw, the one that changed everything, was a star chart. Ours was marked, as well as several others. Eridani, Centauri, so on. The markings were utterly alien - and immediately familiar. I looked at the Captain.
He rolled up his sleeve. The Naval tattoo he had on his forearm took new meaning. On the hull of the small spacecraft, a series of dots and swirls was apparent. You might miss the alien script, if you didn't know to look for it.
"No one knew what it meant," he began. "So I covered it up, as soon as I could. Command knows, of course - your names are always recorded. But I figured mine was a placeholder, that I would die somehow with no one to blame." A sad chuckle came from the man. "How could we know?"
Wordlessly, I unzipped my uniform. Pulling the tunic open, I saw the captain's eyes grow wide as he saw. For on my collarbone was the same set of dots and swirls. The same alien script.
The Captain nodded. "Everyone on board has the same. 72 men, 14 women."
I nodded, absently. Then I emptied my drink.
|
I was born with the same name tatooed twice, it was my parents worry that I was gonna kill myself so they put me on therapy since I remember, popping pills of all kinds, having every second of my life monitored.
The walls of my bedroom covered in pictures of happy animals, with motivational mottos on them. Everyone I ever meet was screened by my parents beforehand, making sure they knew how to treat me, what never say infront of me, how to avoid upsetting me.
My parents were mostly afraid other kids would bully me, so I only meet kids my age on therapy sessions, playing controlled games on a controlled environmnent with kids doing cocktails of pills aswell. Its curious how having a dozen parents looking at you playing makes you feel the most vulnerable.
I was so alone, never felt anyone truly tried to had a sincere talk to me.
Then the day came. I swallowed a grape and choked.
| 2018-03-11T08:45:50 | 2018-03-11T08:14:04 | 120 | 36 |
[WP] A demon that writes messages on your mirror with blood but they’re useful messages. Like “remember you have yoga at 6 tonight”
stolen from Meladoodle on Tumblr.
|
"*It's your mother's birthday, she likes lilies.*"
"Huh," I said audibly, probably to make sure my brain hadn't shut down. "This is new. This is definitely new." Like most normal people, I had ran out of the house still buttoning my trousers on first sight of the message. One feels particularly vulnerable stepping out of the shower and bloody messages on the mirror do little to alleviate the feeling. Neither does screaming like a girl and hitting your head on the bathtub, but I won't go into that.
I'd done a little thinking though and in the end I came back to my bathroom, flowers in hand. When a supernatural force attempts to salvage your mother's good graces it's probably best to just go with it. It was actually a pretty helpful message, even if the palatable demonic imagery overshadowed it. I guess demons must need a little casual malice to get them through the day when they're being helpful.
"*Remember you have yoga at 6 tonight.*"
The messages had gotten more frequent, to the point that I was getting them every time I took a shower. I grabbed my conveniently red blood message scrubber and set to work. "I wonder," I mused to myself, "if I decide to buy stock from two competing companies tomorrow, will I be reminded to get the more valuable one?"
"*No funny business.*"
I nodded my head at this one. "Yeah, that seems fair."
"*Leave work early today.*"
By this point, after dozens of messages, I thought I had learned the ropes. The blood messages were only supposed to cover mild, day-to-day affairs. This was different though, it was actually a little creepy. I nodded appreciatively. "Now you're getting the hang of supernatural messages," I said to the floor. Somehow, facing upwards didn't feel appropriate.
As advised, I left early from my work that day by a healthy margin. Lucky thing too. In a freak accident, some idiot in the cubicle above had sent a drawer full of papers through my ceiling. Not one of those nice wooden ones either, a solid hunk of metal. As a gesture of gratitude, I stopped showering with my glock the next morning.
"*Be careful of James. He isn't the friend you think.*"
I sighed as I wiped down the mirror, speaking towards it out of habit. "So the ball's finally dropped, huh? It was probably inevitable, but you could have been a little more subtle about it."
"*Be careful of James. He isn't the friend you think.*"
This time I gave the mirror a firm gaze as I stepped out of the shower. "Look," I said, "doubling down isn't going to work, I know how this stuff goes. You start with the kiddie stuff and then move on to spreading paranoia and sowing the seeds of evil. Classic, but it's really not gonna fly."
I was still chuckling a little as I stepped out the front door. Honestly! The slowly escalating advice trick was the oldest in the book.
"*You remember that business about stocks? I'll play along if you'll stab a few guys.*"
This time I laughed audibly. "This is nice," I gasped out, "this is actually nice. Most guys would dick around a little, maybe do some whining, but you really cut to the chase. I like that."
There was a distinct heightening in the tension of the room. I could feel the otherworldly force waiting for my agreement. All of which made me feel a little bad about my answer.
"Sorry, but no thanks. I'm trying to keep my level of evil to a minimum."
"*Look, will you work with me here? I have a quota.*"
At this message I didn't say anything. It was honestly getting a little pathetic. I just grunted and followed my morning routine as usual.
Coming home though, I started to feel some pity. The demon was doing his best. It wasn't his fault if his best was actually pretty terrible. Also I'd missed an appointment with my doctor the other day and I was actually really missing the friendly bathroom presence. Instead of turning left at my house's street, I continued towards the office supplies store.
"Alright!" I said, bursting through my bathroom door at 3 in the morning. "I'll make this snappy. I'm not going to slowly spiral into evil any time soon, but I'm willing to give you a few pointers. You know Mrs. Galvers across the street right? The lady with all the weird shrubs?
I took the echoing silence as a sign of agreement. "Well I know for a fact that she's a tightly bundled sack of repressed rage. With a few well placed words you can have her going postal by Thanksgiving."
This time I distinctly felt the presence in the room brighten a little. I hadn't noticed, but there had definitely been a little bit of sulkiness in the atmosphere.
"Oh, you like that?" I spun round and grabbed my supplies, unfolding a posterboard with carefully written notes and pictures of my least favorite neighbors. "Well, I'll go on then. Altogether, I have about 16 neighbors who have a distinct grudge against reality. You can probably turn this town into a seething mass of pain and envy with just a tiny bit of prodding."
|
(A/N: Slight nod to wild wild west)
Some people set reminders on their cell phones. Others write down points and ideas in a little black notebook that they carry around. Some people have secretaries to help them organise their lives. And others have nagging spouses, parents and/or roommates.
Linda was looking at me like I belonged in a psych ward.
"No, really. It's cool!! He never misbehaves. I don't have to spend time training him. He's an excellent book keeper. Hasn't missed an appointment in the last 5 years."
Linda's mouth tried to close itself in an effort to say something, or produce anything that resembled a sound, but it was a strain she was unable to overcome.
"Actually, do you see that over there?" I said, motioning with my thumb to the series of awards that I had been winning from the workplace for the last 5 (five) years, which I had proudly displayed on my Linkedin page.
"I couldn't have done it, without BMG here."
Linda still didn't say anything, but her eyebrows betrayed her surprise. "Bloodbath McGrath" I explained. "It was a fitting name." Linda replied, finally managing to close her mouth and nod in agreement. I smiled and offered her a glass of champagne from the kitchen.
"So how does it know what you need?" she asked, still trying to evaluate if this was a joke or not, as I poured out the sparkling wine into a tall,clean flute.
"I'm not really sure." I said trying to think back. It was so long ago that I hardly remembered how I got along before BMG was around. "I kind of assume it just reads my mind"
"Oh" said Linda. "Hmmm...."
To be continued....
| 2016-08-07T20:46:50 | 2016-08-07T20:26:45 | 113 | 10 |
[WP] You had a late night and slept in late too. As you wake up and look at your phone to check the time, you see an alert: “Missile impact approximated at 12:47 PM. Evacuate the city as soon as possible.” It’s 3:15 PM.
|
The phone kept pinging. Nadine growled, her pale hand creeping out from under the rumpled duvet she was currently buried beneath and grabbing the vibrating phone off the bedside table. As she fumbled the phone in sleepy long fingers, bleary, make-up streaked eyes struggled to focus on the alert on her phone - an emergency SMS.
F\*ck. Did those even exist? f\*ck.
She sat up, duvet on her head, legs and arms akimbo, a bottle of Corona on the floor flying as her legs kicked about.
”Bloody- God damned-“
Ripping the duvet off her head, she cradled the phone in shaking hands, agitation mounting as anxious and half-asleep movements lead her to keep pressing the wrong thing, the phone trying to guide her with auto-correct but only pissing her off further. Finally she was able to read the text:
”EMERGENCY GOVERNMENT SMS — ENEMY MISSILE IMPACT IMMINENT, DUE 12:47PM. EVACUATE IMMEDIATELY. INSTRUCTIONS FOR YOUR POSTCODE AT LINK-“
Nadine tilted her head, horror gripping her. She collapsed the messaging app and looked at the time on her phone. White numbers burned on a black screen.
3:15pm.
Glaring at the nearest window, she staggered out of bed, tripping on a pile of clothes, slipping on a discarded empty packet of crisps and knocking over a bank of empty alcohol bottles. Yanking open the curtains, she let out a strangled noise.
Everything was fine, but the city was empty.
”The fuhhh-“
She turned, grabbing a shirt and wrestling it over her head. On the way out the door she grabbed a half-empty bottle of vodka and a floppy hat.
\~
The loungeroom was a complete disaster, but this wasn’t due to a bomb. It was a regular house party that had tumbled down the steps of drink and debauchery, but usually after such evenings, the flat was filled with passed out revellers, taking their own time to make their way home. Not today. Nadine traipsed into the kitchen with intoxicated shock.
”Where is every-“
The communalnwhiteboard, once covered in sketches of explicit anatomy and poems describing obscene acts, had been swiped at madly, black whiteboard marker spelling out a message that Nadine had most certainly never wanted to receive in such a situation:
”SORRY, NADS. YOU WOULDN’T WAKE UP AND WE DIDN’T WANT TO DIE. THERE’S CHICKEN IN THE FRIDGE IF YOU SURVIVE THE BLAST. IT’S BEEN REAL - JERRY.”
She stared at the message, tears rimming her wide, fearful eyes. She shook slightly, running a hand over her dark curly hair, the reality of the situation settling upon her like fallout.
”Son of a... Son. Of. A. B-“
She stopped as she saw the television. Running to the remote, she turned it on. Nothing. No power.
She looked to the phone in her hand, batting at the screen madly like a cat with a laser pointer. The message, it was there, but nothing since. And she couldn’t get a signal now. Gulping, she slid the phone into her pocket. It clattered to the floor as she slowly realised that she wasn’t wearing any pants at all.
After promptly finding some, getting dressed in the most rugged clothes she owned, and stuffing a bag with the rough approximation of survival supplies that she could find in a house trashed by 20-something art college students during a party, she plodded towards the door.
Then stopped. Hissing, and snapping her fingers, she rushed into the kitchen. She yanked a drawer open and pulled out some tinfoil. She wrapped it around her head and shoulders, some of her chest. It ran out before she could get more covered. It was loose and rattling, so she paused in thought, then carefully pressed it down around her, wrapping herself like a late-night kebab.
Nodding to herself, she turned and made for the door once more. She picked up the bottle of vodka and took a huge swig. Swallowing, nodding and winding, she growled to herself through the alcoholic haze.
”Okay, Armageddon,” she muttered, pulling open the door. “Do your worst, man.”
|
Well, that's odd. I just wanted to drink my god damn Smirnoff and read Manga. Welp. I guess I'm going to die. I expected it to be more.. whats the word.. Exciting? Like throwing myself into a volcano to save my loved ones, ya know, something like that? Well, I guess I should go look at the outside for the last time. I never seemed to appreciate it enough.
The fog is denser than I thought it'd be. Well, I guess that is the irony in things. The one time I want to look outside Mother Nature says no. Fitting, I guess, as I am the one who stays inside when I could be out enjoying life. Well.. good bye cruel world, ya coulda made me have a cooler death, but I guess not.
| 2020-02-03T07:54:55 | 2020-02-03T06:23:49 | 27 | 12 |
[WP] You are isekai’ed into a fantasy RPG video game. Though it is not ready for you, The Spiffing Brit.
|
It was just another normal Friday night. Mom ordered pizza, rain clattered against my window, and I had Generic Fantasy Game playing. GFG for short.
I was excited when I came home and saw the email: I had been one of the selected few who received a beta key. I downloaded the game and sat anxiously as the epic intro began playing. I had to turn it down a bit, but it was excellently developed. It almost looked as if the characters were real people. Their expressions and movements looked so fluid and real.
The main menu popped up. I clicked to begin my adventure. I chose hard mode because easy mode was for scrubs. The character selection screen popped up... but it just showed a picture of me.
Then with a burst of flashing colors and swirls, I was sucked into my computer. I landed on a thick field of grass and gazed around. The setting looked similar to the intro video. Was I in GFG?
