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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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[WP] You've been dating your partner for six months. Tonight they've invited you to a work event, and as you step onto the red carpet, you realize it for the first time: you're dating a celebrity.
|
As the car slowed in the lineup, I forgot to breathe. It was all beginning to make sense. I knew Talia was well-off, but the limousine seemed a little extravagant for a work outing. It made me a little uncomfortable to be in one of these, again. It had been so, so long-- a different time, a different life altogether. They'd seen to that.
But now it was all falling into place. The fancy clothes, how Talia kept reassuring me that everyone was going to love me. As the cameras flashed in a flurry, snapping the photos of the couple exiting the limo in front of us, it made sense. Not her workmates. The tabloids. The public.
My mouth went dry, and my pulse was racing. We were next. If I didn't get out, what would happen? Would the paparazzi just shoot through the darkened windows? What could they see? Could they make out my face well enough for them recognize it?
It had been seven years, but it wasn't long enough. I knew good and well they'd never forget, never stop looking. Seven years since my life ended, and I was charged with restarting from nothing. A new name, a new haircolor, a new history. If they'd been able to change my face, I'm sure they would have. But no, I still looked like me. The daughter of what was once a notorious mafia boss. My pretty little face, a little less lined with age and worry, had been plastered all over the papers when my testimony went public in the largest mafia bust to ever shake the Eastern seaboard.
Before the trial even went to court, the death threats had begun. I'd tried to be stubborn about it. Tried to hold my head high, and not let them scare me. It wasn't until I came home to that box on the balcony of my tiny apartment that I'd finally cracked and admitted I needed witness protection. I could still remember every detail of peeling open the brown cardboard. The smell that hit my nose as I stared down at the dark mass within. I didn't register what it was right away. Not until I recognized the collar.
"...Ana?" Talia looked to me, concern in her brown eyes as the car began to move forward. "What is it? Please, don't be nervous. The cameras may be a little extra in-our-faces since I've never walked the carpet with another woman before, but I promise. It's not really that big of a deal anymore. They'll get their debut photos and move on."
I barely heard her, my frame all but paralyzed as the car began to slow. It was our turn. "You said you were an executive," I breathed, barely able to find my voice.
"I-- Ana, the movie. It's called _The Executive._ You can't-- you knew, didn't you? Talia Elliot, my name is in all the..." Her voice trailed, perfect red lips hanging open for a moment in shock as she registered the sheer fear in my eyes. "You had no idea."
"I don't go out much, Tali," I whispered.
And that was all there was time for. The doors flew open, a smiling man in a tuxedo offering out a hand to help Talia from her seat. She looked back at me, brow furrowed with concern as she reached out to squeeze my hand. "We'll talk about it tonight. Don't worry, I'm right here with you. They're all going to love you, I promise!" And she rose, stepping out.
I sat frozen in my seat, the blinding flurry of camera flashes reducing her to little more than a silhouette in front of me. There was the briefest beat of an expectant pause as they waited for me to follow, before one of the more assertive paparazzo craned over the red velvet ropes that barred them from the carpet. I looked at him, eyes obscured by the camera, that black lens reflecting my pale, panicked face.
And then the flash went off, and I knew it was all over.
|
On our first date, I told her that I don't like movies much. I find them over-stimulating and prefer reading. I have some old DVDs of my favorites (I can quote every line from Moonstruck), but hadn't seen anything new in years. She seemed really interested, and I thought it was because she loved to read, too.
Well, it turns out she was just delighted not to be recognized. I finally figured that out today--and, let me tell you, the Oscars are an awkward event for someone who hasn't seen a new movie since 2009. I spent most of my time at the after party talking to Luke Skywalker about Return of the Jedi. The food was fantastic, although Benjamin Button spilled some wine on my dress.
Oh, and Cher wasn't there. I really thought that was a bummer.
edit: word
| 2017-06-14T12:00:32 | 2017-06-14T10:40:17 | 372 | 55 |
[WP] You are an elite member of the royal guard. You have recently been fired from your position because of the new king. Little does he know, there was a reason why the previous king kept you in his service for so long.
Edit: Holy crap this blew up! Thank you all!
|
Thank you for your kindness and your wisdom, friend. You say you don't want a fancy tin king hat, but I can at least answer some of your questions. You wanted to know why I was wearing this old uniform. Well, it is a bit tattered, but it's because I'm a Royal Guardsman. 'Least I was. Maybe I'll be one again. Long as I can remember I liked watchin' em, parading about the city with their shiny brass buttons and wonderful swords, folded iron so many times over and sharpened to gleaming perfection.
​
And when King Alfred III saw me watching them and asked if I wanted to join, of course I said yes. Maybe I'm not the smartest, but they were always good to me. Real patient, even when I had trouble getting the uniform on. And when I got everything just right, they let me march with them up and down in front of the palace, all the guard in perfect synchrony while the city watched. Those were the happiest days of my life.
But then a new king, King Stephen XI, came into my room in the barracks and looked me up and down and said he didn't like me there. Said I could march about an island in my shiny brass buttons and uniform, 'an that was the Will of the King. I didn't like it. I liked the city, where the songs of the forges helped me fall asleep at night, but I thought about what the old sergeant had said. Sometimes the men wanted to sit about instead of getting dressed and marching, but the king told them to march. And being an elite royal guardsman meant doing what the king says. Even if I don't like it much. So off I went, on a great big ship with a great big lead anchor.
​
At first I loved the island. My new room was even nicer than my old one, with intricate copper filigree walls, a bed with silver inlay, and all of it braced by majestic cold iron beams. The men were nice, and even when I messed up the buttons on purpose they would still let me go on parade. But it wasn't the same, and I got bored. So I started thinking. Kings are like trees. When one falls, the sun will shine through to the forest floor once more, and the saplings will grow. And maybe I had to do what the king says, but if the old king was an oak and says **THIS** and the new king was an elm and says *that* then maybe the new new king will be an oak and say **THIS** again.
I thought it was clever. Now I know I'm not the smartest, but I had thought real hard about this and I was proud. But when I told them, they didn't bother to listen. They just tried to kill me! And even though their swords were made from the finest steel, with words engraved in gold that were supposed to hurt, it was the words they said that hurt the most. They called me a monster. An abomination. Said that I had no friends. They said that I would die, alone, on that rock.
But they were wrong. You said so yourself; the city's only a half day away and I can hear the forges singing from here. I think you're right about the men on the island. They were just angry because Stephen XI took them away from their friends and told them to guard me. So they got angry at me instead. Every day I learn something new. You're probably right about the royal guard too. Before talking to you I thought they were rotten wood and needed to be cut as well, but they're just doing what the king says, like elite royal guardsmen should.
Anyhow, I guess you talked me into mercy. I'm still taking my hat back, though. What? Why are you looking at me like that? It wasn't the Iron Crown of Legend back when I made the bloody thing for Alfred. The proper royal metal is tin, and crowns shouldn't be iron or silver or gold any more than pipes should be made out of magnesium. Look. I'll make you an even fancier tin king hat, and it'll fit you properly. What's not to like? Oh. You really think Stephen XI would try and do that? Even after I take my hat back? Well, if you would accept me, I would be honored to be the first member of your royal guard.
|
The old king and I were pretty close friends. I introduced him to most of the playmates within his harem. Comprised of but not limited to Vicky Vallencourt & Suzy Crabgrass. Some nights, we’d play uno together. He knew I would let him win and for me? Honestly. I liked it. He could see how I liked it so... no longer was I there to please his majesty, I was there for me. Someone who had the keys not to the Royal palace, but to his own character. Had the king been not of royal blood he would of admired this in me- instead I was merely found amusing which never quite sat well with me. And now? I think that may be all I’ll ever have been. For, there’s nothing to be of me now. Not without him.
| 2021-02-28T05:41:56 | 2021-02-28T01:37:57 | 40 | 14 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.
|
**0 Days since Discovering Life in the SL-2 System**
“Hey, Somaat, come look at this. Am I reading this right?” Korjal said with prudent curiosity. “My readout is telling me SL-2 is emitting weird elevated amounts of radio waves.” Somaat got up from his station and meandered to her side. “Probably, or maybe the calibration’s off. Where is it again?” Somaat grumbled. “SL-2 is in the Orion Arm.”
“Are the arrays in sync?”
“Yes.”
“Are you looking with correct optics?”
“Yes.”
“Sensors?”
“Yes, Sir.”
“Hmm...” Somaat growled. “No worries, we’ll get a diagnostics team to look at the software. But in the meantime, I suggest *you* notify the Congress on your findings.” Korjal flinched in her seat, “Sir? Is that wise? We don’t know if-” “If it is, you may have found *the* first civilization. If not, it was a fluke with the equipment, nothing more. Either way, we will have our answer tomorrow.”
**10 Days since Discovering Life in the SL-2 System**
*After Korjal’s findings were presented to the Stellatic Congress, a task force was quickly established and mobilized to reach the SL-2 system, and if it’s inhabitants still extant, to perform First Contact on behalf of the Living Worlds Confederacy. Being the entirety of the Cofederacy resides in the Scutum-Crux, and again assuming SL-2 harbors life still, SL-2 would remain largely autonomous until Portal Apparatuses can be emplaced. Being the two who first observed SL-2 readings, colloquially known as the “Old Ones,” they were given special permission to be on the task force.*
Korjal stood by Somaat’s side. “And how long did you say the voyage will take, Sir?” Somaat inquired the Commander. “If we leave on schedule, and there are no major inconviences, we should reach the system within 20 days.” Korjal was no warfighter, she was an astronomer. “Please, Commander, this is a scientific mission. Why are we embarking on a navy cruiser?” The Commander smiled, “That’s an excellent point Korjalmis. We are simply acting as a security force. In fact, we have stripped most of our munitions and arms to make room for the equipment and any artifacts you may find!” Korjal smiled, and the three went on their way. In three days time, they would embark on a journey that would challenge everything they knew.
**25 Days since Discovering Life in the SL-2 System**
*The expidition went off without a hitch. All personnel accounted, and all equipment in inventory. Over the 20 day voyage the instruments were flooded with new signals and data was ever increasing. What no one expected however, was how quickly the signals changed. It was as if whatever species lived at SL-2 was extremely adept at honing and perfecting the technology they had, and inventing new tech. The scientists and researchers on board were so overwealmed, the Commander altered course to a nearby star system approx. 1.5 parsec from SL-2. The Commander, with imput from the the research team, held steady for an additional 2 days while the data was being analyzed.**
Somaat buzzed Korjal’s bunk door, there was an urgency to his ringing. “Hey, Korjal, open up! Today’s the day!” He called in his gruff rumple of a voice. “We’re finally going to see SL-2! With our own eyes!” The bunk door slid open, and a groggy, yet exited, Korjal slunk out, “Awesome! What has the data collected show?” “We don’t know! It’s nothing like what we’ve ever seen.” Korjal perked up, “what does that mean?” Somaat sighed, “There was definitely a civilization here at one point, but looking through radar and telescope, we can’t see anything- nothing. And yet the signals are strongest and most advanced they’ve ever been.” Just then the intercoms blunted to life. “All non essential naval crew and research personnel are now permitted to make way to the observation decks Also and Calso. Special clearance for Somaatsos and Korjalmis to board the bridge.”
*As the two made there way to the bridge, the crew was emanating excitement. It was one thing if an intelligent race rose from the soil or sea in the Scrutum-Crux, the world’s were close, and most rose around the same time. But SL-2... this was different. All data shows the species here life millions- if not billions- of years. These were the first. Who knows if there’s anything left, or if there are just mighty ruins of the mighty race that erected them.*
“Welcome to the bridge.” The Commander beamed. “Thank you for inviting us, Sir,” Korjal spoke, trying to curb her excitement. “This is it, the moment of truth. It’s been a pleasure and honor for myself and my crew to be chose for this momentous occasion,” the Commander continued. They will speak of us, especially if you, until the end of time!” Somaat turned to his partner, “So, what will you call them?” She looked at him with confusion. “You were the one to find the signal, and to present the idea to Congress. You should name them. Personally I would call them the Precursors.” She smiled, “Yes, I like Precursors.” Just then an alarm went off. “Sir, sensors are showing multiple objects closing in on our coordinates,” the Bosun snipped. “Sir, we have an incoming transmission from an unknown source.” Another officer added.
“Go to Yellow Alert.”
Just then, 10 ships of unknown origin decloaked. “>!This is the ENS *Serenity*. Unknown Vessel, you are entering Earthen Space. Halt course or you will be destroyed.!<” “Technitian, what are they saying?” The Commander barked. “Unknown Sir! We are cross referencing the reansmission to the datalogs.”
“Commander, could these be the Precursors?” Korjal inquired, unsure of what she was expecting the answer to be. A massive ship, even beyond the size of the largest Conferacy ship dropped out of subspace. “>!This is the ENS *Serenity*. Unknown Vessel, this is your final warning. Do not enter the Oort Cloud, or you will be eliminated.!<”
“Lieutenant, open up a hailing frequency and order all engines to stop.”
“Affirmative, Commander.”
Somaat and Korjal were both amazed, and frightened. When they studied astronomy, this was not what they signed up for.
|
**Journeys End**
Tomorrow we reach it. Garrix says that we’ll find the root to all existence, that purpose itself will have an answer, like all equations. I stopped listening to Garrix a long time ago.
Officer Mercurier hasn’t stopped pacing the entire journey, her performance has declined significantly. If anyone should be concerned with roots it would be her, she was the heir to a family who extended all the way back to the diaspora.