A wizard ran towards me. "Ah, an adventurer! I'm in dire need of help," He said. he then proceeded to stand there without saying a word. I noticed I had dialogue options displayed before me. *What do you need?* and *Go away, I'm busy*. I chose neither.
I wanted to see how long I had before the wizard progressed. But he just stood there, fear glued to his face. He kept glancing at a distant wall of trees with a cold sweat dripping from his brow. He nodded to me to indicate for me to choose my dialogue. I didn't.
Then from the trees, a large wolf came sprinting. It was a fiery red with blue flames swirling around it. The wizard screamed in agony as the wolf pounced onto him. It tore him to shreds. My dialogue options disappeared.
The wolf left the wizard, not even acknowledging me. I shrugged my shoulders and walked down the dirt road that was in front of me.
***
The developers of GFG scratched their heads and flipped through thick clipboards. "He bypassed our main storyline," Greg said.
Wills took his glasses off and rubbed his eyes. "He's literally invulnerable now. Our main NPC's won't even glance at him. He can literally go through our entire game slicing away," he said.
Greg slammed his clipboard until it snapped in half. "This damn kid, why didn't he choose a dialogue?"
Wills snapped his fingers and jumped onto a computer. Greg quickly joined his side.
Wills began typing away. "It is true the kid cannot be directly targeted, but if we place a berzerker NPC with high AOE damage..."
"Genius! spawn in a level 99 Berserking Ogre. The AOE damage should shred his base level HP in one hit."
***
Out of thin air, a giant, dangerous-looking ogre appeared. It wielded a large ax and armor I knew I couldn't damage. I quickly jumped onto a rock and watched the ogre.
It wandered around mindlessly. It didn't see me. But then, as if some entity controlled it, it ran toward me. It's large legs covered so much ground I knew I couldn't leave in time. Then I remembered, I jumped onto this rock. This ogre was too large to jump, so therefore I was impossible to hit.
The ogre got to me and began spinning in circles. It looked clueless and confused, it still didn't see me. The swings generated a large red aura, I assumed AOE damage. The aura touched me, but no harm came. My theory was right!
I gazed into my inventory and saw a short sword. Infinite durability. I sliced away at the ogre. 0.01% damage. Wasn't much, but hey, he can't touch me. And I'm sure he has good loot.
***
Wills slammed his fists onto the keyboard which sent keys scattering across the room. Greg winced at the sudden outburst.
"This level 99 ogre can't even hit this level 1 adventurer. Because he's on a rock!" Wills said.
Greg took a seat on the neighboring chair. He loaded up GFG.
Wills eyed what his partner was doing. "What are you doing, Greg?"
Greg clicked on load game from the menu. "Going to handle this myself!"
With a sudden flash, Greg disappeared.
"No!" Wills screamed, he ran for Greg's computer but realized he couldn't undo the process. "The PVP is turned off for this beta. You fool!"
r/ajhwriting
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One day I was sitting on my computer casually playing a game of Wizard 101 when all of a sudden a bursting flash of light in my room and all of a sudden I was transported into the game's world. I was no longer Dwight the skinny geek that liked to play old RPGs made for kids. I was the Spiffing Brit, level 99 fire wizard with a dragon mount and the respect of all wizards around me. The funniest part being, I'm not even British. I'm no longer living in Mama Dwight's basement, I am the king of the wizarding world. The other players gasp in awe as they are limited to the game's functions through a computer whereas I was able to interact with it as if it was the real world. They are not ready for the havoc I am about to ensue. I am the Spiffing Brit, Destroyer of Wizards.
| 2020-07-31T22:09:17 | 2020-07-31T20:31:03 | 60 | 20 |
[WP] When people turn 18, they gain the power to summon 1 random thing in the world to their hand, as Thor does to Mjolnir. Summoned people are considered soulmates, and objects as important parts of one's life. When you summon yours, it takes some time, but people are horrified when it arrives...
|
Above, the clouds are low, heavy and fat with rain, tumbling their way over the wood and farther away.
A young man with tousled hair and dark eyes makes his way to a graveyard, afraid of what he'll find.
*What was that?*
He's confused, and somewhat afraid. Not of being alone, no, for now that seems the best and only course to figure out what exactly is going on. He's afraid of others, and what happens whenever he attempts to conjure his 'animus'.
Mother's was a cornflower blue blanket, thick and warm, something he could wrap himself in when the snows began to pile up outside their ramshackle hut. A luxury in a place where sheep come rare, and quality linen even more so.
Father's an axe, for biting deep into wood and splitting logs for sale at market. Long, beautiful handle, a strong heft and easy swing. Overhead, chunk, beautiful split.
And his...his wasn't one thing, or any specific thing.
His birthday came and went, and nothing seemed to come. The boy prayed for many things. A sword to distinguish himself as an adventurer, or maybe a lyre to bring music. A whip for cattle, a bucket for milking goats, something, anything of use.
Instead he summoned an axe, a waraxe, single bladed with a thin handle and vicious curve, coated in blood, and to his horror, brain and bone. Dark hair strands sticking to the edge. Dark as his father's hair.
He'd been standing before his father, hoping and waiting, and he'd sat there, telling him to be patient, always to be patient.
*"Big world out there, son. It could be anything. Even a crown,"* the voice of a man who rumbled rather than spoke.
Preposterous, to be sure, but still the boy hoped the hidden hope he was something important and beyond his village life. You could get something arcane, something mystical, a constantly refilling pouch of gold or a wineskin that never truly empties.
Instead the axe. Coated in gore.
When he turned to his mother, it shifted in his hand, turning into several hideous gray globs of something organic that slipped from his hands and onto the floor, and a word he'd never known came to mind.
*Tumors. Tumors. They grow in the belly until there's nothing left.*
So he made his way to the graveyard, afraid of what he'd find.
The gate screams open as he forced the rusted gate to break way.
It smells like rain.
The headstones are carved of wood, though the richer souls seem carved from common stone. Names. Years. Dates of birth, death, and family and kin.
And at the very bottom, their method of death.
He stands before one, worn and weathered by time and wind.
Something Tomkins, it reads. Years of life, and a sentence at the bottom.
*Murderer.*
*Hung by the neck until dead.*
He stands there, summoning his animus through that strained concentration, and holds his right hand before him.
A noose.
A dull sense of not dread, not horror, but confirmation.
*No. Not that. I don't want to be one of them.*
The next headstone.
*A work accident in a lumberyard,* he guesses, the though the words are flowery.
A bloody log appears in his hand, not the full length, but a silenced edge coated in hair and blood. Must have smacked him in the head.
He goes from plot to plot, from grave to grave, each method the same as the other.
Dead. Method of death. Dead.
A bone.
A sword.
A rope. A glass rum bottle. Long copper wire. A meat pie dripping with gravy and butter.
He knows. He knows those that wander from village to village, from kingdom to town to city, proclaiming the ability to recognize one's death, and the evil that follows. You can catch glimpses of them, riding pale horses, the townspeople giving way, afraid of coming too close. Is it his touch that seals the fate? Can the method be prevented?
The boy isn't sure, but he's heard enough stories and tales about men trying to escape their deaths, only to cause them. He hated those stories more than any other. It seemed each doomed individual was himself, trying to outrun...outrun what? Something.
But no. He didn't want to be one of them. Not one of those.
*It's a life of isolation, of fear and constant vigilance. Do you show the method, do you reveal the future, do you walk among the bones and tell the only fortune that comes certain? That there's a clearing at the end of the road, a headstone with your name on it?*
There's a peal of thunder, a rumble in the sky.
Up and away, past the hills and trees, in the direction of his home, an oily black smoke seems to be rising from the sky.
*The axe. The axe coated in the blood and brain of his father.*
That dull panic, and the realization he's far away, maybe an hours walk, though he doesn't know how far he has to run.
So he leaves the graveyard, the iron hinge screaming behind him. *Run,* it screams, *Run all you want boy, it's too late. The wine is spilled, the cats out of the bag. You saw the axe, as did he. You both know what it means.*
And begins to run down the path below.
Frantic. He's panicking, and under his breath he whispers *no, no, no* but doesn't know it. Doesn't want to know it.
A gravemind, a lich, a man in dark robes with blacker prophecy.
On each side of the path, the trees blur by, his steps sticking and flopping through muck, clods of dirt flying in every direction. The boy pumps his arms, the man shifts his feet, the boy takes deep horrible breaths and the man jumps to the worst of conclusions.
*Hold out your hand, reach, and I'll show you how it comes. A cough, a blade, an accident or a slip down an abandoned well. Come and ask. Come and see.*
His chest is on fire, and he runs with the frantic energy of a man certain but uncertain of his fate.
Afraid of what he'll find.
Posted a part 2!
[Part 2 Here](https://www.reddit.com/r/redditserials/comments/d5za1y/pit_and_gallows_part_2/?)
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r/storiesfromapotato - for stuff from me
r/redditserials - for stuff from me and others
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On your eighteenth birthday you can summon one thing. Anything, they say. Steal yourself a soulmate. Get yourself a fortune. I have both. I don't need more than what I have.
"What did you ask for?" I had just blown out the candles on my cake and my parents were waiting in tense anticipation. My girlfriend looked on more suspiciously. I guess she knew me better.
"If I tell you, it won't come true," I retorted. That was true, I think. It used to be true, when the candles were just a wish and nothing tore across the world at breakneck speeds to fall into your hand. It wouldn't come that day. She kept asking me to tell her, but I couldn't. Not until it arrived. It didn't come the next day either. It must have really had to travel some distance.
It was a moonless night when I knew it would come. We were sitting in the gazebo. Crickets chirped. In the distance, a coyote howled. She wrapped the blanket a little tighter, looking out towards the glowing eyes of the forest creatures. "Did you wish for anything at all?" she asked with a disappointed shake of her head. I could barely discern her face in the darkness. It might not have been unlike me to take them all along for a ride and not have asked for anything at all.
I kissed her hair softly. The breeze picked up, as if on cue. "Remember our first date?" I asked. She let out a little groan of annoyance but nodded. I wasn't changing the subject. These things just take time. "I told you that if I could, I would give you the world."
"And the sky and the moon and..." Her voice cut short and she glanced up. A shooting star lit a dim path across the sky. She pulled away from me, exposing my bare skin to the cold air. "The moon. You didn't..."
I grinned, although she couldn't see it. Or maybe on that moonless night she could still see the glow of my teeth "Did I?"
"It would... Kill us all... It serves a purpose, out there..." I knew that. I wasn't stupid. I had been blessed with an excellent education and knew what the moon did. It would be suicide, to send it hurtling towards Earth, even if it were shrunk to fit in the palm of my hand.
"I didn't," I said finally and I heard her let out a sigh of relief.
"Don't scare me like that." She lay back down onto my chest. I caressed the little orb that had materialized as if from nowhere into my hand. It wasn't from nowhere. It was from somewhere far, far away.
"Sorry," I murmured. "Do you want to see what I asked for?" She didn't nod. She didn't shake her head. I think she was scared; not of the hungry creatures watching or the uncanny darkness of the night but of the endless possibilities I could have asked for. I pulled my hand up, balled into a fist. Light escaped from between my fingers and I heard her breathe in sharply. "I promised you the world," I said as I unclenched my hand to show her the blue of the oceans and the green of forests and the glowing lights of cities.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at /r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2019-09-18T06:37:36 | 2019-09-18T06:35:54 | 808 | 197 |
[WP]Killing Hitler has become a sport amongst time travelers. Points are awarded for creativity and difficulty. You are last year's champion, how did you win?
|
I didn't intend to kill Hitler. I'm not the average time-traveler, you see, I just wanted to have a quiet life in the country side of the Old Europe. I found my lifestyle. I found a beautiful girl named Annabelle and worked my way up in French society at the time. I married Annabelle. I found and bought a quaint little house in a village. The village was built along a road, and at the end of the road lay a villa with pad-locked gates and streaming white walls. I had two children. The first was a boy named Dante, and the second was a girl named after my mother: Beatrice. Unfortunately, I hadn't read my history and forgot about World War II.
Germany invaded France and so came upon my little village which lay in Burgundy. First, came the overwhelming buzzing as the Luftwaffe began to toss their bombs. I didn't understand why they were attacking us at the time; I later found out that the villa was the site of large oil tanks and reserves, and just a few kilometers off was a hidden military base. The bombs swept over the village like a fiery storm, spitting fire, twisting and burning everything and everyone. My Time Machine was destroyed in my house during that first wave. My daughter burned to death; she was in her crib and was crying out as her flesh melted off her bones. I found her later, charred black with a gaping mouth but no tongue. Her teeth were still white as snow. The few bombs had created towering infernos that dashed and killed as an avenging angel of death. The Germans wasted an immense amount of resources on our useless village. When I returned to my time, I learned of their assaults on Paris and London, but I would never hear of their experiments of these techniques on small towns like mine.
My wife was changed after the storm. She would chatter in gibberish for a short while and then scream, pointing towards the darkness as if she saw a devil materialise in front of her. She would rock back and forth on the ground. I had to move her everywhere in a wheelbarrow I found. We met up with the other survivors. Night fell, I fell asleep, I woke up and my wife was gone. Not even a note was left. She had dashed off into the forest like a wild animal.
My son was twelve years old, and was all that remained of my past life. He supported me, his father, and saved me from despair. I cried on him every night, and he would muffle my tears so that the others in our make-shift refugee camp didn't hear me and disapprove of my weakness. Soon, French trucks came and brought us to Paris. My son and I took up residence at my wife's parent's house, they were grieved over their daughter, but gladly brought us into their home and reassured us of victory against Germany.
The next day, all of France bowed to Germany in defeat.
The soldiers marched in with crisp uniforms and rigid steps. They goose-stepped their way to their glory and France's shame. In trucks stood their leaders, and from my weak knowledge of 20th Century History, I recognised Adolf Hitler.
The machinations of my terror and the evils that had befallen in me lay in this man. My doom had been set at the moment I lay my eyes on the man. My blood heated up, and my heart beat twice as fast when I saw him. My brain pounded in my head and I felt sick in my stomach. I looked at him through my in-laws' windows, and only one thought dashed through my mind over and over.
*Revenge.*
My time machine had been destroyed. All I had left were the tools I brought from the future. A knife and an invisibility cloak. But the cloak would break if I attempted any action outside of it; it could only be used for reconnaissance.
So I set out for my revenge. I went to my in-laws and spoke with them for a few minutes, I told them to take care of my son, and that I intended to return, but that I would be gone for a while. They nodded but they seemed afraid. My tone of voice and pale pallor scared them. I left without saying anything to my son, I didn't want him to stop me with his words. I walked off to stalk Hitler.
|
I couldn't help but dwell on the stories of my father killing Hitler using only a menorah and some olive oil, from the opposite side of town. How was I to top that? It was the only 99% on record.
I've had my whole childhood to scheme, and at 18 I figured that to get a perfect score, I'd just have to be farther away and even more creative. How? A deathly Rube Goldberg machine. It didn't have the same irony, but the tension would be glorious for the viewers.
Binoculars at the ready, I tipped over the first golden domino.
***
bored? try /r/Hermione_Grangest
| 2016-02-20T08:59:12 | 2016-02-20T08:21:16 | 204 | 41 |
[WP]: The school of thieves doesn’t teach stealing. You get a grade by submitting the teachers’ property back to them.
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Final exam day, at the school of thieves; a day teachers both yearned for and dreaded since handing out the final project guidelines a month ago. They yearned for it to both gloat over the students who failed and to gain back the items they lost to from the ones they succeeded. They dreaded it cause this was also the day that some students would use their items to gloat. Now the final project was to steal from our professor, but as all right of thieves they could steal the items back right up until the student was required to present. This led to some rather interesting last minute hi-jinks as the last minutes attempted to steal something major enough to pass and the professors tried to regain their lost items.
&#x200B;
I smiled and watch, knowing the item I stole was good and secure, unable to be reclaimed by my professor. See a side note I'll make as a sign of respect we also give said items back both to honor them teaching us and to maintain an honor among thieves. Now my problem is the item I stole I never want to give back, but that can be discussed with the professor later. In the mean time as I took my seat in the auditorium to watch the other classes cycle through.
&#x200B;
It was interesting to watch who stole what and how creative people got. Most professors had both a safe house (that they tended to use for the illegal activities) and their actual house. All the professors used their safe houses as addresses and most items that were successfully stolen were from them allotting those students a passing if not impressive grade. The overachievers though did everything they could to learn their professors actual houses in order to mess with them.
&#x200B;
As the classes cycled through the ones of note were the ones who stole from their professors actual homes. One returned a lost cat (to be fair that professor is literally cat woman though and didn't notice it missing.), another returned their spouses wedding ring and a child's favorite blanket (needless to say that professor's sleep deprived state all of a sudden made sense), the best though was the professor whose student poured out a bag of what must have been every remote from his house and seeing said professor's expression shift between proud and furious.
&#x200B;
Finally it was my class's turn, the turn everyone was waiting for cause our professor was known for being impossible to steal from. Most students admitted the professor had stolen back from them and therefore would need to take the final. One student proudly dropped his pants and removed a small statue from his 'prison pocket' along with a note that surprised him. My professor stated the student passed only because he did not feel like going through the process of removing said object and instead merely left the note with his grade in there. With most of my class defeated it was my turn.
&#x200B;
As I walked onto the stage I could see the professor smiling at me, believing that I hadn't even tried knowing that I never went to his safe house. Instead of though confessing how he was the superior thief and would take his final I instead took out my phone, dialed a number on it and a female voice picked up and asked "Is it time?" to which I simply responded yes. Then handed my confused professor the phone and watched his expression.
&#x200B;
See my professor was near airtight on the location of his actual house and I only discovered it by chance a few months ago. It turns out we live in the same neighborhood and he drove by right when I happened to be bring the trash to the curb. Jumping on the chance since even then everyone knew what the final project would be I followed after him and confirmed the location of his actual house (literally only a street and a half from my own.). Taking a chance I decided to start scoping it out later that night. It was by chance as I was creeping along the roof that I gazed into a window to find his daughter (who is around my age) staring back at me.
&#x200B;
She with the reflexes that could only come from her father somehow managed to open said window, and grab my hand in about five seconds. Then she asked with a smirk "what are you going to offer to not inform my father one of his students found our house?" dumbstruck for a moment before realizing she was likely his protege in training too I meekly with a shy smile offered "I can bake some cookies." Rolling her eyes she stated "You know I hear diamonds are a girl's best friend" then letting go of my arm she stated "You have twenty four hours to bring me something to impress me." As I meekly started to climb down from their she called out "Oh and I will also take those cookies."
&#x200B;
The next day I returned with a diamond necklace stolen from a store (not that anyone would notice for months cause I may have had the hardest teacher but he was good) and a basket of fresh baked chocolate chip cookies and milk. Knocking on her window I first offered her the necklace before inviting her onto the roof to share the cookies. She could have said no and took them inside but she accepted. We ended up spending that night on the roof talking about a multitude of interests we shared. As I assisted her back to her window she told me that if she caught me again I'd have to pay another bribe. About two days later I returned with a basket of snacks and knocked on her window.
&#x200B;
The next couple of months were me mostly stopping by every couple of days and we'd just hang out and talk. Sometimes we might play some games or just listen to music. At some point we had grown attached to each other. It was a month ago we confessed our feelings to each other. What had happened was it was the night her father officially gave the final project. I had come to visit her and we were munching on some cookies while watching the stars and talking. I told her that her father had officially given out the project and asked if it was okay I stole from their house, if she didn't want that I would figure something else out, before I even finished explaining she started her cute giggling and stated "What if you tell him you stole his daughter's heart?" I was dumbstruck for a moment as I looked at her fully, realizing the romantic mood before smiling and responding "Only if she steals mine." Needless to say kissing was soon added to what we did on that roof.
&#x200B;
So for the last month I have been secretly dating his daughter and just called her to let her share the news. I could hear her voice but not the exact words as she told her father, the only emotion he could manage was shock as she told him. Finally she finished and asked him to give my phone back cause he started robotically handing it back before he stopped and asked aloud "What do you plan to do with the item you have stolen?" Looking him dead in an eye I stated "I will love and cherish her with all my heart for as long as she will have me." Sighing one last time he handed me my phone back before stating I passed with a perfect score. I smiled but honestly I could care less about the grade at that point. With what I stole that was all I needed.
&#x200B;
*tell me what you think, I am always looking for input*
|
There's one thing I will never understand. How is it that an organization devoted to the training of the world's thieving elite, indeed, which prides itself on teaching people to take theft from a humble craft and elevate it into an art, can't for the life of itself manage to get its hands on a better union contract?
And why the hell did I sign up to be one of the instructors?
We are, of course, a profession that attracts people who pride themselves on always being the cleverest person in the room. Here's a trade secret: if you ever meet someone like us and need to beat them at their own game, all you need to do is stick them in a room with other people like themselves. Which means that at some point during our Academy's founding, a group of asshole savants were sitting around a table trying to impress each other with the most innovative ways they could devise of passing on the world's second-oldest profession, and someone came up with, "But what if stealing from their professors...\*was\* the grade?"
There are rules, thankfully. Even the Founders anticipated it might not be a great idea to have ambitious, ethically compromised little shits sneaking into your house when you're making love just to discover your toddler waiting for you the next day at work with a note attached saying, "Now returning: your pride." Houses are off-limits. In fact, you have to actually set out a set number of items beforehand which are in-bounds for the game, usually ten or so. It's a bit tricky because most of your students aren't going to be invested in something as common as pick-pocketing, although it's an obviously common hobby, so you don't just leave trinkets lying around. You offer them clues to things like secret bank accounts, or embarrassing pornographic preferences, or even friendships they have to steal out from under you.
These kids all enter the Academy prodigies; half of them have already invented ways of hacking your computer or forging your identity better than you could do, and you were only just that prodigy yesterday. But it does force them to do the one thing we suck at most in the world: work together. After ten years of teaching I can see any one of them coming from a mile away, but the things they devise on the rare moments they can coordinate their efforts are goddamn diabolical.
I once laid out as a mid-level assignment enough information to be able to track down an offshore bank account by way of a series of shell companies. The bank account in question was tied to a certain fairly highly placed corporate lawyer who used it to pay hush money so his very influential client could keep his kinky extracurricular activities a secret. That bit of blackmail I happened to hold in my back pocket was the thing they needed to steal.
As expected, it took about five of them to pull it off. What was not expected was that, having identified the corporate lawyer in question, they staged an elaborate fake FBI arrest and interrogation, got him to confess his criminal involvement on tape, then sold a copy of that tape to some very powerful foreign interests to whom he owed a very substantial amount of money. The foreign interests got an influential mole, my students got a pass and we all got hours of pissing ourselves laughing at how he spilled his guts.
Why do I do this job? Well, I'll be honest, thievery can be a lonely task, and it just doesn't bring about that special satisfaction you feel when you know you're fostering excellence in others. Your average evil genius could probably have learned as much as they did in a couple of days of concerted cyberespionage. But knowing that you've helped guide the minds of students who destabilize the geopolitical order accomplishing the same task because it makes for the better story, well...you just can't understand it if you're not a teacher.
\*Clearly a work of pure fiction, all resemblances to person/places/things purely coincidental, etc. etc.
| 2018-09-21T08:41:33 | 2018-09-21T05:15:31 | 32 | 16 |
[WP] It is the year 2XXX. Medical science has advanced so far that complete body restoration is possible. However, patients revived from death consistently end up in a vegetative state and no one knows why. You are the first person to revive and retain their cognition. Now you know.
|
The first thing on her mind as her consciousness pooled back in to her fleshy brain was eating. Consumption. Satiation.
“Test number...uh, what is it.” Pages flipped over on a clipboard as the man squinted. “Three hundred and ninety four. Vitals are...fine. All normal.” He scribbled something down on the board.
“Doc. Why do you insist on using that thing?” The woman held a sort of interface in her hands, some hologram above displaying a lot of numbers that she, in her half awake dreamlike state, couldn’t begin to comprehend. “Everyone thinks I’m old-fashioned for using a tablet to record info, and you’re over here with dead trees and ink.”
The doctor sighed. “Dr. Stevens, it makes it feel like I’m doing something important. Instead of just watching poor excuses for the living dead.”
She opened her eyes more fully to look at the doctor with the clipboard. Something urgent was on her mind, always slipping. Like walking into a room and forgetting why you were there. How could she retrace her steps, go back into the room she had been in and remember how she had gotten here?
“I’ll check for responses,” Dr. Stevens said. She moved up towards her head. “Not that there ever are any, but protocol is protocol.”
She locked eyes with Dr. Stevens, who jerked back, pulling the tablet close to her chest.
“Am I hallucinating? Doc, look at this.”
Doc, meanwhile, was shaking. “Can you hear us?”
She channeled all her mental effort into her throat, and managed to croak out a few hoarse words. “Where am I?”
-=+=-
They all looked at her as if she was Jesus.
Well, she has been raised from the dead, just not by God. They had told her that much.
God. The word echoed around her brain, like the word hunger. Both fit together somehow, but she couldn’t rotate the jigsaw pieces together to click.
“We’ll need to run tons more tests to see exactly how well she is, but she’s here,” Dr. Stevens said.
She was now propped up in the bed she has been in, but a good dozen people had crammed into the room, several of which had suits on that didn’t suit the medical setting.
“So I died. Why did you bring me back?” She looked around the room, but no one met her eye.