I chose my team carefully. The pair are barely fit to the task but they are a lesser evil. Choosing someone from one of the high families could be construed as an act of war, and I will not suffer one of the tech-speakers aboard this ship.
In my hand was the last coherent reading from the planet.
&#x200B;
*:We Were Human:*
&#x200B;
The archaic term for the origin species. The spacial trail ends here, the trail of death that many seekers died following. The first and last time a worm drive was activated. A scar on the fabric of reality. What will we find. Will the worm trail be a testament to ambition? Cowardice? Failure? Ignorance? Tomorrow we reach it, the end. I hope so anyway.
My X-HUNTER was a standard military ship a hundred years ago. Now its a relic that’s held together with TLC and sheer will. As I walked past Garrix’s quarters I found myself stroking the insignia plate. *Unit: D3LI14.*
“Delila” I whispered to the groaning metal. My hand touched the plate with a reverence and tenderness that’s reserved for the overly attached and very lonely.
“Cap?” a groggy voice called through pincers “Arrived have we?” Garrix’s chitin grated against the metal as he worked his way from the bed, pincers clicking all the while.
The door would have been a sliding door, opening at the presence of the inhabitants and asking for clarification if anyone outside wanted in, but this was Delila.
Garrix pushed aside the hanging beads. His soft beige chitin shining with the morning orange from the ships lights.
His antennae whipped back and forth “I can’t honestly say I’ve ever been this excited” His shell parted slightly, revealing the almost human face beneath. No mouth, no nose, but beautiful blue eyes that held more life than I’d ever felt.
“Just hope there’s still anything left of the place” I said my cynicism topping my own excitement “Might be a wasteland” his shoulders slumped but then he looked at my face. He saw the excitement I felt, that even beneath the nihilistic haze I was still me. Garrix was one of the last people I knew that I could call friend.
He saw through my bullshit. But didn’t begrudge it. He had his shell and I had mine.
“Best get ready, Cap” he nodded and went back inside his room. I had begun to walk away when he called back “Make one for me too”
I giggled to myself as I walked towards the bridge. He’d gone to get dressed and wanted coffee. Someone who can’t consume liquid and only wears clothes on special occasions, wanted coffee and wads getting changed. He must be nervous or excited. Probably both.
The bridge hummed as the auxiliary systems came to life. Someone had started up Delila without me.
[JHCWrites](https://www.reddit.com/r/JHCWrites/): Check My Stuff!
| 2019-08-13T15:41:27 | 2019-08-13T15:27:26 | 73 | 24 |
[WP] You're a struggling musician. While fooling around with your guitar you see a bright flash and hear a voice say 'Congratulations, My Son, you have found the secret chord. I am pleased.'
|
C-G-Am... sigh, no. The key of C was overused– by me, at least fifty times.
Let's see... I closed my eyes and focussed all my emotion into a single point in my gut.
'Twang, twaing,' I bent my string in anguish. Folowing this, I heard a 'whoosh', and something smacked my head. Bullseye, eh, I thought, opening my eyes to see a coin chinging and coming to a stop on the floor, the thrower shaking a fist in my direction in annoyance.
The coin was cool. What jarred me was that the whooshing and chinging sounded more harmonious than what I'd just played the minute before.
Guess it was back to the old drawing board for me.
The drawing board was dim back alley where a pipe dripped and no one could hear failure in the making. Mum had turned the guitar out once I drove the cat up the wall— quite literally, and if I ever hoped that her annoyance would have died down enough for me to bring it back home, eight wild vertical lines on the wall served as undying memory.
I sat on an upturned crate and began messing around with scales and chord progressions. No matter how smoothly things progressed during scale practice, it never materialised into a listenable song.
So I sat absentmindedly, playing the Am chord over and over again, waiting for a bolt of brilliance to strike me.
A minor.
A minor.
A minor.
G major, D major, A minor.
I began to hum out of sheer effort. Alright, we're getting somewhere, I thought.
And then it struck.
The moment was just as I'd imagined it.
I leapt a mile high, features exaggerated.
The moment was just as I’d imagined it, initially.
The bolt came, clear and blue, and nearly knocked the living daylights out of me.
It also made a campfire out of my old buddy’s wood.
Yet I found myself saying what I’d imagine I would I my moment of finesse: “This is a scene straight out of Heaven!”
Only it seemed more like a question, and Heaven seemed to be confused with Hell.
“Funny that you’d say so,” boomed a voice. I only stared on in disbelief.
He hadn’t been there only moments ago. The very air around him was bending into his image. Only, it was more solid than an image. No holographic messages à la Star Wars, it seemed I had scored myself a tête-a-tête with God himself.
“Congratulations, my Son! You have found it!”
I looked around the ally in His light, noticing for the first time what a dump it really was. Anything could be hidden down here that I’d missed.
“What’d I find?” My general curiosity had got the better of all my manners.
“The secret key!” God beamed. He then proceeded to scratch His ears and add, “It had been so long, I’d nearly forgotten.”
I looked around me wildly. “What key?”
“The one you just played! I’m proud of you.” God informed me.
Wowee. That’s a big one. I tried to recall what I’d just played; “The key of G?” I asked God. “What does it unlock?”
God shifted his weight on his feet.
“Ah child, when I said ‘key’, I meant it more along the lines of a solution— you have found the solution!”
“Really?” I grinned wide. That’ll show the grumpy old loser because of whose coin my head was still throbbing.
“Yes, long ago, Lucifer and I had had a fight. Let’s just say it wasn’t my best day... I challenged him a musical showdown, and played a certain tune... a tune so purportedly harrowing to listen to that he begged me to stop— even conceded defeat if I only stopped playing! It did help that I went first,” God paused to chuckle.
“Well, your see, Lucifer and I have gotten into a tiff again... With all those years behind me, petty little details like this one had pretty much slipped my mind. But you, my Son!” He paused to show me a full beam of his smile.
In contrast, mine was gone.
“You have managed to play exactly what I need! I’m dreadfully sorry about your instrument though,”
He said, putting out the last of its embers with the wave of a hand.
“How about, as a reward, I conjure up a much better, brand new guitar for you?”
“No thanks”, I replied. “I’m switching over to the fiddle.”
|
Victor's underwear was instantly full. He didn't know what happened. All he knew was he hit a deep chord, his guts rumbled, he heard a voice, and now his britches were soiled.
"Uhh.... This is kind of awkward." He let out painfully as he adjusted the stool under his stool.
A faint apparition appeared in the entrance to the room.
"No child, it is how things are meant to be! You have discovered what our people have developed over generations.... The Brown note."
"Wait... The Brown note? THE Brown note? The one that makes people shit themselves?"
"Yes, young one, the very same. First discovered by your great great grandfather Reginald Brown in 1823, it was first played for James Monroe after an especially painful bout of constipation."
Victor perked up at the sound of that, the squelch in his drawers providing a backup chorus in agreement.
"What... What the fuck am I supposed to do with this?"
"No idea man, this whole family is pretty useless."
The spirits body shifted as he leaned against the door frame.
Victor sighed.... Another shitty relative.
| 2018-05-13T12:13:46 | 2018-05-13T10:47:02 | 21 | 10 |
[WP] Earth is actually extremely inhospitable and downright nuts to nearby alien civilizations because predators, bad weather, contagious disease, and the like are simply uncommon on other worlds. You are an alien tasked with creating a documentary on this strange hardcore world.
|
With his legs shaking, he stepped up onto the platform. He tried to slow his exhalation as the disinfection squad began their work. He was terrified, but excited. At first he had been reluctant to take on the job, wishing instead for a broadcasting post up in the communications tower. His boss had given him a great speech about being progressive and being remembered for generations to come, making history and the likes. He hadn't been fully convinced until he was informed of the paycheck.
The disinfection squad finished up quickly and neatly. He entered the travel chamber and suddenly he was standing in the reception of the Earth Atmospherical Office.
"Good morning Krog, ready for departure?" his boss asked, his tone firm and kind, obviously trying very hard to remain calm. Up until now communcations with humanity had took place completely through digital media, this would be the first time an actual face to face meeting were to be held.
"As ready as I'll ever be, Sir." Krog answered, flashing a shaky smile.
"Your team is standing ready, I see the disinfection squad have already suited you up. We're writing history today Krog, no one has ever attempted a face-to-face meeting with the humans before. I wish you luck."
"Thank you sir! I will do my very best!" Krog answered, perhaps a little too loud. As he entered the vessel, he could hear the people start to snap and cheer loudly behind him. A sudden sense of pride started building inside of him, fighting the persistent fear.
As soon as the doors closed, the vessel started descending, accelerating quickly. The whole trip took no longer than about 30 seconds, and the vessel landed softly in a big green field. Krog was taken aback by the sheer amount of humans hustling for space outside of the see-through barrier. Guards with black weapons were standing both inside and outside of it, he wasn't sure if it they were there for his sake or for theirs.
At the same moment the doors opened, a section of the glass barrier did aswell, and a group of 5 humans started walking towards the vessel. Krog could feel his muscles tensing up. He stepped out, his own team of guards following suit. They stopped about 1 metre away from eachother. Krog looked up on his welcoming committee, standing at about two thirds their height. The human was the first to talk. Krog took note of the exaggerated movements their mouths made, and the absence of clicking noises. His translator started sounding in his ear almost in sync with the human.
"I am Kate Harris, and it is my pleasure and my honorable duty to welcome you to our planet, our home: Earth. In order to start our future relations on a good foot, I would like to introduce myself with a human gesture of greeting. Place your right limb in front of yourself like I have, and copy my movements."
Krog looked nervously to his guards for approval. They were standing ready with their weapons. One of them gave a slight approving gesture. Krog slowly raised his right arm. His three fingers were now on level with the humans five, and suddenly the human grabbed his hand. He noticed the guards tensing up around him. The human then moved his hand up and down twice, and show him its teeth. Krog tried to mimick the expression as best he could. The human then quickly removed their limb.
"Nice to meet you." The human said.
"Nice to meet you." Krog answered.
They had left the field shortly afterwards and entered a very spacious room. As soon as the doors had closed around them, he had noticed a change in the behaviour of the human. It started talking again.
"It sure feels a lot better to have left the crowd behind us. I always cramp up a bit when appearing in public." Krog noted down this strange behaviour.
"I hope you don't mind the setting. We took votes about how to do this thing. Some people wanted it to be formal. I was one of the people who voted for a more casual, one-on-one setting. Feels more natural. I'm not sure if you agree though. What do you think?"
Slightly confused about the change of mood, Krog hesitated a bit before answering.
"I don't see the difference." He decided to be honest. Afterall, they were supposed to learn about eachother were they not?"
"Oh really? Your kind don't get stage fright then?"
"Stage fright?"
"Oh. It's when you are to appear in front of a large crowd and it makes you nervous or even frightened. Do you mind if I have a drink by the way? It helps me calm down." Krogs initial fear was starting to disappear. His curiosity had been sparked. The human had been nervous too? Humans had this kind of feelings?
"If you need to drink you should drink. I'm surprised to hear humans have these feelings." He hesitated for a moment. "Do you also feel fear?"
The human stopped its movements for a bit, holding a container of some kind in each hand. It looked up at him.
"Why yes, naturally we do. Everyone does."
"You, being the leading race of your planet, with all its dangers and obstacles, experience *fear*?"
The human gave a noise which Krog only could describe as bouncy. He rather enjoyed it.
"Putting it that way, I can see why you would be surprised. I suppose feeling fear is one of the reasons we managed to get where we are. We have a saying which goes "Face your fears". It means that you need to do something even if you are afraid. I think it's something everyone has to learn."
Krog had to process this for a moment, and he passively watched as the human, having transfered a portion of brown liquid from one container to the other, brought one of the containers to its mouth.
"What are you drinking?" He finally asked.
"Scotch, want to try some? Oh nevermind, it might be dangerous for you."
"Dangerous? Why? What's in it?"
"It's an alcoholic beverage."
Krog winced as his translator informed him that humans often ingested this poisonous liquid. This was going to be... interesting.
This is the first time I try this, I really enjoyed writing the dialogue. Felt like it sort of just played out itself. Like I wasn't making it up, just recording it in writing.
|
### Humanity: Special For Exactly One Reason
#### They're the most absolutely full of themselves species in the entire universe.
Space is unimaginably vast. This is a simple fact: from the puniest Rentinn to the most mighty Telonn, all species know of the terrible vastness of space and their comparatively minute presence within it.
Well, *almost* all species. For the next 90 minutes, I'm going to introduce you to a plucky little species that thinks they're just the best thing since sliced bread, an invention they also think they made before anyone else did.
Yes, they believe this despite the universe having existed prior to their arrival for over 13 billion years.
Humans!
Let me tell you about a planet. This planet has a mean surface temperature of 735K, has a *day* that's longer than its *year*, has an air pressure equivalent to nearly a kilometer underwater, and, oh yes, its atmosphere is made of sulfuric acid.
No, that's not Humanity's homeworld. Humans live on the planet next from their star, and, despite knowing all of the above facts, believe that *their* world is some kind of hell-world.
Yes, the world with the beaches, the temperate (and abundant!) water, the seasons, and basically all of the conditions necessary for life in general and thus conditions that a great many of our species *also* enjoy on *our* homeworlds! They think that's what makes up a hell-world.
Oh, it gets better. Humans also believe the following:
* **Only Earth has predators!** Considering that competition for resources is literally the driving force behind evolution, this is not only short sighted but actively silly. Intelligence tends to come as a result of improving one's predatory abilities and/or improving one's ability to escape from predation.