“‘Why not’ is probably a better question,” Doc said. “We can fix living humans perfectly now. We can even fix deadish ones if we get to them soon enough. Why not someone who’s been dead for a while? We thought it would be easy, but you’re the only one who’s come back.”
“How long?”
Every word that scratched its way out of her throat was an effort, but the people in the room treated each one like the words of a prophet.
Dr. Stevens tapped her tablet furiously. “About a year, give or take a few months. You can see your family again,” she added, as if to smooth over the situation of raising the dead.
The more time went by, the more clearly her brain worked. Annoyance trickled through her system. And fear, for no visible reason, tickled the back of her brain.
“They’re going to say it’s playing God,” a suit said, “but we’ve already done that when we restored a deadish person.”
God. God. God. The word clanged around in her slowly filling skull, gathering more momentum until it all fit.
The puzzle clicked. The fear, the thought just evading her.
“God eats them,” she breathed.
“What?” Doc asked.
“God eats them,” she repeated. “He eats their souls.”
They looked at each other. Their prophet had gone mad.
But the vision was clear as day. God cultivated them on earth, and ate them. Well, God is what she had called him, but only because he had made things. But he could never fill his hunger for something beyond what he had done. The maturation of souls were something special.
She had evaded him for months. Got herself lost in the endless procession of souls that went to his plate. And then fled further. The details were fuzzy, but she had been pulled back here. Into her body. Safe for now.
Most only lasted a week before they ended up destroyed in the fires of God’s belly. A few survivors like her remained.
The people in the room were quietly talking to each other. Perhaps a side effect of being dead for so long was that it messed with your brain.
But she knew. She knew that hell was in God’s endless hunger for the one thing he couldn’t entirely create.
-=+=-
2AM writing prompt let’s gooooo
My first reaction on hearing the prompt was like ‘what if god ate souls or something so that’s why revival doesn’t work’ along with that random story about how some kid thought people were different colors because god liked to eat different flavors. So uh yea here’s my shoddy expectation reversal I guess
|
The cool logical void I was in where everything made sense was violently disrupted by warm fuzzy static. Nothing made sense anymore, every thought ^sliced ^^apart in^to p^ie ^^c ^es. One moment I was hurtling at high subluminal speeds towards Uranus -- the next -- I -- . The world returned to the cool logical void again, its infinite blackness covering and absorbing everything.
Faraway I heard someone calling a name. A physical sound, unlike directly transmitted thought of the telepathy comms we used aboard the system voyager.
"Katherine? Dr Hayes?" I squinted my eyes, and tried to force them open. They refused.
"Her eyes are attempting to open...we did it...!" Someone whispered in awe.
"Filling the tanks." I felt a warm syrupy liquid start to pool beneath my back. The voices became clearer as my hearing got better. I felt more relax, as if I was at home. I willed my eyes to open again. Two large octopi stared down at me, masks dangling off their strange heads.
I rolled my eyes around, frantically thrashing my limbs. A sucker-filled appendage slapped me in the face. "OW!"
"She's panicking, she's panicking ! Drain the water, now!"
I felt the water recede beneath my back. As the water drained I felt my energy levels drop precipitously. The last thing I saw from my wide-angled eyes were _four_ limbs on each side...
[ to be continued ]
| 2020-10-30T02:54:40 | 2020-10-30T02:29:54 | 87 | 10 |
[WP]A masked vigilante has made an appearance in your city. As the the wealthiest man in town, you're having trouble convincing people it's not you.
|
"...but you *must* be..."
"No."
"...aww c'mon man, you have the money. We could..."
"NO."
"...Jesus H Damien, you're always going on about how awful the city has become. We go to self defence classes. I used to be a sergeant in the military, and you're multi-billion dollar corporation specialises in criminal apprehension tech! We're practically *made* to become..."
"NO! Stop asking me this stupid thing for 5 minutes will you? I'm trying to concentrate. This proposal needs to be finished tonight and I've barely scratched the surface thanks to your constant whining!"
Damien Steel, of Steel Solutions Inc, turned back to his laptop and began to furiously type away. His friend, Brent, went back to lounging on the couch off in the "entertainment corner" of Damien's penthouse office suite.
This plan of becoming vigilantes to "serve and protect" the city has been in the forefront of Brent's mind for weeks now, and Damien was getting sick of it. I suppose he couldn't blame his friend. Since completing his term in the military Brent has struggled to get back on his feet. No job since leaving the army, perhaps it's more a case of just wanting to be useful than to be some sort of hero.
But Damien is steadfast in his decision. He is a businessman, nothing more. He has more important things to worry about than jumping into tights and running off into the night to catch pickpockets and bank robbers.
Who the hell would choose to become a vigilante anyway? Apart from the small detail of it being illegal it's long, dangerous and thankless work. Hell even the comic books that lap up this stuff don't pull punches. Vigilantes are trouble, and attract more trouble. Their families are threatened, their friends are captured or killed, they're constantly at odds with the upper levels of authority. And of course you never get *paid* for any of it.
The familiar **ding** from the laptop stole Damien's attention away from the proposal document to his email. As he scanned the contents his mood got even worse.
"Brent. What the *hell* is this?"
He manhandled his laptop and swung it round so Brent could see the screen. In it was an urgent email from the R&D department. Initial prototypes for "urban stealth suits" were complete, and as instructed the specifications cut no corners. Final cost for the project equates to ~20% of the annual R&D budget.
Brent slowly pulled himself away from the TV show he was watching and got a better look at both the screen and the very angry looking company director holding onto it.
"Oh...that. Well I thought it was worth at least looking into in more detail, maybe once you saw the results you might..."
"YOU FUCKING IDIOT! You pulled my **entire** R&D team away for this! Do you have any idea *how much* 20% of the budget is worth!?"
Damien was visibly shaking he was so mad. Brent looked quite sheepish. It's not the first time he pulled a stunt like this but...well it hasn't resulted in this much anger before. Perhaps giving those eggheads free reign wasn't the best idea after all.
"Shit man, I didn't think..."
"No, it's pretty damn obvious you didn't think. You never do!"
"I just wanted to make sure the gear was decent alright. I mean what to you expect me to do? I've tried and tried to explain but you never even gave it a chance!"
"No, I didn't. Because it is a *stupid idea*! And I have tried and tried to get that fact through that thick skull!"
With a strong exhale Damien started to pace back and forth, his hands massaging his temples in a desperate attempt to stop the growing migraine forming in his head thanks to all this stress.
How the hell is he going to replace $250,000,000?
He collapsed back into his chair and opened the attachments to look at these ridiculously expensive jumpsuits in more detail. He'd never admit it within earshot of Brent, but the work is quite exceptional. Reinforced materials allowed both protection and fluid movement. Various gadgets and gismos concealed throughout the suit for all manner of situations.
A shame then that this bloody thing doesn't have a customer, and has likely ruined the current R&D project schedule, and in turn many clients who are expecting new innovations complete, and orders filled.
Damien decided on the only thing he could do.
"Fine. Get down to R&D and try the damn thing on for size."
Brent's eyes lit up.
"Really? Really!? Ah...finally! Once we're kicking ass in this cesspool of a city we'll get your company back up and running. I'm sure of it!"
Damien looked deadpan.
"Not we. You. And it won't be just this city. You'll go where you're needed."
Brent's face soon changed again to confused. Damien didn't bother to wait for the question.
"It's simple Brent. You owe me, and since you're so keen to...how did you put it? "Kick ass" you will wear that suit and you will use it to complete assignments given to you from the highest bidder."
Brent's face sunk further, and he too began to feel anger.
"You have got to be kidding me! A merc!? How is that anything like a real hero!?"
"This is the real world. There are no heroes. You wanted this, here you go. Just hope that whoever comes to us for help pays well, and gives you a job that'll let you sleep at night."
Damien motioned Brent to the elevator. They got in together and the door slid shut.
|
"God Damn Emma! I am NOT the batshit crazy vigilante that is killing the members of the Mafia!!" I shouted at my girlfriend as I dropped yet another bottle of Hennessy.
"I know it's you Paul. The entire city knows that he entered your property in the Faroe Islands in his hovercraft. It's all over the news. But it's ok if you don't want to tell me", she muttered as she started to dress up.
"You might have noticed that I was in Milan all week and not in that fucking shit hole", I caught her hand and pulled her towards me. "I can't really fight the Mafia because I'm actually friends with them. They wouldn't be chuffed about that."
I looked into her eyes as I sighed.
"I really thought it was you beacuse the Mafia had killed your parents and your brother. I'd reckoned that you'd want revenge" she whispered as she hugged me. I could feel her heart racing and the goosebumps on her bare skin.
Wow she really did care about me, I thought to myself.
" You'd think that I would want vengeance but I can't fight them bad guys with my flimsy arms now, can I?"
I joked as I waved my scrawny arms about like the Ill famed vigilante. "That mad person even bit a chunk of the mayor's ear off in Manchester. I do not need protein that bad", i joked with her.
We laughed as we got into the hotel pool and whiled away the night.
The next day as I pulled up to my mansion, I went straight to the dungeon where I kept him locked up.
I had to as he was starting to get extremely violent. It was for his own good. I was shocked to see the door in tatters and the floor covered in visceral matter.
"Brother. It's been a while", he drawled as I entered his room. "I hope you didn't mind me using your garage. " He said as he tossed the keys to me. Attached to the key chain was an ear.
This is my first contribution to reddit. Feedback is appreciated. :)
| 2017-06-26T11:23:08 | 2017-06-26T11:14:21 | 43 | 14 |
[WP] You wake up to find yourself on a train with a note in your pocket saying "What ever you do, don't get off this train untill you arrive at the very last stop". Its been nearly 20 years and the train still hasn't arrived at the last stop yet.
|
You may or may not have heard of the 'Sunk Cost Fallacy'. If not, let me explain. The sunk cost fallacy is a phenomenon by which someone, say a gambler, will continue down a path due to the idea that they have gone too far to turn back. I invest, for instance, £100 and lose every penny but I decide that I've gone so far that I cannot afford to let that stand, so I try to win it back by investing more and, in turn, lose more.
This is the problem.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
Wonderfully vague instructions with no clear rhyme nor reason as to why I should follow them, no clear threat as to what should happen if I leave and no understanding of where I am, how I got here and where I am going. Logically, I should get off the train but the reality is that I've been on so long that I may as well see it through to the end now because if I don't, who knows what might happen?
The rules are simple.
1) The train is exactly 12 carriages long, the exact nature of which varies but always includes a dining car and a sleeping car.
2) The train stops every 24 hours at exactly midday and continues non-stop between these times.
3) The layout and makeup of the train changes after each stop, apparently instantly and with no sign of the previous layout. Consistent carriages such as the dining or sleeping car always remain.
4) The stops appear to be totally random and range from what looks like normal country train stations or subways at various locations around the world to impossible locations such as an underwater train station, a station in space or what appears to be an endless pit. Sometimes I can see *things* beyond the train station but warnings placed around the train have carefully informed me not to look at or speak to them and that, if they approach the carriage, to hide until the train starts again.
5) I am alone on the train. Food appears without any sign of staff and the original message reappears if destroyed in the exact location I first found it (on the table I first woke up on).
6) I can leave the train at any stop but I have been told to wait until the final stop.
Every day works the same way from beginning to end. I wake up at 7.15 and eat whatever breakfast is provided to me. I explore the current layout for a few hours and then sit down with a book. On days where there is a library, I will return the books I've finished and withdraw new ones. Oh! Don't forget:
7) Do not enter the library between 1.15 AM and 2.32 AM and **never** stay longer than 67 minutes at a time. Truth be told, I have no more idea why I should follow these rules anymore than the others or what the consequences should be if I didn't and yet I follow them anyway.
Eventually, 12 PM rolls around and I stand as the train slows to its stop. I take a glance out of the window to see where we are, trying to make sense of the oftentimes garbled names of the stations. The doors slide open, creaking gently as they do so, and cool air floods the doorway. I know that even if the depths of space if I were to step out of the train, I could feel that cool air, breath it in with no consequence or harm. I know that I could leave this all behind. I know, for that one blessed instance, that the rules and mandates that I accept so easily could be stripped away and forgotten if I just took that one step.
Out there is everything. Just beyond my fingertips are lives and worlds and experiences I could touch and breathe and live if I just stepped outside of the train for once. It would be so easy to do so, to just slide my foot a fraction of an inch further until it was too late to go back.
*Whatever you do, don't get off this train until you arrive at the very last stop*.
The words come back again, that vague foreboding of unimagined punishments, horrifying torments and brutal deaths flood my mind.
*You've come this far, you've made it through so many stops. Why throw it away now? Why risk it? Tomorrow. Tomorrow could be the one and if it isn't...*
I don't step forward. I don't move at all as the doors slide shut again and, with a thud, the train picks up speed again. The station disappears into the black mist. I don't think about the station again. Nor do I think about the thousands before it except for occasionally when, in the pitch dark of the night, they come surging back into my memory until I can think of nothing else. I scan them all and wonder and the next day I stand on the edge of the train and breathe in the cool, fresh air of the station and know that I could so easily step off if I wanted.
*Tomorrow,* I think, *and if it isn't...*
|
Pain.
Blood. So much blood.
A scream.
Then nothing.
The brightest light I’d ever seen. Blinding.
Brakes screeching.
Being pushed.
A train. An endless train.
Hot. So hot. Body burning.
Twenty interminable years.
Loves found. Loves lost.
A baby.
Tears.
The announcer’s constant droning.
‘Will she make it?’
Choo choo.
Sun rise.
Sunset.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
Trees.
A mountain.
An ocean.
Never-ending platforms.
More screams.
So much pain.
Another white light.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
An angel.
A note.
‘Don’t get off until the last stop.’
A tube forced roughly down my throat.
A man’s quiet voice.
Two deer.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
More trees.
Forever moving forward.
A stabbing pain in my arm.
A serene lake.
More stops.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
Faceless people outside.
Lungs not my own.
A frozen tundra.
An old blue truck.
Limitless plains filled with dust.
The rapid thumping of my heart.
*whoosh* *boop* *whoosh* *boop*
Another bright light.
A hospital room.
My beautiful wife.
‘I thought you’d never wake up.’ her voice filled with relief.
‘Neither did I.’
| 2020-07-17T13:55:41 | 2020-07-17T12:29:35 | 48 | 23 |
[WP] You are a necromancer's apprentice. One of your most important jobs is holding down the revived bodies in their first moments alive again, while they scream and beg to go back.
|
As I pressed hard on one shoulder, my master on the other, the cadaver struggled beneath our weight, the stitches coming loose around her lips with each consecutive moment of muffled screaming.
"Ugh, that *morning* breath!" the necromancer winced.
I was rethinking my life choices a lot at that moment. To sell my services to a necromancer for something so trivial in hindsight– I had to have been the most foolish young man in my lineage. He looked up at me and saw the anguish written on my face.
"Oh, don't tell me you're having second thoughts already! This is pretty much the worst part of this job, so bear through it with me." The abomination beneath us began to calm down, and the two of us gradually lifted our weight off of her. I let out a deep breath as she mumbled to herself and glanced around the room through panicked eyes.
"I'll be back in about ten minutes," he said as he pulled his gloves off and set them on the tray next to the table. "I'll be back with the coating soon, just don't let her leave."
"By *myself?*" I asked incredulously.
"Oh please, she used all of her strength just now," he retorted as he made for the door. "She's only *technically* alive. It'll be a while before her muscles will be able to work like that again. She won't move much, just babysit her, I'll be right back." He punctuated his request with the slam of the door, and I turned to look at her shriveled decayed corpse. The smell in the room was turning my stomach, and I wrestled with the thought of her "morning breath" being worse.
"Hey," she sounded someone who'd had their throat surgically removed. "Hey. Kid."
I swallowed and winced, keeping my distance from the table. I didn't want to converse with her. I didn't even know she'd be capable of complex thought. It was stupid of me to *assume* anything about a job like this.
"Hey. Get me outta heae," she spoke her sentences quickly as though it pained her to speak– and it most certainly did.
"Hey. Get me a glass o'watah."
"I don't have any," I caved. "No water in here. You don't need it anyways, you're dead."
"I'm not dead," she quickly shot back. "I'm alive again. It tucks and it hoits, but I'm not dead, ya gotta believe me."
It wasn't so much that she was speaking with an accent, but that she had no moisture in her throat and only about two teeth on opposite sides of her mouth.
"You *are* dead," I assured her. "Mister Uul just brought you back. I watched it happen."
"You gotta get me outta heae," she pleaded.
"Not gonna happen."
"Come on. Waddaya want? Money? I got money!"
"I can't let you go," I said firmly. "I'm sorry."
"I tuck ya dick," she offered.
I dry heaved.
"Come on, I'll do anyting. Not one ting off limits. Come on."
"Shut up!" I finally lost my temper. "I'm never letting you out of here, so just... I dunno, make peace with it! Just lay there and stay quiet."
After a long period of refreshing silence, she started again. "Hey."
"No."
"Hey kid."
"I said no."
"Kill me."
I turned slowly toward her and found her staring straight at me.
"... What? What did you say?"
"Kill me," she said again. "Please. I was wit my family. At de park. It was sunny. It was nice. Sandwiches. Te kids, te husband, de dog. It was nice. I'd do anyting to enjoy dat for just a little longae."
I glanced at the door and then back to her, "... I don't think I should."
"Come on," she pleaded. "He brought me back once. He can do it again, right?"
I couldn't really argue with that logic, but I still didn't want to. I fidgeted with my fingers as I rolled it around in my mind. It was my first day, and I didn't want to mess anything up too badly.
"Come on. Kid. Hey. Come on. I'm dead. Can't get much woise den dat."
I rolled my eyes and scanned the room for anything I could use to kill her for just a few more minutes. My eyes landed on some kind of surgical knife, and I grabbed it. I slowly walked over to the table she was laying on. Her big exposed eyeballs tracked me as I neared and it sent shivers down my spine.
"Yeehh. Dare ya go. Dat's it. Just send me back a little longea."
I swallowed hard and held the knife in both hands as I lifted it over her chest.
"Do it."
I inhaled sharply and plunged the knife into her chest. It didn't feel how I expected it to feel. It was like stabbing a bag of flour if you could imagine it. Stiff and dry with mild resistance.
"AAAAAAAAHHHHHHHHHHHHHH" she screamed.
I jumped, dropping the knife on the floor and scrambling away from the table.
"AHHHHHH DAT HOIT!! DAT HOIT DAMMIT!!"
"B-BUT Y-YOU TOLD ME TO STAB YO-"
"I TOLD YA TO *KILL* ME, NOT HOIT ME!!"
"HOW AM I SUPPOSED TO DO THAT??"
"I DUNNO, I AINT TE DOCTAH, I TAUGHT YOU WEAE!!"
"I'm not a doctor!" I yelled as I picked the knife back up. "I'm just a kid trying to do the right thing here! Now hold still!"
I plunged the knife into her chest again and again as she screamed.
"OKAY, OKAY, TAAHP!! TAHP TABBIN' ME!" she screamed.
I retracted the knife and took a step back.
"We uhhh... we can figyuh dis out," she reasoned through labored breathing. "Les juss tink aboudis. You and me."
"I don't think you can die," I warned her. "We could just wind up hurting you more."
"Of couwas I can die, look at me," she argued. "I did it once, I can do it again."
I glanced at the door hoping the necromancer would come back so I didn't have to deal with this, but he was taking his sweet time.
"Okay!" she spoke after a brief silence. "Maybe uhh bass me in de head."
"What?"
"Bass me in de noggin! Hahd!"
"But what if I bash your head in and you're just... alive, but not able to talk?"
"Hmm... Good tinkin' dare, doctah."
"Not a doctor," I reminded her. "I've never done this before!"
"Do I look like I've done dis befowah?" she spat at me.
Suddenly the door swung open and the necromancer paced into the room. He was reading something out of a book and closed it as he neared the table. Relief swept over me as I stepped back.
"Well, I messed up the mixture upstairs," he said as he picked up a scalpel off the tray. "Sorry Miss, you're going back under for a bit. I'll see you tomorrow."
She turned her head at me and we made eye contact.
"Tanks for tryin' doctah," she managed to lift her dried lips into a smile.
I smiled back at her and waved discreetly.
r/A15MinuteMythos
|
Dusting the ash off my coat with a “*sigh*, another one.”
The boss nags from behind, “Esteban! We’re losing moonlight! Get a new body on the slab asap while I gather mana for the next spell!”
Blood rushes to my head “Old man this is the 12th one tonight how about calling it quits and trying again another day! You keep pumping the stiffs with mana and I get a bigger mess to clean up!”
“Silence boy!” The boss spits. “You’re 100 years too early to mouth off to me! I’ll have you know I’ve quite the pedigree in the dark arts!” He says proudly.
Furrowing my brow and hauling another body on the rune etched slab, “in destruction maybe but necromancy clearly isn’t your forte’ why don’t you stick to lightning bolts and fireballs and leave the stiffs to the pros? 100 years too late for a mid life crisis don’t you think?”
I turn around to a man at peace unlike the hate filled crone he was a second ago he’s praying, communing with mana to grant him power and give life to this wretched abomination.
Flakes of blue light gather in his hands. The wind gently swirls kicking up ash as it dances in the moons pale light shining down on the corpse.
It’s beautiful in a way if not for what happens next. I hear a spark and the smell of embalming fluid is overtaken briefly by the musty smell of rain.
I dive out the way onto the ground, a pile of ash softening my fall.
“POOOOOWEEER!!!!!” The old man shoots lightning from his fingertips onto the corpse.
“OVERWHELMING POOOOWEEEER!”, he amps the voltage. The runes ablaze with energy, and then the violent crackles are replaced by a melodious hum.
I get up to see the corpse still intact for a better lack of a term, a-little char here and there but not bad, not bad, major improvement. But had he done it, finally?
The Boss glides to my side hand on my shoulder “13th times the charm dear boy.” Excitement in his voice.
The corpses eyes jut open electric blue fills the irises with life. I dive toward it as it screams trying to break away from my hold.
The corpse screams, “NOOOOO! What is this!? Why did you bring me back!?”
The boss approaches “kind sir welcome back I have graced you with a second chance at life and now that I have helped you I would like you to help me.”
“My pet gargoyle, Zuzu which I’m certain you’ve been acquainted with and the cause of your untimely end may have been in the area of your death. If you would be so kind as to point us in the direction of your town we would certainly be happy to drop you off on the way.”
The corpse grows violent, “Your pet did this?! Well I got news for you I ain’t goin’ back! They collected from me once fed my intestines to your pet, hollowed me out and left a nasty surprise where they used to be and they ain’t getting a cent outta me again, kill me!”
A smile creeps across the bosses face, “kind sir if it’s bandits your worried about we are more than qualified to handle them in exchange for your service.”
The corpse let’s out a mocking laugh, “good luck but I learned my lesson already a group of bandits, ok but messing with the IRS nooooo thank you!
The corpse jerks on a string hanging from the outside of his stitched stomach, I hear the faint sound of a tick.
“Head east, follow the moss on the side of the rocks, good luck.” Another tick.
Esteban get down! I’m snatch back quickly. The corpse explodes in a blaze of blue. The boss protects us with an unseen force, its shape being betrayed by the dance of moonlit ash filling the room.
The ash settles and the boss strokes his beard deep in thought muttering and shivering “IRS…”
“Esteban” he utters with a sullen tone. I’ve never heard him like this.
“Yes sir?”
“Prepare a homing pigeon, we’re gonna need some help.”
| 2022-04-11T09:27:36 | 2022-04-11T07:54:10 | 80 | 23 |
[WP] "If you fools would use magic so, then the world is better off without it." And so Merlin raised his hands to the heavens and cast the Final Spell, sending all the mana of the world into the void and permanently reshaping the leylines into unusability.
|
It might look like it's gone... but it never really was. Merlin knew all too well. But, being an overly dramatic character had its purposes. So when he cast the Final Spell, eradicating magic from the face of the planet and rendering the leylines unusable, he knew that it was only a matter of time before magic would return; it always did. That would take more than a few lifetimes, time in which the world could recover from the continuous drain of mana. What Merlin couldn't fathom, though, was how the loss of magic would push the magically inclined species to the brink of extinction, while the humans flourished... and multiplied. Was it naïve? Maybe. But losing those species was a small price to pay when the alternative was losing the planet altogether.
Yet here they were. How long ago was it since he cast the spell that made countless creatures curse him? Whole civilisations which scrubbed his name from history.
"Tell me more about this anomaly, MERLIN."
The voice snapped him from his musings. He virtually rubbed his temples and prepared his best monotonous voice. "The anomaly appears to be growing by the day. According to my calculations, it will take 7 months, 6 days, 1 hour, 55 minutes and... 30 seconds to reach us."
Through a multitude of cameras, he looked at the lead researcher. Notebook in hand, scribbling away, pushing his glasses up every once in a while. Glasses... Merlin missed those. It gave his hands something to do. Behind the researcher, shadowy figures moved nervously in a room not-so-hidden-from-view as they themselves hoped.
"Are you sure, MERLIN? Run the calculations again, but take into consideration the earthquake at Stonehenge."
He sighed. Of course he took that into consideration. Stonehenge was built there because he had personally instructed the landlord of the time to do so; he knew how leylines worked, how they would reshape themselves, and that they _always_ took the path of least resistance. Being scrambled like an egg didn't change that fact.
"Calculation complete. 7 months, 6 days, 1 hour, 54 minutes, 50 seconds to contact. WARNING: neural net overload. Going into cooldown mode."