* **Only Earth has bad weather!** See above re: Venus. Also, they have apparently never seen a Gas Giant before. I imagine the helium-infused species watching this are finding this belief especially humorous, given their planets feature storms larger than Earth itself.
* **Only humans suffer from contagious disease!** This is actually true, but it's only because they haven't advanced enough to improve their immune systems. I'm not sure why they think suffering from a cold gives them some kind of tactical advantage, but at this point this is hardly the most baffling thing.
In conclusion, if there's one thing to take away from this, it's that humankind is absolutely right about it being home to an unbearable hellscape, but it's not the planet that's at fault. No, it's not the planet so much as the species itself that is insufferable. Or, to use their own words:
"Hell is other people."
| 2019-02-08T03:28:18 | 2019-02-07T19:58:44 | 44 | 20 |
[WP] The zombie apocalypse is much different than you had imagined. Instead of moaning "braaaaaiiinnnss" and clumsily shambling along, your infected daughter is crying on the other side of your locked door, begging to be let in.
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We called them zombies, for lack of a better word. The term referred more to the fact that the person who owned that body, in the before, was dead, but the body wasn’t actually dead. They also didn’t crave human flesh, another “zombie” oversight.
You see, something happened to our planet. We called it The Spore. It has been on Earth since life first began, but humans only just discovered it.
The Depths project found it. This was a two manned submarine able to explore the bottom of the ocean at depths never before reached. They took samples of fauna and flora from a deep underwater cavern and brought them topside to study. The research was done in Boston, or ground zero. Once the spore dried in the open air, it infected and reproduced. It was so fast, humans really didn’t even put up a fight. People simply, turned. Their mind was gone, their eyes turned bright gold. They lost all their hair and even had bioluminescent qualities on their skin and eyes.
What we didn’t understand, until some time after the end, was that our infected loved ones were not mindless killing machines. Instead, the Spore, was alive. It was a perfect symbiosis take over of their hosts. The host kept the brains bodily functions, while the Spore controlled the mind, the consciousness. Speech and movement were taken over as well. They were now, together, the perfect predator. They didn’t have the high functions of humans such as love and empathy and hate. They were like animals, living for the hunt. And now, they were at the top of the food chain. It started with the infected going home and brutally killing their family and neighbors. Then it spread out.
But, we could handle that. Humans, we could overcome this and we kept them at bay for a very long time. We had been living for five years in the after. Much of the world was gone, even more was in pieces. But the remaining humans, holed up in their small compound communities across the globe, held together by ham radios and satellites, we could beat this. For the last year the attacks were getting less and less. We were winning. Infection rates were down, we were learning to adapt.
A soft whimper from the other side of the door intruded my thoughts. I closed my eyes as tears silently fell down my cheeks.
We were so close.
“Mommy?”
My hand flew to my mouth to stifle my strangled sob.
“Mama, it’s me. Please, Mommy...I need you!” I gave up trying to hide my sobs and banged the back of my head in frustration against the metal door that separated me from what was left of my 12 year old daughter. Her voice was desperate and some primal need inside me warred against my mind. I was her mother, she needed me! My body wanted to obey even if my mind knew that was stupid.
I grabbed the small waste bin on the floor next to me and heaved. Oh we were so stupid. They were better than us in most ways, they were agile, fit, superhuman strength and senses. But we were smart, we told ourselves, they were just animals. We knew, we had always known, they were cunning and devious. They were not arrogant, like us pathetic humans. Their greatest weapon was that they had our memories. And we never saw that coming, until now.
They had advanced so much in five short years. They went from random attacks and killing to planned assaults, to command structures and now to their own version of a WMD. They had bided their time for a whole year while they figured out our memories and how to use them.
While we didn’t think they could remember, or if they could that they couldn’t understand them. We theorized that the reason they didn’t have higher thinking capabilities was because in species terms they were infants. But that given time, their sentience would grow. But not this fast. They went from basically primordial ooze to teenagers, using our own emotions against us, in five short years.
“Please Mommy,” came a frightened whisper, “I’m scared, I hear noises!” I could hear them too. The screams and cries from the dying in the rest of the complex.
I readjusted myself against the door, the handle was digging into my back, I didn’t consider how good their hearing is. The moment I moved she charged the door. In one deft and nimble movement, like a deadly ballerina, I was pinned against the door, her boot lodged at my throat.
Her beautiful brown hair was gone. Her skin was almost transparent , but bioluminescent blue and green lights trailed her skin like highways in the dim light. Her eyes, cold and calculating were bright gold, shining in the dark.
She had grown, I realized. She wasn’t a prepubescent 12 year old, no she would be 17 now. Fresh tears streamed down my face as I stared at my baby girl, because past all that I could still see her there.
“You’re so beautiful.” I sobbed against the boot.
Those hard eyes, cold like steel bore into me. I knew my last breath was coming, but I was actually glad my final sight would be of her. I simply stared into those eyes trying to remember the deep ocean of brown they once were. Ever so slightly though, I saw something change inside those eyes. I saw, emotion, behind them, like an ember trying to light.
“Hannah?” I gasped.
|
I sat with my back against the door, clutching the sides of my head and hoping she wouldn’t find a way to get through.
“Daddy...let me in…” I heard her voice outside, but it wasn’t her. Not anymore. I could hear her crying now, her tiny fists pounding on the door but I couldn’t give in, she had to stay out there. It had happened when she was at school, that was probably the only reason I was still me and not like them. Things had happened so often that even the news could barely cover it before it was taken offline. The term zombie had been mentioned, so I expected mindless hordes and not this. The fact that my daughter was one of those things now killed me inside, she was all I had left after my wife passed.
“Daddy...let me in…” She repeated, and although she spoke with emotions and inflection, it was the exact same way as she’d been saying it since she got here. I could hear others, some of them repeating what she was saying now and others just crying. They had been my daughter’s friends and classmates but now they were all just monsters with their faces and voices. Her pounding and crying was becoming more insessint and despite whatever I tried to do, I could hear them increasing in volume.
“Go away…” I said, “Just go away!” I shouted now, hoping it would work. There was a pause for a moment and I thought I was safe. I stood up and looked through the peephole, and that moment was all they needed. The group of them forced their way onto the door, their combined force being greater than what I could do to stop them and soon almost a dozen former children were in my home, the only difference was that all of their eyes were now pure white, without even a sign of a pupil. It was too late for me as they surrounded me.
“Daddy...I love you…” My daughter said to me as she stood over my cowering form, I closed my eyes as they came in and then everything went white.
| 2018-09-06T19:48:27 | 2018-09-06T16:55:54 | 135 | 43 |
[WP] When you die you can stay as long as you want as a ghost. The year is 2028 and the crew of the first human mission to mars has no idea that the ship is filled with the ghosts of hundreds of scientists, explorers and intellectuals.
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2028 was a pretty good year for the us science geeks. It was my favorite year yet, even better than when Marvel regained control of the X-Man franchise in '21 and finally did it right. It was my favorite year even though I'd been dead since '19. I died knowing that some of the best movies of the my afterlife where still coming and I wasn't going to miss them for anything. Moving on could wait.
But this was the Mother of All Geeks Outs, being there for the first honest-to-goodness human footprint on Mars. To make matters even better, the company on the trip was legendary. Neil Armstrong was the life of the party. Can I say that? Death of the party just sounds wrong. Steve Jobs was just annoying in his black turtleneck and “constructive criticism” on everything the living crew did. Grief, man, I died in my boxers and I have more variety in wardrobe than you. Use some imagination, literally!
We all teased him by saying that the reason NASA doesn't use Apple products is nothing made by them will operate more than 100 clicks from a Starbucks and they'd never even make it to geocentric orbit. He sulked in the bathroom for the rest of the trip, the silence was great.
Mr. Armstrong and Mr. Sagan laid down some ground rules for us. Rule Number One: No interfering with the mission or crew. It was important that the living accomplish this on their own. Rule Number Two: No shoving anyone out of the ship. They would be trapped in the void of space and their only choice would be to move on to the next life or just float there. That included Jobs. Rule Number Three: If any of the crew died during the trip, they became the new “Ghost-in-Chief.”
The trip was really long and got kind of boring after all the legends had told all their stories twice. There was the movies watched by the crew, we looked forward to those. The budding romance between the Botanist and the Life Support Engineer gave us some real life soap opera. Bets were made and lost when she kissed him first.
Some of the brainier guys started playing chess without the board, because – well, we're ghosts and we don't have any boards. The rest of us more mundane geeks started up a free-form role-playing group and even lured in a few known names. Chuck Yeager played a hilarious bard.
But all this was just to kill time until the moment of moments, the first humans on Mars. When the day finally came the excitement was unbearable. The Bradbury dropped into a stationary orbit and scanned the chosen area for a good landing spot. The location closely matched the pictures taken a decade before, the dust storms had altered it a little but not much.
The drop ship Asimov was far more crowded than it appeared to the crew who had been chosen to go down first. The Captain seemed preoccupied, we all knew she'd been playing around with “first words” the entire night before. “She shouldn't worry about it so much.” grinned Armstrong “I flubbed mine anyway – I was trying too hard.”
“But those words were epic, dude.” I told him “They were deep! 'That's one small step for man, one giant leap for mankind.' ”
The astronaut laughed “I meant to say something else completely and choked.”
The Asimov kicked up a ton of dust and obscured everything outside the ports for some time. While the dust settled the crew checked the Asimov's integrity and outside conditions. “Everything's a go, Captain.” announced the Communications Specialist.
The Captain and three others huddled in the airlock while it cycled. We could have all just walk out of the Asimov at touchdown but Armstrong and Sagan forbid it. “This moment belongs to the living, we don't have the right to take it from them.”
The moment the Captain was standing on Mars proper she opened her com “I wanted to say we come in peace, but this planet already has peace. So we come in noise, and chaos, and pathos and all that makes us human – that this world may know life.”
“That wasn't any of the lines she was practicing last night.” nodded Armstrong “Speak from the heart, Captain, its the right thing to say every time.”
“What in the world is that?” whispered a fellow passenger named Roy as we piled out onto the red sand behind our hosts. He'd been a Sci-Fi writer that no one ever heard of, but he was a pretty cool guy.
We looked toward where he was pointing. There in the dim sunlight of the Martian morning was a huddle of...something. The objects moved apart slightly so we could make out distinct figures. They looked like 10 foot tall stick bugs that had learned to walk upright on four legs. Their four arms hung loosely at their sides and ended in 4 fingered hands They didn't have heads so much as their torsos extended past their shoulders and held large liquid eyes with multiple pupils.
“Holy crap” gasped another ghost “Don't they see them? Freaking Martians! Please don't eat my brains!”
“You're already dead, woman.” smirked Yeager “And I think your brains are safe.”
“They're just standing there.” observed Sagan “They don't seem hostile. But the crew doesn't seem to notice them at all. Are they using some sort of mental screen that doesn't effect us?”
“They feel...scared.” said the oldest of us. Actually Grace was probably only 16 when she died – but she had been around for the longest.
Grace broke away from the group and walked slowly toward the huddled aliens. They moved back closer to each other as she grew closer. It was a amazing sight, this little black teenage girl walking up to the towering aliens.
“They see me.” called Grace. “I think...”
She stopped and looked back at us with a little sadness, “I think they're ghosts – like us.”
“They're ghosts?” repeated Roy “That's why the crew can't see them.”
“Hello?” offered Grace tentatively “Can you understand me?”
|yeshearunderstand| came the response |giveknowledgeplease|
“We come from Earth.” explained Neil Armstrong, pointing toward where he thought Earth should be. “We are explorers, we seek new knowledge and experiences.”
|blueworldstilllives| the Martian ghosts hummed |allisnotended|
“How long has your world been like this?” asked Carl Sagan.
There was a silence |timebeyondcountingwewaitedfortheforetold|
“The foretold?” mused Grace “Them?” She pointed at the living astronauts as they busied themselves with samples and pictures.
|yesforetold| they echoed |redworlddiesbluesisterbringsnewlife|
“Colonies” I offered.
“Terraforming” countered Sagan “We'll make this world green again given a hundred years or so.”
“We come in noise, and chaos, and pathos and all that makes us human – that this world may know life.” Armstrong repeated the Captain's words. “It will take some time before this world is alive again, but if you don't mind - we'll wait with you.”
|
It's 2028 and I was aboard the spaceship that's about to set off to Mars. Unfortunately I'm dead and so were the other couple hundred of folks around here.No, the space agency wasn't sending our bodies to the outer space (even though having my dead body sent to outer space would have been a proffered good-bye ceremony of mine). Actually - we were all ghosts with the exception of the 5 astronauts manning this mission.
I would have never believed this myself but it turns out that once you die, you turn into a ghost. Yup, I'm not kidding - just like in the pop culture, books or any other media - as a ghost you can see everything just as before: your friends, family and even the guy that shot you; you can also fly around, go right through walls and pretty much teleport around the whole wide world.
The only big exception is that you can't touch a thing - nothing at all. You can't move the chair from beneath someone's behind as they're about to sit down -as you would see being done in the old ghost movies. Nothing - no interaction with the living world at all.
That's why it's so empty here, usually people stay a day or two to see their loved ones one last time or some other sentimental nonsense, but in the end, the temptation of knowing what's on the other side overcomes everyone.
First manned mission to Mars attracted all kinds of people, or, I guess, ghosts now. From simple folk, who just wanted to witness a historic event, to most famous scientist, explorers and intellectuals. However very few of the enormous audience have stayed past launch. In reality no one knew whether it's possible to transcend, to the other-world or whatever was there, if you're not on earth and taking such risk, a risk of not transcending when everything was so close to being revealed now and you could feel the call with all of your remaining essence, was complete and utter madness.
Well I took that chance and so did few hundred other ghosts that stayed on board past thermosphere. I'm sure everyone had their reasons for this risk but mine was simple - to cross the last thing on my "Things To See Before I Die" list that I've wrote up when I was barely 12. Sure, you could call me out for cheating, but this was the last thing on my list and I'm certain the 12 year old me wouldn't mind, I think he would even find it pretty damn cool.
Despite few thousand souls leaving after launch, the spaceship was still crowded like a can of sardines and any form of meaningful discussion or a debate would have been nothing but a pointless exercise. So folks just floated there in silence, dropping a remark once something remotely interesting happened, like an engine stutter or the astronauts ringing up the base station.
I myself, stayed further away in a silent corner where the events terminal was sitting. Reading through the endless stream of messages spewed by the ship made me even more connected with the expedition and I could not help but start dreaming of Mars and all of it's peach-like dunes, that I'd see myself, with my ghostly eyes. All of the nooks and crevices I could explore and maybe even martian ghosts are there! After the last though I could barely hold my excitement but I didn't have to for long, since few seconds later the terminal started flashing red, alarms went off and the ship exploded in an unforgiving, disappointing fashion. Sure, the explosion was beautiful, one of the perks of being a ghost was an ability to admire dangerous environments up close, but it didn't make the 10 month wait for another attempt at this any more easier.
The year is late 2028 and I'm aboard the second human mission to Mars with hundreds of ghosts of scientists, explorers and intellectuals. This time however, we have 5 new ghosts joining us who have assured me that the trip this time will surely be a success!
| 2016-12-25T13:22:14 | 2016-12-25T12:52:43 | 175 | 30 |
[WP] You're approached by a sobbing man while sitting on a park bench. It seems he is Death, he's come for you, but all the horrors he's seen have finally caught up with him and he's having a long overdue mental breakdown.
|
“What’s the matter son?”
The frail old man looks at me, as I stand clutching my worn scythe as I tremble and weep out nothing from my cold hollow eyes
“I- I can’t keep doing this anymore, the pain the suffering, the goodbyes”
I’ve seen many endings since the dawn of time, I’ve taken the lives and the souls of countless creatures from the mightiest of titans to meekest of creation.
But it was only when the dawn of man came around when everything changed, suddenly the apes on two legs started creating, building, discovering many things that no normal creature would second guess about. Nothing is eternal... not even me, because when everything dies, I guess I will also, because what purpose is there for death when there is nothing left to die?
But these humans..... these people. They don’t worry about that, what they worry about is their number one rule that I have seen throughout there exist, to be “happy”. Many follow there dreams, there hopes, there ambitions and many succeed and go on to live incredible lives and some even changing things for the better...... but at the same time.... many do not.
I’ve seen the murders.... the homicides.... the accidents and the misfortunes of all man in countless lifetimes.
But the things that get to me the most..... are the ones that involve the innocent....... whether it’s a mother losing a baby just as it’s born- whether it’s a father having to hear about their daughter dying in a car crash and....... whether it’s a young man.... and even woman standing on the edge of a cliff, teetering on the verge of nothing as the void inside their chest eats away at them- like a black hole consuming anything new in its wake- deciding to succumb to it all and fall..... to end it all.
“I can’t do it anymore, I-I just can’t, not when you have so many people depend on you....”
I say as I whimper with regret as the old man in front of me-who created countless opportunities for countless men and women to begin their lives-looks on with understanding and empathetic eyes.
“You must have seen so much in your time, much more than any one person should have to.”
I cry, a low dry cry as all the pain of taking so many souls rushes out from me. No matter how many times I say it’s just a job, no matter how many of the ignorant or the blasphemous and hateful souls I take it always comes back to haunt me in my long existence. But today, today got to me. This old man is said to die of a heart attack today, his name is Bon Joves, he and his wife had 3 kids after they got married at the young age of 22 years old..... I was there when she passed away.... in a fatal car crash that took her life on impact.... all she said to me was make sure they’re safe..... unfortunately.... I don’t make the rules.... I just follow where the breeze takes me, so that I can blow out the final candle in their last spark of life.
Bon Joves is alone now.... he has no family.... nobody to mourn him.... no kids... no wife.... he’s here now with nobody as he has to come face to face with me......
“No man can do what you do, but you’re not a man, you’re a way of nature- and nature is supposed to be unfair it’s supposed to be challenging to us and to life every where. Just look at me, I’m 89 years old and I still have enough spunk to make sure I did my darnedest to get countless people to where they are now. My kids may be gone, and even my wife, but I don’t blame you for a damn thing, nobody does.”
The old man spoke wisely, humans are known to do that many times. I’ve seen scholars and philosophers who asked the age old question of what lies beyond awe struck at the cosmic sight of what they saw as the unknown, I’ve also seen sinners and supposed goodmen be struck with fear as they see what lies before them as I guide them to their new fate but- but another thing I see so many times, are the people who look back and see- see what it is that they will need to leave behind. “Are they going to be ok?”, “ Can’t I just stay a little more?”, “I’m going to miss them so much”, “It’s ok sweetheart, mommy will always watch over you”....... and they do, but not in the place I’m at, they do it in one of many kingdoms that they followed, in their paradise.
“I just want to see you guys be happy.....”
I say as I begin to calm
“We’re always fighting to stay happy, but the question is, are you fighting also?”
“....... I’ll try”
“Good, in that case, I think it’s about time I go”
The old man says as he takes a resting position and begins to close his eyes.
“.... I’ll make sure it won’t hurt”
“... thank you”
As he closes his eyes I place my scythe upon his chest gently bringing out his soul.
“Oh my god! That guys having a heart attack!”
“Someone help!”
“Oh god oh god oh god!”
“Stay with us sir stay with us!”
“.....”
I look on in silence as the glowing soul lays in my arms as I cradle it towards it new home.
“Come on Jon”
I say comfortingly
“They’re waiting”
Knowing they’ll each meet each other on the other side gives me.... comfort and... joy. I suppose this will be my first step on giving happiness a try.
|
I remember the day I stopped fearing death. I was maybe 4-5 years old when I first knew I was dying. I remember lying in bed, my parents trying to not to weep while the doctors told them something. I remember pain, fear, the crushing weight of each breathe getting harder and harder, my parents tears and the constant beep beep or machine keeping us all alive. Then I saw him, the man in black robes standing in the entryway silently crying. I remember wondering why no one was comforting him. Then I saw his face, there was no sketolon, pale skin or whatever nonsense they depict death nowadays. He looked like another young man except his eyes, even from a room away I could see they were two dark pools of nothingness and eternity. Like looking into the abess, yet I could feel the desolation emiting from him. I saw him many times later in my cycles of remissions, chemo and reoccurrence and each time I wished to talk to him and tell him that we ain't angry and to thank him.
On my 18th birthday I was willed in to what I knew would be the last time after leukaemia twice, bone marrow failure, heart failure, my kidneys had packed up and the diaylasis was no longer lasting as long. I sat alone for once and reached out my hand to the black figure next to me.
"it's okay you know, you make the pain go away we never blame you"
Death held his head and cried. I patted the side of my bed and watched as he crawled in curling to my side and weeping uncontrollably. I reached out and layed my head over him and held him.
"sleep and rest its okay" I whispered to him and as I took my final breaths I heard a soft "thank you"
I don't know how long I lay in the peaceful nothingness but at some point I opened my eyes to find myself looking down on an old friend taking their last breathes. I reached out my hand and told them its time to go.
Sorry for my speeling and grammar. Got mild dyslexia
| 2019-09-17T03:32:51 | 2019-09-17T03:17:12 | 45 | 21 |
[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!
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Everyone thought it was odd. Years of research and studies had all come to the same conclusion. Personality determines the power. "Good" people develop powers for helping people ( healing powers are rather common), while the "Bad" people always got 'mind control' or 'insta-death'. More neutral personalities seemed to develop more regular abilities like 'super strength' and 'flight' of some kind.
There are exceptions to every rule, though. As is the case with this generation's greatest hero: Hardliner. The man looks like a characature of what people see heroes as. Chiseled features, athletic, and a perfect smile to put the civilians at ease when he saves them. He even wore that silly cape to have it flap in the wind. When he appeared on the scene of his first villain beat-down, we all thought he was going to show off some amazing heroic power, like shooting dazzling white light from his palms or show off some indescribable durability and beat down the villain with unwavering resolve.
That's not what he did. The other heroes, the civilians, even the superpowered thugs he was fighting never thought he'd walk up and start draining powers. Every other recorded instance of power draining abilities before Hardliner has been a greedy, self-obsessed, and envious lunatic. But like I said, there are exceptions to every rule.
There have been speculations and theories as to why Hardliner is a bad guy. Maybe he is and is only biding his time. Perhaps he understands that since his draining abilities are only temporary, and people with those powers are driven to experience all powers they can get their hands on, he must be simply enjoying a publicly accepted version of a power buffet. But he doesn't seem to seek out more power. His fellow heroes all comment that he wears gloves when off duty to avoid draining some one by mistake. No one understands it, no matter how much we try.
No one wants to understand Tyrant, though. The other exception the the rules. The world's most feared villain. He heals people. Powerful enough to bring the recently deceased back to the world of the the living.
Only to kill them again. And again. And again. And again. Over and over.
| 2020-06-15T11:09:28 | 2020-06-15T10:54:15 | 1,296 | 86 |
[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.
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It happened as Dan was sat on the old chair in the greenhouse, lazily puffing on a cigertte. He sat, neck arched down scrolling mindlessly through social media. The occassional billows of smoke slowly carried on the draft like a balloon gradually disapeering from existance as it floated away. As the rollie burnt continued to burn a column of smoke carried right up and over his face, he turned away in discomfort, slamming his eyes contortedly shut and letting out a single cough.
It's not that he felt anything, but when he 'transferred' he was able to feel the difference in temperature. He knew somthing had changed instantly. it was warmer and he now felt inside, It wasn't until he opened his eyes though that it hit him like a lightening bolt.
"WAHHHHHHHH! WHAT?! WHAT?! WHAT THE!"
A man stood infront of him, robed in black with a red satin cord wrapped around him like a harness, he faced him squarely and was bowing his head down toward the ground. The light of the candles gave no detail to the face below the sunken hood. As his eyes danced about the confusing landscape he begin to spin, it might have been an attempt to look around. he might have imagined it, But as soon as he began to turn his knees seemed to drop and his phoned dropped to the floor, Dan shortly followed.
"Hello", spoke from the blackness. Dan just concious enough to notice it, realised that the blackness now was only his eyes closed and with that he was back. With a paniced struggle he raised himself on his arms.
" Who...where am, ummm, dude are you going to hurt me?"
He felt the base of his spine press in, almost painful as his adrenal glands kicked in.
"Why am I here?! How did I get here!?" He rattled off and he now aggressively tried to stand up.
"DID YOU BRING ME HERE!?" He yelled, now striding towards this robed figure who apparently hadn't moved. He glanced left and right as if to check for more threats, noticing that he was in a pentagonal star of candles. His eyes began to widen.
"You demon!" The hooded man now looked up.
"Have been brought here by me to serve me!" The man threw back his hood to reveal a plump round head and large buttonous nose.
"For else I shall send you back to that eternal hell that is your home" as he finished his sentance he gesticulated a arm movement of a bow without bending at the waist as if to the give the impression of self importance.
"Now I'm confused as fuck, but this is not funny" exclaimed Dan as he came to stop close enough that the odor of this man was previlant.
"Why am I here, how did you get me here? And dude this better be some kind of TV PRANK OR IM GOING TO FIGHT YOU AND PROBABLY KILL YOU!"
as he spoke his volume and aggresion increased.
"You have been summoned by me because I wish your dark soul be brought here and better serve me" the man interupted, now smiling smugly, rasped.
"Now don't expect me to be fooled for this sharade of a human form. Take your real form beast!"
"What the fuck dude?!" Dan exclaimed, "Look the pranks over, I want to go home" Dan adjusted, "I don't know how you did that, and i'd really appreciate you'd drop the whole act and show me where the door is or tell me how you got me here, did you knock me out?" Stood arms outstretched in animated questioning.
The man dropped his smile now, "you are clever foul demon, but you shall not outsmart me"
"Well Im human, soooo if that changes anything. I'D REALLY LIKE TO KNOW WHAT THE FUCK JUST HAPPENED!?",
" I used a spell to summon you from Hell and I wish...",
"But dude, I just told you i'm from the UK for fucks sake, Do I look like a demon to you?" Dan spoke as his eyes danced around the room looking for an exit. He Looking left and right without ever really taking his eyes off the man then he looked down to the mans arms. A large tome sat accross his palms barely visable in the candle light and what previously was in the shadow of the hood from any other ambient light.
"I summoned you here, by way of this encantation" the man offered out his arms while spinning the open tome between his hands to face Dan.
"Right... So you do magic nutjob?" Dan mustered, clearly now becoming exhausted with the sitation.
"Yes, that is correct Demon! See! Read it for yourself and you will understand how you are bound here by me and at my command", as Dan slowly lowered his eyes disbelieving of any threat from the man. His eyes that were previously starring out the Tome owners face, watched the pages of the tome become bathed in direct candlelight.
The pages where deep rutted paper that looked now very frail, the Ink was worn thin and faded in other parts. There seemed to be two paragraph to each page. But it was barely disguishable and he reached out to grab the tome on its corner. Tilting it further towards the light.