More nervous shuffling in the secret room. Merlin smirked. After all those years, mankind were still fools. Just fools with a bigger stick. He let his mind wander through the great web that mankind had created, observing the reaction of the little people who were now getting closer and closer to their reintroduction to magic. Well, general availability of it anyway. He saw how the fae moved through the shadows in greater numbers, the elves firing up again their enchanted fires, shapeshifters getting ever more curious and bold. They had felt the reconstitution of the leylines long ago, back when man went to war with fellow man in wars so big and destructive that the resulting loss of life had reenergized some of the leylines; using the lifeforce to find new connections, new nexuses of power. Merlin had seen this when he still travelled in human form, wondering who had enough power to push man to these atrocities. Of course, he knew who; who else had the vision and knowledge to pit the people against each other over minor squabbles. It didn't matter: soon, Earth would have no option but to accept magic as a real thing. They were wholly unprepared for that moment though, thanks to the machinations and actions of someone he thought long gone. But if he himself managed to keep dwelling this plane, then it wouldn't be that much of a stretch someone else could too. And so, he decided that the time had come again for leaders to stand up and guide humanity through these coming dark ages. Back when the world was smaller still, this already had proven difficult; now, with everyone seeing and hearing everything, yet condemned to their own cocoon, it sure would prove to be harder. And while a drone carrying a fragment of him made a soft landing in the grass surrounding a beautiful lake, creating a projection of him, letting him walk on the earth for the first time in centuries, he knew he needed help. The Lady would prove difficult to convince; she, too, had lost much of her power when Merlin cast the spell. But if someone knew the stakes, it would be her.
Seeing the figure rise from the completely still lake surrounded by seven Objects of Power made Merlin realise the stakes couldn't be higher. He needed to build a new Round Table.
|
The Void had suffered from ennui for a long time the day the Miracle came.
An abyss unto itself, its introspection rendered it a mirror reflecting reflections back and forth in a zero-dimensional low-stakes game of existential Pong. It had been eons since it lost track of the score.
When the Miracle arrived, the Void responded with intense skepticism. It had been born as an empty set not even contained by the set of empty sets; an ocean without a single drop of water, or a desert without a single grain of sand. It contained not even nothingness. But now, all of a sudden, the Void contained it all.
Pregnant with possibility, dread replaced ennui as the Void came to a disturbing realization: it would have to *do* something.
And so it came to be that the Void first thought of itself as something separate from the Miracle which it now contained. Its first action was to find a word to distinguish itself, and that word was: God.
| 2022-02-08T13:47:32 | 2022-02-08T12:36:40 | 60 | 14 |
[WP] You were born with the ability to see the cause of people's future end as floating text above them. No dates, just a simple word of what causes their death in the future. One day you are leaving to work, but when you step outside you notice everyone has the same text above them, "You."
|
I’ve always known things. Even when I was little.
I learned early on that this made people uncomfortable. My child mind interpreted their discomfort as “there’s something wrong with what I’m doing.”
So, like any good girl, I stopped doing it.
Or, rather, I stopped telling people I could do it.
It became a game. What dreams of mine will come true? What do I know that others clearly don’t?
Usually it was a harmless little fun… knowing what someone will say in a meeting moments before they say it, recognizing a person I’ve not met IRL yet. What the Yogis would call distracting siddhas and the Victorians would call delightful parlor games.
In my 20s, I heard Abraham Hicks for the first time. This “you create your own reality” mythology suited me and I decided to create with my abilities. I focused them and achieved two things: lucid dreaming and the death boards.
The lucid dreaming was a delight. I became my own Jackson, Spielberg, and Lucas creating fantastical worlds or my own Kubrick, Hitchcock, and Tarantino when my mind was preoccupied with darker thoughts. Hours of fun. To others it looked like an alarming 12-14 hours a day of sleeping. They’d ask me to get help. They’d say I’m depressed or not thinking clearly. They’d tell me I’m not here enough for their liking - not present or some bullshit. I like it just fine.
The death boards, though. Yeah, that was a mistake on my part. I thought it would be fun, but it really became one of those careful-what-you-wish-for misdirected manifestations.
It’s creepy. I’ve never liked it. At first I thought it manifested because I was meant to warn people - to help them or heal them.
Turns out people don’t actually want you to tell them they’re on a path to dying from heart failure. They know. And you pointing it out isn’t exactly helpful - or welcomed.
Non-natural causes were no better. I warned one woman - ONE - about her death by rape. It made her agoraphobic. Her last months were terrible - and didn’t change the outcome one bit. Nope. Not doing that to someone again.
What’s the point of knowing if there’s no associated doing? I could never full turn them off, but I succeeded in making them part of the background. It’s been years since I paid them any mind.
My dreams of late have gotten darker. I keep seeing visions of suffering. I keep getting the message that I am the source of this suffering. It’s been going on for weeks or maybe it’s been months. I’ve never been good at tracking time. I joke that everyday is Blursday for me. Most people are jealous.
Anytime I mention my dreams of late, people get that same concerned look they had when I was a child. Some wander away - others encourage me to consider therapy. I know I’m fine.
Until today. Today something quite odd happened. I saw something glimmer - or shimmer - out of the corner of my eye. A young man walking in my peripheral has a death board that’s changing. How fascinating. It’s shifting.. I can’t quite make out the word yet. It’s getting clearer. Ah, there. Wait, what? It says: “You.”
Me?! That can’t be right. I’m a good person. I would never hurt anyone.
I back away - thinking perhaps it’s an accident. Maybe I startle him soon and he steps into traffic at a bad time. IDK I just know I need to get out of here.
I round the corner and see a group of preschoolers at play. Their boards read the usual litany of deaths - mostly old age diseases with a couple leukemia’s and accidents thrown in. As I watch them play, all the boards recalibrate. The words shifting and clicking like a train board in an old European terminal. Then they stop. All of them reading the same one word: “You.”
I run. I can’t be responsible for the deaths of children. I refuse. I pass dozens of people on the way home. As soon as they perceive me, their boards all morph. You.
I come to a crowded intersection. As I stand there, all the signs begin to ripple and reform. I know what’s coming. You.
My heart is coming to grips with it now. Pausing fear long enough to allow flattery to enter. You.
Who am I to wield such power? Aren’t I just one of the nameless masses doomed to live and die without meaning? A fit man walks in my direction - his board changes from “Mt Everest.” You.
A mother and her children approach from my right. “Colon cancer, cirrhosis, meth.” Mom must die young and the kids don’t cope well. A tragic, all too common story on its own - now reshaped into something new. You.
The middle aged nurse. The construction worker in a hard hat. The girl doing a TikTok dance. Hepatitis. Head injury. DUI. All replaced with You. You. You.
What is this power? I build and destroy tales in my dreams. Am I meant to do the same when awake? Forge new stories and create meaning where there was only drudgery? No, that’s crazy. Surely that’s not true. Who am I to dare to dream of being someone this important this impactful?
You. You. You.
Who am I to deny destiny?
|
I was born to a crazy family. My gift was I could kinda see the future, but it was weird. I would get a vague idea of how you would die, I would just see an aura with the death spelled out. Most of the time it was cancer, car, violence, father, wife, and other things like that.
After 40 years I finally saw it. Saw what I had been researching for decades. The power was overwhelming. The pure narcissistic happiness of my dream of building a dirty bomb were finally fulfilled.
I saw everyone with my name floating in their aura. Except for her. She was stunning, amazing and her aura didn’t have a name in it. I didn’t understand, she was my age and her aura was blank. Why, how? I followed her. She went to work as a Starbucks barista and was all smiles and rainbows in her aura. It worked like an infection, people close to her all started to go back to the way it was before. NOOO! My dream was being destroyed, but this girl couldn’t leave my mind.
I started going every day to see her. I couldn’t stop. I delayed the bomb because each day my name was less and less prominent. All I had to do was close the circuit it would all be over, I would have won. But I couldn’t quite yet. I had to know why I was being thwarted.
One day I order my regular coffee and she gives me this big smile with a wink and hooks me up with the Venti for the price of a tall. She gave me a smile, it made my knees weak. No one has ever smiled at me like that.
I decide I need to hit the gym cause my death pooch was getting big and my clothes were a little snug. My name wasn’t over a single persons head in the gym anymore.
A few months later I ask her out on date and we fell in love. I no longer see my name on anyone’s aura, but I see her name in mine like I have since I was a kid
| 2021-09-19T09:59:39 | 2021-09-19T08:48:36 | 237 | 73 |
[WP] “I’m sorry…. I’m just…so….tired, can I rest h-” the human said and then Collapsed right after…in the dragon’s lair right in front of the dragon.
|
"I'm sorry... I'm just... so ...tired" was all the human said before collapsing before me.
A human in my lair, this will not do. Humans have long believed we dragons to be extinct, and true enough of my kin I am the last that I know of. My cousin Helgan was cut down some decades ago - to them she was the last and ive done all I could to ensure this was believed by all.
So why... why has this human appeared here. He had to descend some 25 levels to reach me here in my exile. What drove him here? These are my thoughts...the thoughts of an old dragon...an old dragon who has not felt the wind beneath his wings in decades.
"Rise human!" I bellow in dragonian, true enough I know their common tongue - we were the smartest of all creature - but to that human it should have simply sounded as a roar.
"Bloody hell!! Im up im up! No need to shout" the human answered in dragonian?!
At first I am taken by surprise but there is business to attend. The answers I seek will come naturally
"Why have you come here?" I ask "Why are you so far from the surface?"
The human panting, still exhausted from his journey "Lord Dragon" he begins. "Long has there been tale of a last dragon who could be the deciding factor in the war above..."
"War?" I interrupt, we dragons before our fall from grace were the ones who prevented wars and maintained the peace across the land. "What war? And my name is Perses not...Lord Dragon".
"My lor... Perses... with the fall of your kind we dragon speakers did what we could to maintain the peace and rule of the land but we too have been thrown down. I am the last dragon speaker... admittedly I did not know you were here, I was run from my monastary and fled to this cave unaware of its depth" he sputtered out what could only be called dragonian in the sense he could create sentences - otherwise I had heard calflings who spoke better than this human
"Human... I begin to speak
"Its jorge" he interrupts
"Very well Jorge, what is you..." as I begin to speak again I am interrupted by the sound of heavily armored men, who I can only assume are those of Jorge's persuers.
"Theyre close I mutter" I can not be seen lest my torment will begin anew, in a huff I leap to the top of the cavern - my black, brown, and red scales will keep me hidden amongst the Cavern walls.
"Here he is!" A voice from beyond yells "He must have come here in hopes of finding a dragon!" Another voice jeers. A chorus of laughter rises up...and then I see them, red leather marked with the scales of my kind. These are the men who led to our end
"My brothers!" Jorge yells out. "I am no threat to you this pursuit is a waste of your ti..." the largest man strikes Jorge in the face
"Shut up dragonbane!" He hollars... dragonbane this is unexpected... Jorge failed to mention we shared blood, this changes everything "The queen will not listen to reason and sign the treaty until all of you and the Dragons are dead, the dragons are gone and youre the last of your kind" he tells jorge...
In a blur I descend and crush three of the 12 attackers.
An eery silence washes over the men as they take in my sight
"Dra...dra... DRAGON!!" The one who hit Jorge screams
He does not speak for long, in an instant my tail swings around and crushes him. The last 8 die without honor some eaten, some crushed and others burned begging for mercy.
I was careful to not crush Jorge however... lifting him up to my snout
"Hmmm dragonbane eh.... and the Queen is still loyal?" I ask. "Yes Perses what they said was true"
"Well It seems we shall need to go and visit her than...wont we?"
|
The dragon looked at the collapsed human curiously. After a bit of consideration and making sure that a delivery hadn't been arranged, the dragon shrugged and devoured the human anyway, preparing a little lie for Gladys at the next mountain over. Her deliveries were always being left here and, well, is it really so wrong to benefit from a misordered snack from time to time?
Chewing thoughtfully, the dragon carefully spit out pieces yellow metal onto the pile (most metal humans carried digested rather easily, but the yellow metal caused fierce indigestion) and considered that maybe for the next meal it could be good to order up an Italian.
Life is good.
| 2022-11-02T13:01:16 | 2022-11-02T08:50:00 | 36 | 22 |
[WP] After being kidnapped you wake up in a room where the only thing to keep you occupied is a computer with access to just wikipedia. After 2 years you are taken to an illegal gameshow as 1 of 10 contestants, if you are eliminated, you die.
|
When I was kidnapped, I figured it was the end for me. I had no money, no connections, nothing I thought these people wanted.
They'd drugged me. I woke up, woozy but terrified, in a bare room with a toilet and a computer.
Of course, my first move had been to try to get help. I tried dozens of social media sites, news sites, local county websites, anything that would let me comment - but everything was blocked.