'Rapture Demon' read the first title. But his eyes glanced over the other titles before he read the rest.
'Sunlight' read below this paragragh.Then on the next page read
'Teleportation' which was followed by
'Time slow'
"Ummm, which page were you reading from dude?" Dan offered, looking up to meet the man's gaze.
"The top right spell demon! You know which spell would bind you here! All demons know this, now obey me!" he excitedly proclaimed, "this is not my first experience you foul creatures" he cried as he began to try to turn the book around his neck craning to get a better view.
Dan's eyes glanced back to the top of the right page.
'teleportation - self cast or cast on others remotely, range 50 miles before dangerous' the rest Dan didn't bother to read. His eyes shot accross the left page as he scanned the first sentance 'Rapture demon - tear an infernal beast from the underworld otherwise known as Hell'
"Dude, you know how it's pretty dark in here? I think you made a mistake.....Dude you cast teleportation"
The robed mans eyes raised from the page, again to meet Dan's. "FUCK! I .. am.. so.. sorry"
First ever writing prompt, hope you like it, it was written on my phone. Probably going to delete it as soon as I get a downvote haha. Thanks if you read this far.
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It felt like I had tripped up some stairs. For a second I thought I had, and immediately froze. The plate in my hand still held the Reuben, but the surface beneath.....
My head snapped up, and I noticed the darkness first. Second were the candles, placed carefully around me in hexagons expanding away from me. Low-level bands of light etched out the writing between the tiers, though none of it looked like a language I could place. The floor, instead of the carpeted stairs I had been climbing, was an old wood, stained with neglect, and riddled with gaps and protruding nails. One was digging into my hand, and as I lifted it I realized the nail was rough, as if hand-forged.
My analysis of the floor was disrupted by a heavy thud, just beyond the candles.
"Stay where you are, demon!"
"What?" I rose, still holding the plate.
A figure was just visible in the room, which I now saw was small, and claustrophobic. A low work-bench dominated a wall, scattered with shapes that I could only just spot in the candle-light. A window was open, but I couldn't feel a breeze. The figure, which seemed to be rather.... short, was doing its best at a power pose, and failing.
"I said stay where you are!"
"Nah, I got that. What's with the demon? Is that some kind of racist term I'm not aware of?"
"What?"
"What?"
The figure shook its head. "Look, you are a demon, you have to be! I summoned you, with a demon summoning, so you have to be a demon! That's how this works!"
I tried to step forward, collided against something. Something hard. "The fuck!?"
"Ahah, see! That barrier holds in demons! And you're a demon!"
"Oh yeah? Have you tried to pass through this?" Hard as rock, my finger tips told me.
"I don't have to prove it works. It won't, because I'm not a demon!" He even stamped his foot. Adorable.
I had had enough. I shifted my sandwich to my other hand, and hefted the plate. Middle school track, don't fail me now. The plate landed with a soft thud three feet to the left of the figure. Almost as if...
"How old even are you?" I asked, leaning against the barrier and taking a bite of my sandwich.
The figure flinched. "N- not you- hush, you demon!"
"Sooooooo, eight, then?" I glanced over at the figure. Definitely too immature to be an adult. I turned my back on him, and took another bite. "Is this your bedroom? Why do you even want a demon? What are demons supposed to do?"
"I- I said hush!"
"Uh huh. You getting bullied in school?"
"I SAID HUSH!"
My feet skidded across the floor as if I had been shoved. Before I could regain my slouch the walls slammed into me, pinning my sandwich to my thigh, my other arm across my chest. "Wha-"
"I have summoned you, demon, from your Earthly dimension, to aid me in a task!"
The walls were crushing me, and I gave a tiny whimper in response.
"You are to use your dark powers to kill the President, Tonald Drump!"
| 2017-05-12T09:57:53 | 2017-05-12T08:05:41 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You have the ability to see people’s kill count on their head. You tell no one, managed to stay away from shady people and live a peaceful life. One day, your 5 years old kid’s number is not 0...
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Is it a curse? No, it is not a curse. The numbers above the heads of strangers, it’s a protection. It allows me a little bit of insight into their character. Who they are, what secrets they hold. I have always been somewhat thankful for this “gift” that was involuntary bestowed upon me.
It was a crisp October morning as I dropped my child off at Kindergarten, I waved him goodbye and told him to have a fantastic day. I went about my chores, grocery store, bank, and lunch. The numbers were everywhere, most were zero. Some were one. A few were more than I could bear to look at.
As I waited in the car line to pick up my innocent child, I see all the “zeros” piling out of the school, skipping and hopping. Then I see my wonderful “zero” himself. He hops into the car.
“Hey buddy how was your day?”
“Fun. I learned what sound M makes! Mmmmmmmm!”
“Good job buddy!”
We leave the line. As we are pulling out an ambulance pulls in, sirens wailing.
“Look mom! A bambulance! Weeeoo!” He giggles.
“I see, buckaroo. I hope everything is ok.”
We pull up to the stoplight, singing some Halloween sing-alongs. I glance in the mirror at my sweet boy, blonde curls falling into his face. I am stopped in my tracks. Above his mass of blonde hair I see it. “One” in red.
*HOOOOONK*
I am startled by the car behind me. I look up and see a “two” impatiently honking his horn. I had no idea the light had turned. I quickly make a u-turn at the light and head back to school.
“What’s wrong, mommy?”
I had tears down my face, white knuckles gripping the wheel.
“Mommy is fine, I am just worried about the ambulance at school.”
I whip into the parking lot. The ambulance is still there, cops are cordoning off the entrance. My mind races.
“What did he do?” I think to myself.
“Ma’am, we have to ask you to leave” spouted a gruff, portly man in a police uniform.
“I’m sorry, my son goes here. Can I ask what happened?”
“I’m sorry, we can’t give out any information, I would expect to hear from the school this evening”.
My son and I drive off. My mind in pieces. I glance in the mirror again. There he was, a massive red “one” still sticking out above his head. He is unwrapping a piece of candy.
“We had a Halloween party today. I got lots of candy!” He says through chocolate covered teeth.
“That’s cool buddy”
We pull into the driveway and I stare at the number.
“What are you looking at, mommy?” He says as he giggles.
“Nothing, hey bud, what did you do at the end of the day today?”
“We had a party, we ate some candy. I shared mine with my friend Dylan!”
“Is that all? Nothing else happened?”
“Ummm, I don’t know”
“Ok, buddy”
He gets out, his Spider-Man backpack unzipped and hanging from his shoulder. What could he have done? What life could he have taken?
I go through the motions. Laundry, after school snack. My boy is blissfully unaware of my concern and my pain.
*Ring* *ring*
The sound of my phone startled me.
“Hello?”
“It is with heavy hearts that this announcement has to be made. School will be closed to all students and staff due to a medical emergency that took the life of one of our students this afternoon. Counselors will be on staff all next week for staff and students as we work together to process this tragic incident in our school and community. More information will be released as it becomes available. Rest assured your students are safe with us and there is no immediate harm to anyone in the schools at this time.”
The recorded call ends with a click. I put the phone down as tears stream from my face.
“A medical emergency? How the Hell was he responsible for a medical emergency?”
My hands shake as I make tomorrows lunch for him. I peek into his room as he is playing with his plastic dinosaurs.
“Boom!” He slams a triceratops into a T-Rex. I wince, imagining what is happening in his mind.
As I’m finishing up dinner, I check my emails. There’s a notice from the school.
*As many of you received word of the incident at school today, the staff at Lebanon Elementary feel it is crucial to send out this notice. This school is a peanut-free school. We understand that with the excitement of Halloween, minor details can slip through the cracks, but peanut allergies are a serious condition. Although rare, the tragic passing of one of our Kindergartners should serve as a stark and grim reminder that all rules and policies must be adhered to for the safety of our students*
The lump in my throat swells. Tears fall onto the screen like rain on a Spring day.
“What’s wrong, mommy?” His little voice cuts like a knife, the number “one” glows brighter than ever. He wraps his arms around my waist.
I kneel down and hug him.
“What candy did you share with your friend today?”
“I gave him one of my peanut butter cups that came in our spooky bags! He had never had one before! I shared just like you taught me mommy, aren’t you proud?”
::This is my first time ever writing one of these, so please don’t be too harsh. I have no formal training or any experience writing other than papers in college. I just thought of a scenario that could plausibly happen, and as the mother of a 5 year old, was fairly relatable and realistic. Thank you for reading!::
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It was strange and almost curious the way his eyes told a different story. He tumbled about, giggling and clapping about with the other children and I was sure that I could have been seeing things. Maybe it was an accident, like with an animal, maybe it was in a dream. Surely he couldn’t understand what that really meant, what it really felt like. I didn’t see it in his eyes. They didn’t look empty, but you can never know with them.
I’ve been able to see them for a long time, the numbers. Rising up and up nearly every day. People who sit in the streets, people who go to work, go to school, mothers, fathers, friends. One by one they display themselves to me and I keep it, their secrets, their kill counts. I have not seen any that surprise me anymore, even with those closest to me. What a great secret to hold, that you’ve killer someone and it makes me wonder how many people truly know the people around them.
As an adult, it’s no longer disheartening to see other adults with these numbers. It makes you wonder what their stories really are, but this one. This child. A perfect number one above his head as he plays pirates in the sand with his many friends on this quiet beach. I wonder what he could have been through at so young an age, but my thought does not stay for too long.
I am greeted with a smile by a woman I do not know who has been monitoring the children and I can see on her face that she is worn out. She sits relatively close and I do not make eye contact with her but I already see she is looking for some kind of conversation that does not include toys or snacks.
“That’s the first time I’ve seen him smile in a long time.” She was looking towards the boy and I came to a conclusion that he was hers.
“Your son?”
“Mm,” she nodded in agreement. “He’s much more lively now since our accident.”
“Accident?” I ask, wondering if this is the piece to the puzzle.
“My daughter recently passed, his little sister. She was only a few weeks old and,” her voice cracked, “he was the only one there to witness it.” I immediately turned around to look at her and I saw something that I felt was unfamiliar for mothers. Fear. Fear of her own child. Her eyes wandered back to her son as did mine and his eyes met ours.
| 2022-10-21T09:15:23 | 2022-10-21T07:49:31 | 122 | 59 |
[WP] First rule of having a interstellar Navy never get into a arms race with humans it never ends well for anyone.
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Admiral Kthath sat in his office dreading the conversation he knew was coming. He'd had it before, of course, and doubtless would have it again many times before the end of his career, but he never enjoyed them. His musing was interrupted by the tone of his entry chime, and he pushed the button to open the door as he stood.
"Admiral Kthath," said his adjutant, leading in a well dressed Xarnian, "may I present the new chair of the budget committee, Senator Hrass."
"Senator, please have a seat," he replied, then nodded to dismiss his aide. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me," he added, taking his own seat.
"Yes, of course," said the Senator, also taking his seat. "I was most interested in hearing your explanation for why we spend nearly half our budget providing security for an *inferior* race like the humans."
Kthath sighed inwardly, but made no visible showing of it. He knew that any display of annoyance would only make this take twice as long. "I understand your concern Senator, I too once felt the same way."
"But now you don't?" interrupted the Senator, clearly growing impatient.
"Please, Senator," the Admiral responded calmly, trying to de-escalate the situation. "Allow me to explain, and then you can ask your questions." The Senator looked unhappy, but nodded in assent.
"Many years ago," Kthath began, "when I was fresh out of the Academy, we were at war with the Humans. And we were winning, or so we thought; after all, they were no match for our individual strength, let alone our technological superiority. And I was convinced that within two cycles the war would be over and we would be victorious. I was right about the first one, though we didn't realize it for another 5 cycles. And I was totally wrong about the second.
"What you have to understand about the Humans is that what you see on the surface is barely a fraction of what they are capable of. Individually, most of them are weak, most of them aren't all that smart, most of them aren't all the good at most things. But each one individually has one thing that they are very, *very* good at, assuming they find that thing. And occasionally, you find one that's very good a a number of things, mostly within the same discipline. And rarely, you find someone who's skills cross disciplinary boundaries in ways that most of their kind cannot even understand."
"So? I didn't come here for a lesson on Humans, I came here for an explanation about our Navy's budget!" The Senator nearly shouted, causing the Admiral to shake his head slowly.
"Please, Senator, you must understand a little about the Humans to understand the answer to your question. A few more minutes, that's all I ask."
The Senator grumbled, but after a moment motioned to Kthath to continue.
"Thank you. As I was saying, those who could handle multiple disciplines are rare. But the thing is, the number of Humans is staggering. One generation of them can spawn several Billion beings, most of whom are are willing to do whatever is necessary to survive. And that's what we didn't understand at first. That willingness to do anything meant that they quickly figured out what each individual was good at, and had them do that. *And only that.* Despite being a massive conglomeration of fierce individuals, when faced with extinction they operate more like a hive.
"Add to that those rare individuals who could operate across disciplines, and they quickly did two things we hadn't even imagined possible: First, they salvaged the few wrecks of our ships that we'd left behind, and reverse engineered nearly every technology we had. And then they set their entire population to building their own versions of them in quantities that you could only dream of. By the end of that second cycle, they had produced enough that they had slowed down our advance into their territory by a factor of ten. Even worse, they were capturing or salvaging even more of our technology.
"And that's when we made our biggest mistake. Instead of simply building more of what we already had, we did our best to build new weapons to defeat what the Humans were producing." The Admiral paused there, almost goading the Senator into asking why that was a mistake. He wasn't disappointed.
"A mistake? Why would that be a mistake?" asked the Senator. "Our technology is the greatest in the galaxy, we could crush them with it!"