Except Wikipedia.
I tried to write a page about myself as a desperate last attempt to contact someone, anyone, but I couldn't create an account; I couldn't compose anything. Those links were blocked, too.
For the next two years, I never saw any of my kidnappers. I was completely isolated.
I would wake up after a few, scattered hours of sleep, and food would be left on the computer desk. I never saw anyone come in or out, but every day, food would come, and the dirty dishes would be gone. Toilet paper would be replaced as necessary.
Over my time locked in that room, Wikipedia became my lifeline. It was my only connection to my sanity. It became my obsession.
Wake up. Piss. Eat. Do some push-ups. Read. Sleep. Repeat.
At first, I browsed aimlessly. Then, it struck me - This had to be some sort of test, and if my kidnappers were willing to go to these lengths to keep me here, there had to be serious consequences if I failed.
Wikipedia was the only source of allowed information - but what was I supposed to research? Was I looking for patterns, or specific subjects, or conspiracy theories?
I had no idea, so I just began browsing alphabetically.
After two years, I still didn't know what I was looking for. But I felt like I knew a lot more than I did when I started. Besides, the routine kept me sane and alert. I had a feeling that any form of complacency would be the death of me.
When the kidnappers came again, I was ready for them. I wasn't afraid, not yet - I knew they wouldn't have wasted all their time and resources just to randomly kill me.
I was blindfolded and led into a different room. When they removed the blindfold, I found myself in a dingy, white room lit by a series of humming fluorescent lights. There were two speakers perched on a wall full of hundreds of webcams, all facing a worn-down card table circled by ten folding chairs.
There were nine other people seated around the table, and they looked a lot like I felt - mentally exhausted, but wary, hyperalert. Captives, like me. One empty seat, just for me.
After forcing me into the chair at gunpoint, our captors left the room, and we were alone with the webcams.
I was dying to ask questions, but I had a feeling they all knew just as much about the situation as I did. Which wasn't much. No one else was saying anything, so I decided to hold my tongue.
Distorted, generic game show music suddenly blasted through the silence. We all jumped a little. The tension in the atmosphere felt like a weighted blanket pressing down on all of us.
The music stopped as suddenly as it started. All of the webcams now had blinking red lights. All on, all recording. A deep, distorted voice started talking through the speakers:
**Hello. You are all probably wondering why you are here.**
**You are here because someone paid for you to be here. Our service allows people to settle personal matters through unconventional mediators for a large financial sum.**
**This means that if you are here, you have done something to deserve it. You have committed an atrocity that cannot be rectified through a legal judicial system.**
**Part of the viewers watching through these cameras are your victims; however, there are many live viewers that also enjoy watching our show.**
**Welcome to the 205th weekly episode of The Retribution.**
**The rules are simple. Answer the questions correctly, and you will walk free. You will have a second chance to atone for your sins.**
**Answer incorrectly, and you will be eliminated in a manner consistent with your crimes.**
**Only one person will leave this room. In the event of a tie, the questions will continue until someone is eliminated.**
**When your name is announced, it is your turn. Answering questions not assigned to you will result in immediate elimination.**
The voice finished speaking, and the music began blaring again. My mind was racing; I was panicking.
*What did I do?! I don't remember doing anything to hurt anyone! I pay my bills on time, I go to work every day, I don't know anyone, I don't know anyone!*
**Sofia Baldwin. You are first.**
A blonde woman sitting opposite of me went instantly pale.
**Your question is as follows: "In the year 2006, how many deaths does the National Highway Traffic Safety Administration estimate occurred due to alcohol-related traffic collisions?"**
Utter silence filled the room. Sofia swallowed nervously, hands shaking. She looked like she had slipped into a trance, reliving some awful memory. Her eyes were brimming with tears when she answered, barely speaking above a whisper:
"Eighteen thousand."
**That is correct. Well done, Sofia.**
The lights on the webcams blinked silently. I could hear my heart pounding against my chest, begging to burst out.
**Justin Merlock.**
An older man, easily in his sixties, glared at the speakers, seemingly unafraid.
**Name five examples of actions that constitute a war crime.**
The man's face froze for a second, then was overtaken with sheer hatred and anger.
"I will not play your game! I will not bow to your sick rules! I fought for my country, and I deserve respect for what I've been through! You people have no idea of what sacrifices have been made to allow you to have freedom! You people have -"
A bullet flew through one of the walls and lodged itself directly in the man's head. He sputtered for a moment; his eyes went blank, and he slumped forward onto the table with a bang.
Sofia broke out sobbing, another woman screamed, and we all essentially lost our shit.
This was real. This was really happening. And there were still nine of us left.
This was only the beginning of the longest night of my life.
(On mobile, this is a lot of typing. Part 2 coming soon.)
|
After god knows how long of waiting the door finally opens, not just the slot where the food trays were shoved through, but the whole, actual, goddamn door. I was shocked, I had run this scenario time and time again while I laid in bed waiting for sleep to take me, but now that it was happening I couldn’t move.
“Miss Taylor?” There was a small woman with wire-rimmed glasses and a sharp pantsuit in the doorway, she was holding a clipboard.
I opened my mouth trying to force something to come out. How long had it been since I last spoke? “Y-yes,” I managed to croak out.
“It’s time, please follow me,” she turned on her heel and began walking. I scrambled up out of my desk and followed her.
I couldn’t remember exactly how I got to the cell so I was surprised to see we were in what appeared to be a stylish and chic modern office building with an occasional prison door like the one that lead to my room. I squinted at the sunlight coming in through the pains of glass trying to determine where we might be headed as we zigzagged through a maze of hallways. Eventually the small woman stopped in front of an unmarked door “Enter through there, take a shower and someone will be with you shortly.”
Shower. How long had it been since I had one of those? It had probably been three days since my last shower when I was brought here originally, and there was no shower in the room. I walked through the door into a blue tiled room. There were shower head hanging every ten feet or so, and each shower head had a chair next to it. Only one chair had some items on it and I went closer to investigate. There was a white fluffy robe, white slippers, and some travel toiletries.
I started the shower and thought back to what brought me here. I had not been in a good way, was about to be evicted, and responded to a Craigslist ad about a trivia show. I’d always been pretty smart and I figured it couldn’t hurt me if I got rejected or lost. God was I wrong.
They explained at the interview the rules, and how it wasn’t exactly legal. Ten contestants, 1 million dollar prize, everyone who is eliminated dies. At the time I thought they were joking. I agreed and they explained the rules further, we’d be locked in the cells for 2 years be fed, clothed, and allowed to sleep, and our only source of information to prepare was Wikipedia. I agreed again. They did a pre interview with me saying it was for the opening to the show, explain why you want the money and everything. Before the interview they asked if I’d like some water, and I agreed as I was a little nervous to be on camera. Taking the sip of water is basically the last thing I remember before waking up here.
I finished the shower and put on the robe and slippers before sitting on the chair. I finger combed my hair as I waited for what was to come. Just then the door opened. (second part to come)
| 2018-04-29T10:21:54 | 2018-04-29T09:50:00 | 1,835 | 248 |
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
"If you're trying to get taken to the asylum for this," I replied, "it won't work. You *will* be hanged. So how about you tell us where you're really from. At least we can notify your family that way."
"I'm telling you, I'm from the future!" the assassin shouted.
"Oh yeah, what year?"
"2032."
I laughed. "Come on, man, everyone knows time travel isn't invented until 2349."
His face turned ashen. "Wait, what?"
"2349, dude. You never read a history book? So who you with? History Correction Movement? Jewish-Roma Rescue Alliance? Pacifists Interplanetary?"
"You --" he stammered -- "you already know about time travel? But... I invented it. And it *was* in 2032!"
Finally it clicked for me. I laughed out loud. The assassin looked like he was going to be sick. "Hey Hans, get in here!" I called down the hall. My partner came in, an eyebrow raised. "We've got an Independent!" I said.
"Whoa. We haven't had one of those in years. How long before '349?" he asked.
"Get this, he says he's a 21st-century boy."
Hans whistled. "*Twenty-first*," he said, drawing the syllables out.
The assassin turned to the side and vomited. Hans and I looked on, unfazed. "So buddy," I said, "I'm assuming that when you cracked time-travel, you didn't leave your notes around for anyone to find before you left."
"No..." he trailed off.
"They never do," I said.
"Never do," Hans nodded.
"Course, if you had left their notes behind," I said to the assassin, "I guess that'd've been the date in the history books. Who knows how many folks like you there were pre-'349, who cracked the secret but left without telling anyone. Everyone always figures they'll find a way to jump back forward. And they never do. We've seen, what, two hundred Independents so far, Hans?"
"Two hundred twenty-one," Hans said.
"Two hundred twenty-one," I repeated. "And that's just us, in the 500 years we've been here. Who knows how many of you went back to kill Stalin, or Mao, or their ex-wife for that matter."
"What the fuck is going on?" muttered the assassin, mostly to himself.
"You wanna explain it?" I asked Hans.
"Nah, you can."
"You ever hear the idea that we live in the best of all possible worlds?"
"Isn't that what *Candide* was making fun of?" the assassin asked.
"Yep," I answered. "And it's a fucking stupid idea. Only thing is, it just happens to be true."
"Oh come on--"
"You see," I explained, cutting him off. "When someone comes back and kills Hitler, the timeline they create actually winds up being *worse* than the original. Don't blame me. I think it's fucked up. WWII and all the shit that come afterward shouldn't be the best-case scenario. But I didn't make the system. Take it up with the man upstairs.
"So yeah," I continued, "that timeline's worse. A lot worse. In the original timeline, you get time travel in 2349. It took our people until 3283. That should tell you something. But when we did figure it out, boy, we made good use of it."
The assassin snorted. "Made good use of it? You didn't even stop me."
I looked at the clock. Hans saw the time, and stepped out of the room. I cleared my throat. "Sir, you stand charged with the offense of attempting to interfere with the original timeline. Under the Preservation Act adopted by the Inter-Timeline Council in 3302, I am authorized to administer a judgment and a sentence of my own accord. As such, you are hereby convicted and sentenced to death. The sentence will be carried out 24 hours ago, by Agent Hans Pintscher of the --"
At that point I looked up, and noticed the assassin was already gone. His handcuffs lay empty on the table.
----
^(Edit: Thanks, everyone, for all the nice comments and the constructive criticism. To be honest, I didn't think out the time-travel science in too much detail. I think part of the point of writing prompts is to let your words flow without worrying about making the story "polished." If I wanted to turn this into a proper short story, I'd definitely clear up some of the underlying science, and also make the exposition a tad less clunky. Thanks again for all the kind words!)
|
After having just come from the scene of the crime, it was a pretty straight forward process: ask him why then hang him high.
"So, Dirtbag, what's the deal? Score to settle with the Hitlers? You got a funny brain? You got something to say, say it now because either way, you're DONE!" I said in the gruffiest tone one can muster after seeing a slaughtered child.
He sat, calm and still, eyes staring straight ahead with an expression of relief and accomplishment, "I wonder what the world is like now?" He pondered out loud.
My tense body slowly loosened as I realised, this man would never answer the question that didn't really matter anyway. Things were run my way in this town. I left the room and locked the door. I went on with day without giving it a second thought. He stayed there to rot like the piece of shit he is. What is wrong with people?
Edit: So, I can't read and this is my first attempt at a WP hence the shortness I guess. Plus I'm not exactly a writer, just though I'd give it a shot for a bit of fun. I'll try better next time. Promise.
| 2015-03-30T00:21:44 | 2015-03-29T22:57:59 | 1,156 | 64 |
[WP]The pill that decreases aging has been released, but you decided not to take it. It was a good call, because a few decades later, side effects started to emerge.
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During the development phase, the drug was given the code name Rx-Infinity. The media would try to get inside scoops as to what it was, and what it was supposed to do. There wasn't this much coverage on a drug or it's research in a long time. You would have thought it was a cure for cancer... But it was so much more than that.
When it finally arrived, the drug was simply called "miracle". Scientists were showing lab results, and how mice who were given the drug were still alive 5 years later. This was about 5x longer than most mice in captivity, and they were still going strong. The mice still had all of their senses and were acting just as they did when they were 4 months old.
It was also shown to heal the sick, allow the lame to walk, and restore the mental health of those who had gone insane. It truly was a miracle... but as a scientist who worked on it, I had my reservations. I felt my colleagues were too optimistic, and they had become biased toward the success of the drug due to the push of the media. "It had to succeed, it will change the world, and we'll be famous."
We were playing god, and when humans played god and got prideful, it never ended well.
I tried to keep observation of the mice over the years, but per order of the higher ups, the mice were destroyed. My boss tried to explain it to me saying the tests were a success, and they were no longer needed. Everyone in the lab was volunteering to be the human test subjects. I still had my doubts, so I settled to observe the "larger test subjects" I was working with.