"Could we?" asked the Admiral rhetorically. "Could we wipe them out entirely in one blow? Because that's what it would take to win."
"But why?" shouted the Senator, clearly not getting the point.
"Because we thought like you back then, and it failed," answered Kthath. "As soon as we brought any new technology to the field, they would focus on crippling one of the ships using it and then salvage and copy it. In many cases, bringing it to bear in quantity *faster* than we could produce it. And occasionally, even surpassing us by taking our technology and using it in ways we hadn't even thought of yet. Or, in at least one case, doing something *we just couldn't get to work!* It wasn't until we sued for a cease fire that we learned what we were up against.
"Fighting against us wasn't the first time the Humans had engaged in an arms race like the one we were in. In fact, the entirety of Human history prior to leaving their homeworld had been one continuous arms race. *Against themselves.* In fact, at one point their two largest factions had been in a race to see who could build the bigger doomsday weapon capable of wiping out their entire planet. All because letting their opponent have the bigger weapon meant that they might think they could use it and win."
The Senator stared, his mouth agape. "But, how does one win if the entire planet is destroyed?"
Admiral Kthath smiled, knowing he'd finally won. "I was there when the Humans were asked that very question, do you know what their response was?" The Senator shook his head, so he continued, "They laughed. For a whole minute they laughed, before growing serious again. 'At the time,' they said, 'the only thing that mattered was that the other side didn't survive longer than we did. Even if we only lasted a minute longer, even seconds, they would have died first. Therefore we would have won.' It was then and there that I knew we could never defeat them, and it was madness to even try. Even if we did manage to kill every last Human, they would make sure we all died first."
Seeing the beads of perspiration at the edges of the Senator's eyes, he decided it was time to calm him back down. "After we agreed to end the fighting, we asked what it would take to ensure that they would keep the peace going forward. And thus the arrangement we have today. We supply them with the necessary naval fleet to provide security for their borders, and they supply us with the resources to keep them operational. If our fleets try to turn on them, they'll quickly find themselves without supplies, and that's before the Humans reactivate their own fleets and destroy us."
"But, that makes no sense! They're practically goading us into attacking them again!" exclaimed the Senator.
"No, Senator, not goading," said the Admiral gravely. "Testing. They're testing us, to make sure we hold up our end of the bargain. I have no doubt that they're still stealing, copying, and improving our own technology, and anyone else's they can get their hands on. And should we step out of line they'll bring that might down on us. And this time, they won't stop.
"That, Senator, is why we spend half our budget providing security for a so-called inferior race. Because it's better than spending our entire budget *fighting* them. And more than likely losing, when all is said and done."
"Yes, well," said the Senator, standing quickly. "I believe you've explained your position adequately to justify your budget. I'm sure you've already investigated any possible efficiencies to reduce it, so there's no need to go over it in detail. I'll let you get back to work." With that the Senator quickly left the Admiral's office, no doubt wondering why he'd never heard the truth about the war with the Humans before.
The Admiral shook his head watching the Senator leave. "It's always the same," he mused. "Maybe the council should reconsider its ban on teaching the truth." Then he chuckled, "Of course, then I'd miss out on these *fun* conversations. Oh well, back to work." He pulled out the next report he had to sign off on and started reading.
-=END=-
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Emperor Qi looked out upon his fleet with a feeling of immense pride. Since the death of his father, Qi had sought to raise the standing of his homeworld in the eyes of Galactic Citadel. His father, Emperor Xi, believed in maintaining the status quo, "as long as the waters of Azuchi stay blue and the air clean we succeed" he would often tell Qi. Always content to remain a backwater in the hopes of remaining out of anyones target, always on the sideline.
But Qi was not his father. He believed Azuchi could be, and would be, an interstellar juggernaut. Few worlds could compete with their natural resources, few could compete with their warriors dedication. Qi would make a statement and the Citadel would have to listen. It was not against the rules of the Citadel for members to militarize or declare war on fellow members, though it was frowned upon. Qi had a simple plan, he would build his forces and then pick a species he could make an example of. Declaring to the universe the Azuchi were not some backwater but a true power!
He knew in time the Citadel would notice his build up, so the request to speak on the floor did not come unexpectedly. Infact, Qi had counted on it, he was going to use this opportunity to pick his target.
As Qi entered the Citadel chamber he was taken back at the sheer number of members. As Crown Prince, he was never allowed to enter the chamber, his first time would be explaining his military build up. "Remain calm" he told himself. As he approached the floor, the Citadel chairwoman spoke to him with a booming voice, catching Qi by surprise.
"Emperor Qi, welcome, the floor is yours...we are simply interested in your intentions. Long has Azuchi been a friend and Ally to many in this chamber fighting alongside us in many conflicts...but never has your world possessed a fleet of this size or shown such aggressive growth"
Qi spoke at once. "Madam Chair, The Azuchi are a peaceful people, this fleet is the culmination of a dream of my father Emperor Xi, to project our strength and show our dear Allies we will always be ready to assi-"
At this moment a human, some small creature Qi had only heard of from his father interrupted... "Emperor Xi was a devout Pacifist and champion of Isolationism, this boy is lying to our faces he means to bring war!"
Before Qi could respond the chairwoman addressed the human. "Secretary Odani outbursts are not acceptable! Your Earth politics will not be tolerated here"
"Of course Madam chair, my apologies" the Human said
...locking eyes with Qi and grinning
The Chairwoman looked back at Qi, allowing him to speak again but Qi did not, he simply turned and walked away...he had what he came for...his target would be Earth.
Before Qi could leave the Citadel, he received an invite to a sit down from Senator Hano, a member of the oldest known species in the citadel. Qi could not pass up this opportunity to meet Hano...his father often spoke of Hano and frequently sought his counsel.
"Emperor Qi, thank you for taking my audience, I was in the chamber for your speech and I come to warn you"
"Warn me?" Qi exclaims, "warn me of what the saber rattling in the Chamber?
"No my boy... to warn you about the Humans."
Qi must have looked visibly startled. How could Hano know his plan? He had only told a few trusted aides...
"Qi, I have been a senator here since before the Azuchi were space faring, I know when a man has chosen his target, and im here to warn you the Humans are not the ones. Humans are species that thrives on war. When they cannot find a unified front they will fight one another on make believe slights, just to fight. They do not stop until their opponent is destroyed or they are"
"Hano, I am honored you would come to me but the Azuchi are -"
"Yes yes fine warriors, but you are not capable of what the Humans are. None know this, but I believe I owe it to your father to save you... many believe my species to be the oldest" Hano paused looking out toward the stars... "we are not, the Humans are" Qi sat up, staring at Hano not comprehending what he was saying.
"A millenia ago they brought war to the Galaxy laying waste to any and everything in their path. It took a unified front of 50 planets to drive them back. Truthfully, we believed we had driven them to extinction destroying their homeworld several times over...but like rodents they have come back, they seemingly dont know their heritage and have accepted our story that they are a young species... but for a species to restart and come back so fast... their resourcefulness is unrivaled as is their bloodlust when attacked...I implore you Qi, do not awaken this sleeping giant, there is a reason theyve ascended in the Senate so quickly, the alternative is a galaxy ending war"
"Now return to Azuchi, and rethink your plan but leave the humans out of it."
The Senator turned and left, leaving Qi sitting in his room stunned at what he had heard...how could such a small creature be such a threat. None the less, Senator Hano was not his father and he would show everyone Azuchi's strength... and if the Humans are truly this dangerous they will be the perfect show of force for his fleet.
"Fleet master" Qi called out "Prepare to leave, send word to Azuchi to deploy the troops...set course for Earth"
| 2021-06-14T14:15:10 | 2021-06-14T11:41:15 | 155 | 111 |
[WP] You have the ability to see other people's inner demons and this would terrify you if they weren't so GOD DAMN CUTE.
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There were many things in Tanay's life that few people knew about. For example, no one knew that he was a great chef, or that he could shoot a 3-pointer 9/10 times, or that he could look at a person and see their inner demons.
Tanay doesn't know if he was born with this gift or if he acquired this gift when he was a kid but he could remember having this ability for as long as he could remember. Sometimes, they would be like a chip on the person's shoulder. Other times, they would show up walking around a person or even inside a person. The last one was weird and made Tanay a bit woozy.
However, one thing he had never felt looking at a person's inner demons was fear. At a height of around six inches, they were so GOD DAMN CUTE that Tanay couldn't hate or be terrified of them come what may. Sometimes, a person would have multiple demons and they all looked like a family of fluffy bunnies running around a person.
That doesn't mean that they were not harmful. The more bunnies... inner demons a person had, the sadder a person was and often closer to his death. Tanay learned this the hard way. One of his closest friends, Mike had three of those demons. They all looked so happy as they seeped away Mike's energy, willingness to succeed, and eventually, willingness to live. He committed suicide and none of those demons were around him when Tanay saw the body.
It was also the first time he saw one fluffy demon rising up in him. He could only see the creature through the mirror but he was able to establish communication with it soon enough. The creature, Kabir, was surprised but an eager participant once introductions were done.
Kabir and Tanay would often discuss in detail how the demons were formed and how they would die. Tanay was shocked to know that demons were actually eager to die and their existence was bound to a person getting over his guilt or grief.
"Do you really think I enjoy being inside you Tanay? I'm alone and I exist just as a reminder to you that you failed." Kabir would often say.
"What do you want me to do?"
"Either stop feeling guilty about your friend's death or feel guilty about something else as well. At least I'll get some company."
Tanay would laugh off such things as he had no way of actually fixing things.
That was six months ago. Today, sitting at a cafe, Tanay and Kabir were discussing the perils of having multiple demons.
"The good thing is that the demons aren't alone. Some even build a whole family."
"Yeah, but the chances of the host's survival reduce as well."
"That's a good thing."
"You still want to die when you have a family here?"
"You don't understand. Once we die here, it's not really death. It's like going back home. We only come into existence if you folks are battling with something."
"Guilt."
"Guilt is a major one that I have heard. Then there are other things like trauma or even happiness sometimes. The last one is weird but it exists for some people."
Tanay nodded to a mirror. He tried it with an iPad once but as the device recreates what the lens sees, Kabir doesn't come on the screen. Only reflective surfaces worked. The cafe was filled with people and their pokemonish demons - some walking around with them while others just sitting and talking to the other demons inside the same person. Most people had one demon frolicking around them while a couple of them had two. Tanay rarely saw people with three demons and it pleased him.
"So you can't talk to demons in other people's bodies?" Tanay asked once more.
"As I've told you before, I can't even see other people's demons. It's your freak brain that can do all these things."
"But you see everything I see."
"True. That's why I said your brain. Your eyes are normal."
Tanay chuckled. Yeah, his brain was abnormal. He could believe that. Another question struck his mind.
"Kabir, tell me. How many demons can kill a person?"
The demon went into a pensive mode.
"I have heard different numbers. Some say that they have been in a body with nine other demons while others claim that six is the magic number after which a person invariably commits suicide."
"Is three a lot?"
Kabir hesitated. He knew what Tanay wanted to know and he didn't have an answer to that question.
"For some people, even one is enough."
Tanay looked unsatisfied with that answer.
"You have to understand Tanay. It's not that you feel guilty about missing a test or decide to skip a day at the office and a demon appears. You must feel really horrible about something for an inner demon to make an appearance. Maybe that's also the reason that we never leave once we come into existence."
Tanay nodded. He understood some of it and hopefully, one day, he would understand all of it. He had started to try helping people who had three demons. He would strike up a conversation and hope that he could find a way to reduce their guilt about whatever they were holding. He hadn't had too much luck with strangers, understandably.
"Hi. Excuse me." A girl said breaking Tanay out of his thoughts.
"Yes," Tanay said turning away from the girl. He realized he had moist eyes and tried to wipe them discreetly.
"My name is Isha and I work for 'Hope'. It is a foundation for helping newborn kids who are abandoned. We ensure that they survive and find foster homes for them. We organize donation drives in collaboration with cafes and restaurants around the city to get funding."
"I'm sorry but I..." Tanay was politely declining Isha when he turned to look at her. Five fluffy pokemon-bunny demons were moving around her, jumping up and down, playing with each other and having the time of their lives. Tanay gawked and stopped listening or speaking.
"What did you see?" Kabir asked excitedly.
"Ten," Tanay said out loud.
Kabir swore. He had only heard tales of so many inner demons. He tried to look at the girl closely.
"She doesn't look like she would have that many demons."
"Excuse me?" The girl said.
"Did she hear me?" Kabir said surprised.
"What?" Tanay said.
"You said 'five'. What does that mean?" Isha asked.
"Phew!" Kabir said.
"I meant will $500 do?" Tanay said.
The girl's eyes widened. "Of course. That would be amazing. What name should I write?"
"Tanay. Also, can I know more about the foundation?"
"Yeah, sure. You can come tomorrow to our office and I will be glad to show you around."
Isha shared her number along with the address of the office.
"I'll be honest with you. Usually, the goal for the whole day is to get $500 per person. You just made my day."
Tanay smiled and recounted the demons. Nope, still ten. Guess $500 for a demon was a bit too much to ask, he thought to himself.
"Meet you tomorrow," he said to Isha. Isha nodded and smiled and moved to another table.
"I have to save her," Tanay said.
"And then perhaps I can die too," Kabir agreed.
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When I behold another human in person, an ability I've had since I was a child manifests. I see beyond their minds and bodies, into the darkness that lies within. There I behold the terrible inner demons that plagues all mankind. Things that drive us to do terrible things, to sin and do evil. Beings who desire for us to do the things we know we shouldn't do.
There is two problems with this. They're not very good at their jobs, and they're extremely cute. Humans have long learned how to do evil things that no inner demon could ever conceive of, and the demons are mostly capable of inspiring low-grade human crappiness at best. I hear their squeaky little adorable voices talking about how they had a great victory, and convinced someone to take a second piece of candy, when the sign said to only take one. Or when they get a human to say those small-town swearwords, like dang or heck. It's more endearing than anything to be honest. Especially since they look very adorable.
A demon of pride following a woman around telling her how she is her own independent woman, who doesn't need a man telling her what to do, which is actually supportive, though demons don't really get humans, or human sin very well at all. It looks like a little half-goat half-boy. Who is enthusiastically cheering the woman on as she jogs past me.
A demon of sloth, is like a long relaxed cat, who clings to a man's neck like a scarf, telling him not to worry, he doesn't need to work so hard, play some good music, like some Skynard or Leonard Cohen on his phone.
A demon of greed, like a small dragon with butterfly wings, telling a woman to save money and buy off-brand so she can get a better personal financial situation later. It flutters proudly around her head as she decides that the slightly cheaper but more or less same sort of clothes is better in the long run for herself.
A demon of wrath pushing a guy to get more buff, to get in better shape, which I see while working out in the gym. It is like a little minotaur girl who runs in laps and tries to make him focus more on his legs, because you never skip leg day.
A demon of envy pushes a woman towards self-improvement, to get better, to learn more skills, to spend more time on her own skills, to become a better person than the others around her. It looks remarkably like a purple ferret wrapped around her upper arm.
A demon of gluttony, looking like a big rabbit, encourages a man to take another cookie, it quells the desire he has for a cigarette, he is trying to stop.
A demon of lust encourages a woman to disregard the traditional idea of a virginal and pure woman, in exchange for a woman who is in control of herself, who is free to love who she chooses, and to not care for those who find her life sinful. It is a little red vixen, who moves around on the ground in playful excitement.
Of course, one might ask how this sort of behaviour is supposed to be bad. Well, that's because the demons are giving advice that in a situation where the individual must be suppressed so that the tribe can survive, where every day is either live together or die alone, is actually harmful. But since those days are aeons behind us, what they whisper in our ears no longer break social cohesion or harm our chances to survive. So now, these demons, who according to what they understood of humans back in the day when we lived in caves, look unsettling and scary, are now cute little mostly helpful friends. And since human capacity for evil has long since surpassed any demon, a lot of them are accidentally holding people back from committing far greater evils, but they don't entirely understand the concept. I'm just happy I get to watch those adorable little things running around being giddy about convincing somebody to tell a white lie, or give a fake compliment, or to improve themselves, not the group.
| 2020-04-14T21:37:57 | 2020-04-14T20:59:16 | 26 | 11 |
[WP] Every person in the world develops a weird mutation/power the day they turn 16. Everyone's powers are always different, some more insignificant than others. You turn 16, and watch as all your friends discover their newfound ability's. That is, until you discover the severity of your own.
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As a kid, I have always looked up to the people that use their talents for great purpose. Aunt Laura is always hard at work, so I have the TV for myself and I'd watch all about Steffi Larkin, Reed Horundas, Alex Stevenson, and my idol, Jeff Knox. He has the talent to clone himself and consciously control them. He is known as the *Miracle Constructor* and he has his own show, aptly named "Do It Myself". He builds schools and hospitals by making his team of about 50 clones and himself work with a little bit of "menual labor", as he likes to call it.
Every person in the world experience the Discovering at the age of 16, at the midnight of their birthday, oddly enough. Some people say that talents are genetics, while some say that talents are determined by the actions you choose to do prior of the Discovering. I am a strong believer of the latter, because well, it's partly because my parents weren't all that special. They had passed away when I was but one month old. They were never around, but I know one thing, I refuse to be insignificant like my mother and father who, as Aunt Laura told me, has the talents to disappear and to draw with uncanny realism.
I want a talent that can shape the world. I want to believe that it's not genetics, but the upperclassmen in my high school all have talents similar to their parents', whether in power or properties. Even Jeff Knox once said on TV that he was thankful for his parents, and while that could mean many things, my mind makes the worst of it. With my luck and my family's genes, I'll probably get a useless talent like burrowing underground so that I can quite *literally* shape the world.
3 hours from now is the midnight of my birthday. The Discovering is only moments away as I get more and more excited. I turn on the TV and turned the channel to an old interview of Steffi Larkin on her experience with her Discovering.
"Were you able to identify your talents right away?"
"It wasn't until the morning after I had slept after giving up that I discovered it. I woke up in another country!"
"You discovered your talent in a dream?"
"Yeah, I have always wanted to see the world, but I never imagined it as easy as teleporting!"
How lucky she is to have that great of a power. But I wasn't too worried about what my talent was going to be anymore at that point. As time closes in on midnight, I'm just excited to finally have a talent.
2 hours away now as I look at the clock. I have set up a sort of target practice / obstacle course in Aunt Laura's garage, as she told me that she knows I've been waiting for tomorrow my whole life. Earlier today, she gave me an okay and a big hug, and with tears in her eyes told me that she was proud of me. She had always been a mother figure, and cared for me like her own son. I'm a bit sad that she won't be home until tomorrow afternoon, when I will already have mastered the talent to race against time with my super speed, or have the accuracy of a hawk, I hope, who knows.
1 more hour and here I am thinking of all the good I will do, however boring my talent will be. I have come into acceptance with what I probably will be able to do, as to not disappoint myself. I could probably settle with the talent to climb trees or something, I could use that to create tree houses for kids to play in.
And then all of the sudden, I felt a presence and almost in an instant, I was surrounded by water, gasping in what feels like the middle of the ocean.
"WHOA, WHAT HAPPENED?"
"... I'm sorry," I heard in a calm voice, "I'm sorry for everything."
"WH- Y- YOU'RE STEFFI LARKIN!"
"I had to do this... Your father saw it all."
"WHAT ARE YOU TALKING ABOUT?"
"Son, I have heard many great things about you from Aunt Laura."
"ARE YOU INSANE, WHERE IS SHE?"
"I'm your mother... We've all been lying to you because you are a danger, your father drew it when you were just a week old..."
"Wh- what? You're telling me he saw what I was able to do?"
"You're a ticking time bomb, and it was all our fault for bearing you... We wanted to give you a happy life, but I loved you too much to take care of you, I wouldn't have been able to handle it... I'm very sorry... I'm proud of you, son."
A lot of things went through my mind as she disappeared, leaving me to drown in the ocean. Furious didn't even begin to describe how I felt, because somehow, I felt at peace. The roars of the ocean was alarmingly peaceful. I lay back, floating... What could I have done with this talent?
Heh... I guess I will actually shape the worl-
0.
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Tonight was my night; my 16th birthday. Finally, after what felt like a lifetime of waiting, it was my time to shine. I had waited almost a year for this day, ever since my best friend Andrew discovered in January that he could fly. I had envied him at first, being the first in the tenth grade with a power. As time passed I was jealous of what it said about him. If powers are a reflection of our character as scientists believed, I came to envy what this said about his life. He was free, he was pure and he was without a care in the world. What did he know about pain? of being beaten by your father every day for imagined sins and infractions? Of having to steal your best friends allowance to wear decent clothes? of being labelled by girls as a 'creep' and of your few friends pitying you?
But times had changed. New Years eve, my birthday, had arrived and I smiled at my reflection. I wondered what my power would be. Super strength for my strength through the hardships? Mind reading for my ability to empathize? I was entertaining these thoughts when my phone rang.
*Hello?*
*Hey it's Andrew here, you ready for the party?*
*Sure, pick me up in ten.*
*Hello?*
I heard static and a click as my phone died. I moved it away from my ear, and then smiled.
Tiny cracks ran along the screen and continued to spread from where my hand held the phone. I willed the cracking to stop, and it did.
| 2015-01-22T00:10:42 | 2015-01-21T21:42:59 | 15 | 10 |
[WP] You are a policeman. One day, as you're patrolling the park, you see the devil himself burst from the ground in a geyser of flames. He walks over to the trashcan, pulls a can out, and throws it on the ground. You follow him around as he commits more petty crimes.
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"**Car 1313 to dispatch, I've got a...stand by.**"
It's all I can do to keep a straight face. Looks for all the world like the devil himself; red skin, seven feet or so, about 190 pounds wearing what looks like a loincloth and clopper shoes. The ground is still smoldering from his little pyrotechnic show, and he's grinning from ear to ear. Whatever. Being crazy isn't against the law. Uncontrolled burning, however, is a pretty high-level misdemeanor. Given the damage to the park, a case could be made for vandalism as well. The pitchfork could be something of a problem, but given the totality of the circumstances I'm guessing circus performer. Because that's all that makes sense when a near-7" roidy-looking motherfucker bursts out of the ground.
"**Car 1313 to dispatch, suspicious individual at the park, approximately seven feet tall, strong build...**"
As I'm relaying the information to our dispatcher in case Demon McDemonface decides to bumrush me, I see him smile ever so slyly and he saunters - I swear to Christ, this guy *saunters* - over to a nearby trashcan. Turning around, he appears to consider it before turning back to face me. His sly grin becomes one of the shit-eating variety as he takes the can in one hand and slowly, irrevocably pushes it over. A small wave of fast food containers and dog shit spill onto the ground (and that's illegal dumping right there, Jack) in front of him, and he's looking right at me, just *daring* me to come over.
"**Dispatch to 1313,**" the dispatcher finally says, "**do you need backup?**"
*No shit, Sherlock.* I know better than to say that over the air. "**10-4**"
Pressing my left breast pocket twice, I hear two small beeps affirm that the body camera's turned on. I'd totally forgotten to do it earlier, as you do when you see a guy shoot up out of the ground like it's Cirque du Soleil.
"Excuse me," I say, stepping forward, "let me talk to you for a moment. Do you know what you're doing?"
"**I AM A FREE MAN,**" the monstrous red man bellows, "**AND I STRIDE UPON PUBLIC LAND. WHAT DO YOU DESIRE OF ME, OFFICER?**"
*A sovereign citizen*, I think to myself. *Jesus Christ*...
"Sir, it's illegal to dump trash on the ground. It's also illegal to burn...to..."
I'm stopped not by some show of demonic force that threatens to entrap me into a snare of eternal suffering and fiery torment until the End of Days. I'm not stopped by him whipping his pitchfork around to force me to stop the conversation and put a few rounds downrange before he gets close with the thing. I'm stopped, rather, by the suspect suddenly and inexplicably having a black rectangle in an outstretched arm, looking on with a sort of gleeful malice. It might be obsidian and smoldering with the amber glow of hellfire, but I'm a cop. I know a camera phone when I see one.
"**WHAT IS YOUR NAME,**" he roars, trying to get a good shot of my face, "**AND WHY ARE YOU INFRINGING UPON MY GOD-GIVEN RIGHTS?**"
"My name is Officer Vasquez, and I'm infringing upon your God-given rights because you've committed vandalism, littering, and uncontrolled burning. I'm going to need to see some ID, sir."
"**WHY? AM I BEING DETAINED, OFFICER?**"
*Failure to ID to law enforcement.*
"...yes."
"**BUT THIS IS PUBLIC LAND. IT IS FREE FOR ME TO USE AS I SEE FIT AS A SOVEREIGN INSTITUTION. NOTHING I HAVE DONE IS ILLEGAL IN THE EYES OF GOD. YOU HAVE NO AUTHORITY OVER ME.**"
Welp, here it comes. I've told him to identify himself, and he refused to do so. I personally observed him tip over a trashcan, burn a small circle into the park, and now people are starting to look on at the unfolding scene, bringing a nice little charge of disorderly conduct to bear as well. The suspect's continued demeanor means that I can't in good conscience write him a ticket and send him on his merry way, not when I feel he's simply going to continue with the behavior displayed. I've got to somehow fit this guy - this massive, scarlet-faced, horned, trident-wielding monster of a man - into the back of a Crown Vic and haul him before a magistrate. To say nothing of the report. The call to the Fire Marshal about the burning. And the absolute goddamn certainty that I'm about to violate the department policy of not ending up on YouTube. A nice trip to Internal Affairs for the excessive force complaint...this day is shaping up nicely.
"Sir," I say with an air of exhausted finality, "you're under arrest. I'm going to need you to put your hands behind your back."
"**NO. YOU HAVE NO RIGHT TO TAKE ME ANYWHERE. I DO NOT CONSENT TO ANY SEARCHES OR ~~SEIZU~~ AAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAGH!!!!!!**"
The suspect falls to the ground face down. Behind him, I see two wires extending into his back, tracing two nice, coiled lines to the small TASER held by my backup. Having ridden the lightning myself, I figure I'll forgive the sudden roar of agony that shot flames from the suspect's mouth and ignited a small tree. My backup smirks. I smirk.
"*Car 1313,*" I say, "*show us with one in custody.*"
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Flabbergasted. It's an old-fashioned word, but the only one I could think of that would describe what was going through my head.
He definitely wasn't human. Humans' legs don't bend that way, nor do they have waists the diameter of baseball bats nor two-foot-long necks, never mind the other features like bat-wings, goat's horns, whip-like tail and red skin. An automaton? Possibly, if one could be made that could operate so gracefully. I simply followed, open-mouthed.