Most people in the civilized world were now taking Miracle. Culture changed. Miracle kept showing how powerful it was out in society. The most striking change I saw was how obesity was now a thing of the past. It appeared to raise the metabolism in these individuals, melt the fat, and allow the person to excrete it as waste.
Over the years, the Olympic games were renamed to the Miracle games, as Athletes in their 50's and 60's were competing against those in their 20's. Miracle was the great equalizer in society... I still refused to take it, even though it had been out in the public for 20 years now. I still had my doubts. I couldn't put my finger on it, but something just wasn't right.
When I hit the age of 55, Miracle had been on the market for 35 years... and my patience finally paid off. I was in the lab early that particular day. I was hard at work at my station, when from the corner of my eye, I noticed a girl. She looked to be about 15 or 16. She sat down at Margaret's desk and started to power on the computer.
Perplexed, I asked the young lady if she was lost.
"Oh, Jim. You're so funny. I know I have been out on a 6 month sabbatical, but you should still recognise your co-worker."
The teen entered in Margaret's password, and finished up the boot process for the computer and started checking e-mail. I just slowly turned and smiled to myself.
--------------------------------------
I'm now 75 years old, Miracle has been out for 55 years now. My nickname around the lab is Father Time. Yes, I have gotten up in years, but my work is still not complete. Everyone who has been taking Miracle now has the body of a child. They all look to be somewhere between 3 and 6 years old. They still have their intellect, so it is amusing to watch these children go about the daily life of adults. They have tried to stop taking the drug, but from what I have seen, the withdrawal is too much for them. They start throwing temper tantrums, fitting for their small bodies, until they receive the drug.
I just hope to see what happens before I die... Yes, I may die soon, but these people, what will happen to them? My hypothesis is they will simply vanish someday, and they will simply be remembered as a sparkle in someone's eye.
|
It's been about twenty years since forevermore was released to the general public. Once people thought they would live forever they started to care about the planet. Within the first fifteen things were relatively smooth.We had reduced carbon emmisions and started reforestation.You could almost call it a utopian society. I had received endless ridicule for abstaining for "eternal life". Most calling me old fashion, or a "natural" but it sounded to good to be true, and boy howdy I was right.
First birthrates started to drop slightly, then they took a noes dive. You see if people stop dieing and keep giving birth we would become overpopulated. So when it was discovered forevermore sterilized people it wasn't a problem. Untill the hunger happened.
Not from a food shortage or a change of metabolism. It was a gluttony for fleash.
| 2016-10-09T07:37:56 | 2016-10-09T06:23:32 | 613 | 14 |
[WP] You have been kidnapped and your wealthy significant other was told to pay the hefty ransom. Instead, they sent a message back to your kidnappers. “Nice knowing you.” While the kidnappers discuss their next move, you look up through the tiny window, stare at the full moon overhead … and smile.
|
I laid where I was tossed; on a bathroom floor with my back to the door. My hands and feet were bound and I hadn’t moved since my *kidnapping* took place that morning. In a way, it was my own fault that I was caught, and no doubt my husband was going to have plenty to say about it tomorrow morning over breakfast.
You see, we have a staff of nearly a hundred at the estate, and Michael has always warned me against leaving the house during a full moon. To leave whatever needed doing to the staff. But I was not a china doll. I was thirty-eight and had three teenaged kids and I refused to be put on a shelf. Other mothers drove their kids to school, and I wanted to do at least that much. On the trip home, I got peckish and pulled into a supermarket to buy a pack of ribs to gnaw on along the way.
The supermarket parking lot was where they drove up alongside my car in a white van and ambushed me. The chloroform they held over my face was a dirty trick, for this time of the month made us especially susceptible to it.
That was the downside. On the upside, it didn’t take long to shake off the effects either. Animal metabolism for the win. So five minutes later, while pretending to still be asleep, I heard the two in the driver’s cabin talking.
Because … our hearing was good at this time of month as well.
Fast forward to the evening, and Michael had timed his response perfectly. I could hear my kidnappers arguing in the next room, but unless they had splurged on silver bullets, they were about to have a really bad evening.
The worst part was yet to come. I could feel the pull of the moon’s second full cycle and I went up onto my knees, reaching out to hold the window ledge. Whoever said the shift was easy was a goddamn moron. Bones popping and swelling. Flesh tearing and reforming. And here’s me, trying to undergo all of that without making a noise. Trust me, it doesn’t matter that I’ve been undergoing this since I first hit puberty a couple of decades ago. It still hurts like a mofo!
In my half form, I was like every other lycanthrope. Eight feet tall, and three wide at the shoulder. Fortunately, three inches of jet black hair all over kept me morally decent. Because yes, we are still people, even in that form, thank you.
Needless to say, the ropes that bound me were now in pieces on the floor among the fragments of my shredded clothes. With my ears twitched forward, I heard my family howling nearby, and my own chest swelled to respond.
I busted out the tiny bathroom window, not to escape but just to let them know I was fine.
And that brought my kidnappers running.
Let me also be the first to say, it never gets old to watch one or more cocky humans at that moment when they realise they are screwed in every sense of the word. By removing me from the city, they had guaranteed no help would be forthcoming. Even better, my pack had followed the note back to where I was being held. By scent through the broken window, I knew there were currently more werewolves in the immediate vicinity than humans.
Michael was never going to let me live this down.
They started firing at me, and I raised myself to my full height to give them the biggest possible target. Without silver to lead the way, their weapons wouldn’t even penetrate our dermal layer.
After they ran out of bullets, they drew their knives.
*Slow, slow learners.*
I couldn’t help myself. I chuckled, and that sound is even creepier on an upright werewolf. At my age, I was able to speak in this form. I had one word for them.
***“Run.”***
Last night, the pack had hunted down a handful of rabbits and two wild pigs within our mountainous property.
Tonight would be something to tell the grandkids.
*\* \* \**
((All comments welcome))
***For more of my work including WPs:*** [r/Angel466](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/) or an index of previous WPS [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/Angel466/comments/m4p5f2/wp_index_take_two/).
|
As I stretched into my true reptilian form, the humans were still busy talking about how best to go about torturing and killing me. Fools. I was the descendant of a proud race of reptilians, spanning galaxies. All of the human race was but a blink in our eyes. My scale stretched and popped as my body adjusted after fifteen years of this miserable human shell. Finally, they turned back too late, their eyes widening in fear. I also spotted a few of the pathetic ones losing control of their bladders. I made easy work of them, and munched on their skin and bones, drinking their blood and relishing its coppery tang. No longer would I hide my true identity.
***She*** had to go.
| 2021-03-19T01:41:28 | 2021-03-19T01:21:29 | 567 | 83 |
[WP] Your military experiment accidentally tears a portal open to Hell. However, instead of the demon hordes pouring through, you discover that they are frantically trying to close the portal from their side.
|
The scientists sat down at the table for the hearing. Though their work had been done under a military committee earmark, the ramifications had led Congress to call a special committee, so the lead researcher realized he didn't recognize half the members of the panel.
After the mandatory introductions and swearing in, the chair of the committee directed his first question to the lead researcher. "Well, Dr. Maro... this experiment seems to have had an odd outcome... care to enlighten the panel as to the events in your words, starting with what the experiment was supposed to achieve?"
Dr. Maro nodded. "Certainly. Our project initially was initially focused on developing a new form of propulsion. It's a design based on the hypothetical Alcubier Drive - warping space in front and pushing it behind both to propel the ship and shorten the distance traveled. We were modifying the theory for use within atmospheric conditions."
The chair nodded. "So... what happened on the day of the incident?"
"We were working out on a field test of our prototype, just to see if the effect could be sustained in normal aerial conditions - we'd tested it in isolation labs before, but we wanted to judge its actual propulsion potential and see what effect it had outside the vehicle. We loaded it into a drone and elevated it just above the ground using conventional helicopter rotors, before turning the device on to see how it affected motion. For 6.25 seconds, it seemed to work normally; however, it then hit something invisible in the air."
"What did it hit, exactly?" said another senator. "I mean, we know what it turned out to be, but what EXACTLY was it?"
Dr. Maro nodded, understanding the question. "Well... scientifically we're not one hundred percent sure what it is. It's something that the lab techs are still trying to account for theoretically. But the effect, as you said, leads us to presume it was a barrier in a passage to another world. The top theories are that it was a block covering a wormhole to another planet, a "thin spot" between universes, or somehow "unwound" a conduit to another spatial dimension folded up and out of sight."
The committee began to grumble at the implications, but the chair kept them in order. "Well, continue with the description of the events."
Dr. Maro nodded. "The drive created a bubble around the drone." He hit a button on his laptop, and a video started to play for the committee; he silently thanked whatever God there was that it worked on the first try and wasn't like his old college systems. "This first video is from in the lab, so you can see what it SHOULD look like." He tapped another button, and the video changed to the desert start-up test, showing the same effect as it moved the drone up to a stopping point. "And here's where the incident occurred." As it hit that object, the bubble seemed to become dented, and then tore apart like a balloon popping as something in the air was ripped open. "As the field hit the... opening point, it ruptured the warp bubble, to borrow a term from sci-fi, and the drone careened to one side. But the other object was moved in some way, and the opening was made as a result."
As the drone was thrown off course and the drive was shut down by the killswitch, the air seemed to tear away at the spot that the bubble dented at. Behind that apperture, a burning wasteland with a smoke-filled reddish sky seemed superimposed upon the landscape. The part of the air that tore off now looked like metal facing the camera.
"Our team investigated, and took some samples from the object, but we were interrupted by a figure who approached from the world on the other side of the opening."
A congressman chimed in with a southern voice, "Your report described the figure... tall, blood red skin, potbellied, with horns and cloven hooves... is that correct?" As the doctor nodded, the representative continued. "I don't know about you, doc, but that sounds like the devil to me."
The question was finally asked bluntly, and the doctor sighed and said, "I agree."
The congressman continued, "And that OTHER WORLD looks and sounds like Hell, all fire and brimstone."
Dr. Maro could only nod in agreement. "Yes, it seems to be. It did smell sulfuric as well. Like rotten eggs."
The Congressman then said, "So then why aren't we sending some soldiers to defend against a demonic invasion? The report here indicated no further action needed, but if we've got a door to Hell, shouldn't we be watching it at least?"
Dr. Maro sighed and shook his head. "I see your point... but no." The video continued, with the figure yelling something at the scientists, but without directing violence towards them. He then reached over and pulled shut the metal slab, with the air returning to normal.
"You see," he said, "I think that we found something out there... but not an invasion threat. We couldn't understand his language at first, but our linguistics team worked on his statement. And we think we know what he was saying - it was in a form of Aramaic." He looked down at the notes, and said "Based on the translation, the figure in the video wasn't really angry with us in general... the situation was just inconvenient."
"Inconvenient? Like he didn't have his armies yet inconvenient?"
"No, Congressman," Maro stated. "He was upset because we left the door open and he was afraid all the heat would get out."
|
Their language couldn't be understood by the humans, but their body language said it all.
Terrified, the creatures screeched and rushed to close the portal, most of them giving up and running away.
The soldiers stared ahead, too stunned to speak or move. *What have we created?* The creature in front of them had wandered around, confused, before nonchalantly tearing through reality and looking into what seemed to be another dimension. "He" had quite literally torn through reality, as if he had been slicing through cardboard. From the side, the creature didn't look confused anymore. The thing looked excited. His face held the kind of grin that sent shivers down your spine.
The creature walked forward. One of the soldiers grabbed a tranquilizer dart and rushed at the creature, jamming it into its back. The creature didn't even acknowledge the dart- except to turn around, fast as lightning, and slice into and through the soldier's midsection, tearing him in half and smashing his remains against the wall. The other soldiers, terrified, took a step back. The creature, with a smile that took up the entire bottom half of its face and looked more like rage than anything else, stepped through the portal.
The creatures on the other side had mostly run away. The only ones left were a small group who looked like they intended on defending whatever the place was that the creature had barged into, uninvited. The group and the thing had what looked to be a confrontation. Words were exchanged, although no human could understand them. The thing turned around and started to close the portal. The last thing that the soldiers saw was the creature starting to dispose of the defenders in a gruesome way, reminiscent of what it had done to the soldier.
\-
They only found out later that their "experiment" had actually been Lucifer himself. They had revived him. Not the Lucifer who is the fallen angel who was kicked out of Heaven and has a place in Hell, but the Lucifer who all of the stories are based off of. The sadistic personification of evil himself had been brought to life and had forced his way back home.
The story goes that this thing loved to torture and kill anything that moved, even (especially) his own demonic hordes. It had gotten so bad that all of the forces of Hell had banded together to kill him. It had been a deed worth celebrating. Well, until now.
| 2022-09-12T08:44:24 | 2022-09-12T07:32:55 | 442 | 83 |
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