He didn't look at me, but just kept doing mildly malicious things. He walked over to a wall, waved his hand and muttered something, and a marker appeared in it. He drew a Kilroy figure, added horns and "SATAN WAS HERE" below it, then made the marker vanish again. He walked past a hot-dog vendor, grabbed a squeeze-bottle of mustard and stuck it in his pocket. (I couldn't understand how he could possibly have pockets, but that's what it looked like.) He coughed, hocked up a big loogie and spit it on the sidewalk.
(The hot dog vendor didn't seem to see him, which I thought odd. He also didn't seem to see me, which is something I didn't realize until later.)
He finally stopped and sat down on a park bench, staring up in the air and whistling, seeming like he was waiting for something. I stood a score of feet away, wondering what he was waiting for. I suppose I should have called it in, but I just didn't think of it.
Some few minutes passed, me standing uffishly and him whistling at the sky; then he stood and waved his hand, opening a black doorway in the thin air in front of him. He stepped through it, then stopped just on the other side, and turned, looking directly at me with a sly grin on his face.
"Got you..."
He reached out an impossibly long arm and grabbed my wrist. I immediately pulled away but it was like yanking a heavy chain, which pulled me towards that doorway. "Violating your oath as a policeman, to uphold the law? You stood by and did nothing while another committed crimes? You are just as culpable and now, by the laws of God, you are *mine*." I struggled, clawed at the fingers around me. Behind me I heard a loud, incoherent voice and turned to see a bright light and a flash of white wings just before the black door closed.
| 2017-08-10T17:44:16 | 2017-08-10T17:38:52 | 109 | 62 |
[WP] Area 51 has four level emergencies for a breakout. Level 3: Armed forces intervention. 2: Public statement. United Nations joint resistance. 1: Worldwide evacuation effort. Use of nuclear weapons permitted. And 0: Call the number on the sticky note (and pray to God his demands aren't too high).
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*A sign reading "Area 51: Eldritch Containment Protocols Command" hangs limply from the now-smashed and burned fence it used to be firmly attached to. Beyond the perimeter, an unassuming grey bunker sits, split open by formless tendrils of void lapping at anything withing their reach.*
"General Bahncroft! The ECPC has taken critical damage. We've got several breaches locally, and they seem to be spreading out of control across the states. Western hemisphere containment is down and the WARLOCK global defense grid seems to be suffering from massive power surges. We've got a level 0 entity trying to make contact here."
*From an office just a few feet to the left of the massive facility breach, an unassuming man in his early 60's steps out of an office that was certainly quite nice before the damage shockwave and local gravity anomalies shuffled the whole place up and splayed its contents across the remainder of that level of the bunker, in various states of floating*
"Lt. Yan, get to my safe on the lower level! The combination is 2-28-35. The contents of that box are our only hope now. Follow the instructions to the letter! I've got to hold off the little bastards that should start pouring out of the breach any second now. The last incident destroyed the entirety of the Tunguska region. I won't lose the continental US the same way!"
*The Lt. hurtled down several flights of stairs, over a massive amount of debris and essentially through the corpses of people standing in the wrong place when the first tendril probed the facility, locking them in place, torn apart, straddling the dimensions. In a small room off the supply garage, locked behind a simple metal cage (for which he was tasked with the key), sat an unassuming jewelry lockbox, with a small inscription and a pentagram emblazoned dead center. After inputting the combination and opening the box, he was met with a single post-it with a phone number, a small flip phone, and some instructions.*
"For a good time, call 1-800-Hellion."
*The instruction sheet simply states: call the number, make only the deal you need, and hang up. Let him talk no longer than necessary.*
*Lt. Yan dialed, as the general bellowed insults and fired off plasma shots from his bolter above. Yan loved those things. Best bit of tech salvaged from the aliens yet. The line rang several times before a voice answered, like nails on a rusty chalkboard bellowed over a stadium loudspeaker.*
"HELLO MORTAL. I SEE HUMANITY ONCE AGAIN HAS NEED OF MY SERVICES. YOUR WARLOCK NETWORK SEEMS TO BE OFFLINE. PITY THAT YOU ALL PURGED THE ACTUAL SORCERERS THAT DEFENDED YOUR WORLD FOR MILLENNIA OVER THE LAST FEW HUNDRED YEARS. MY PRICE FOR RESTORING THE NETWORK AND SAVING YOUR RACE IS THAT YOU SIMPLY ALLOW MY PEOPLE TO HANDLE STAFFING OF ALL YOUR WARLOCK FACILITIES, AND THAT ONE OF MY OWN HANDLES OVERSIGHT OF THE PROGRAM. IN EXCHANGE, THEY WILL TEACH YOUR PEOPLE THE ARTS THEY HAVE FORGOTTEN AND USHER IN A NEW ERA OF STABILITY AND PROSPERITY."
"That's not a very high price." It dawned on Yan that he shouldn't have said that.
*Above Yan, the General could be heard bellowing and blasting away with the bolter, but soon even he went silent, his last roar becoming a defeated gurgle*
"OH, MY PRICE IS HIGH ENOUGH, BECAUSE IT MEANS THAT I WILL WIN. WITH THE SPREAD OF SORCERY AND THE REVELATION THAT HUMANITY FACES AN OUTSIDER THREAT, THEY WILL SEEK STABILITY. STABILITY ONLY I CAN PROVIDE. MY WAR WITH GOD WILL BE FINISHED."
*Yan hung up the phone, worried he might do irreparable damage if he stayed on for a second more talking to the beast on the other end. Around him, the world began to knit back together, and the tendrils of void receded. Those killed in the breach also knitted back together, becoming whole and alive again. Something was wrong though. Those repaired by the entity's power seemed...corrupted. Then Yan remembered their conversation and the line about "staffing with his own people." *
*Around him, the dead rose and merged with beasts brought from beyond. Twisting, corrupting, becoming mockeries of their former humanity. The breach above healed as more and more members of ECPC became demonic vessels for the new administrator. Above, the General rose once again, his roar resuming in all its fury, then merging with a familiar, blood-curdling sound.*
"LT. YAN, JOIN ME IN THE COMMAND SUITE. WE HAVE A LOT OF WORK TO DO, AND A VERY SHORT TIME TO DO IT."
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I can actually answer this, having worked at the facility myself. The prompt isn't far off from the truth, there is an actual number to call when shit hits the fan. In my time there it was only called once, when one of the air force's bombers went lost comms following a dual engine failure. Not sure if it was carrying or not, but seeing as they called the number I'd think it probably was. It was a bit strange because we're normally a test facility, not ops, but some dude showed up (I'm really bad with ranks, I think he was only a colonel) and than bam, phones off the hook. Not gonna lie, I was pretty curious who picks up on the other end. I figure it's the president, but then why have the phone with us? It'd make more sense to have it with Edwards or something. Anyways, I found out later on the number dials a farmhouse in Kansas (?) but then we got a call from a telephone box in the big city from the SAME PHONE like ten seconds later from a telephone box in the city. It's never rung before. My boss picked it up and gave some details to the speaker on the other end, and that's it, that's all the interaction we had with it. Some reporters showed up from the daily news about a month later with some fuzzy details about the plane, but mostly strange questions about a man in a cape who they were saying allegedly saved the day. We chased them away.
| 2017-03-21T06:03:48 | 2017-03-21T05:37:43 | 18 | 12 |
[WP] You are a detective who has closed every case but one, a serial murderer who has taunted you all your career. After retiring you start to suspect your significant other.
[Edit: wow, this is going to take a while to get through! Glad people liked the prompt!]
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The joggers always set him on edge. He wasn't sure if that was because of his twenty-seven years of service as a police officer and detective, always chasing after people committing petty crimes, or if it was just old age settling in. That didn't change the fact that the autumn trees were in full bloom, and their afternoon in Central Park was almost picturesque, with a sea of bright orange leaves on the ground beneath them, and the ancient tree branches extending their limber fingers over top.
"This is nice, honey, I could get used to this lifestyle." His wife, Sharon, said to him as they strolled through the path.
He responded with a simple "Mmm.", as he was still in awe of the image of a place he had wanted to visit since childhood.
Wallace Smith was fifty-eight years old, while his wife had just entered her 50s. Smith was a newly retired police officer, who had spent all of his life until this point in Pittsburgh. He decided that he and his wife should move to New York City to finally experience the "big city" life.
"Hey, whatever happened to that 'Red Scarf Killer'?" Sharon asked abruptly, almost startling Wallace. "You stopped telling me about that case all of a sudden, like it just disappeared and never happened."
"The Red Scarf Killer? We never caught him." Wallace responded, "Sick bastard." He muttered under his breath.
He didn't enjoy talking about his work, especially to those that aren't or weren't involved. His wife, however, always had a knack for his stories and would enjoy hearing about the homicide cases that would pop up on his desk.
"Why do you always refer to the killer as 'him'? Did it ever occur to you that it may have been a 'she'?" She asked him, almost annoyed.
"Huh. You know, that's an interesting theory, honey. You should work that lead and see where it takes you."
"Probably farther than you, Mr. Smith." She said, in a tone he didn't particularly like.
He found it strange that she would address him this way, especially after all their years of marriage.
"Sharon, please, after three decades of police work I'd appreciate it if we could not talk about my work for the next ten minutes, and enjoy this walk. And could you please not call me that?"
"Why not?"
"The Red Scarf Killer would constantly send me letters. Letters that were written very formally, almost like I was being invited to a wedding, or a fancy dinner or something. I don't know, it just kind of got on my nerves after a while."
"How come I've never heard about this? You never told me about any letters." She said to him, sounding almost bothered.
"I didn't tell anybody. I found it weird, and quite frankly, creepy. Besides, this happened before we met; it never came up."
"You know, I always thought the Red Scarf Killer was the most interesting out of the bunch," Sharon shared as she changed the topic, "Methodical, yet bloody. Precise, yet with a hint of savagery."
"Is there a reason we're talking about a case that went cold nearly a decade ago?" He asked, quickly becoming annoyed.
The bickering between the two was something that had been occurring more and more as the years in their marriage went on. He often found Sharon testing him, pushing him to points where he would feel uncomfortable.
"No reason."
Smith wasn't sure if it was because her age was starting to catch up with her or not, but he found that Sharon was starting to bring up the past more often than before, almost like she was reminiscing of a time long gone and lost.
His back was starting to flare up, something that had been bothering him for the last couple of years. It often got to the point where he would no longer be able to stand upright, needing to lie down or lean against something.
"I always found it interesting that the *Red Scarf Killer* was actually a *White Scarf Killer*, and that they would simply line the scarf with small, very sharp hooks that would pierce the victim's neck during strangulation and in result paint the fabric red." She noted, almost excitedly. "Isn't that neat?"
This kind of behaviour was normal for Sharon. Getting overly excited while talking about criminals was something he had gotten used to. Although it wasn't something he particularly liked about her, he thought the fact that he could share the load of his stressful work with her at home was nice and convenient.
"Yeah," he said while exhaling with a deep breath, "Real neat."
He took a moment to sit down and hopefully ease the pain running down his spine. The sky was beginning to darken as the October afternoon in the park was starting to come to an end. She sat beside him.
But a sudden realization washed over him. He wanted to look to his left, to where Sharon was sitting, but the pain in his spine was getting to the point where he could hardly turn his neck. He could only see her in his peripheral vision.
"Wait a minute," He spoke while enduring the pain, "We never released that information on the killer." He took a deep breath immediately after finishing his sentence, closing his eyes as the nerves in his back began to dig into him.
"Shhh, don't talk honey, you'll only hurt yourself. You're in enough pain already." Sharon said to him in a comforting voice, unlike the tone she had used in their conversation before.
He tried to look at her again, but his neck would not cooperate. He felt his body stiffen as each breath became harder to inhale.
"Go to sleep, Wallace." She whispered. "I love you."
|
I sat in my dark office, smoking a cigar. In front of me, my case files. Every single one of them solved, too. The way I like to organize my files, well, basically each case is in one of those generic files you see that usually contain all sort of documentation and evidence.
I have a large filing cabinet filled with solved cases, each one has notes written on it as to who the perp might be. Everything from the color of a hair on a crime scene to a physical description of the last thing they were wearing. I like to put pictures of the people I caught into the folders, I always leave an empty space on one page where I can put a picture of my latest victory. Right now, I'm set on retiring, just sorting all of the cases by alphabetical order and putting them into the cabinet labeled "SOLVED." As I'm doing so, I take out one file. THAT file.
If you ask any detective, they'll say every detective has THAT file. The one that got away , so to speak. One unsolved case that always sits there, taunting them. The case can be anything from a shoplifting to a series of gruesome murders. Unfortunately for me, it was the latter.
I took the case out, trying to look it over one more time, if only to ease my mind of the sneaking suspicion that I must have missed something. As I'm going to do so, I accidentally knock it off my desk, along with a picture of my beautiful wife Emily. As I watch it fall, the frame hits the ground *just* right and the picture falls right over where I would've put the perp.
Initially, I just look at it. *No* I think to myself, *I'm just tired or desperate or both. I just want an answer.* As I stare longer, the truth becomes apparent. No, I'm not looking for an answer now, I was just trying to look away up until this point. As I hear the phone ring in my office and hear the electronic voice utter my wife's name, I realize that I'm going to be *very* late getting out of the office tonight.
| 2015-01-03T23:33:11 | 2015-01-03T20:48:13 | 40 | 25 |
[WP] Whenever you die you can reincarnate at any point in history with full memories of your past lives. Billions of deaths later you realize the truth. Every single person in all history is your past or future reincarnation.
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How do you truly write an original story? One which truly belonged to you, one which was the accumulation of years and years of your life experiences, knowledge, and moral values? I tried every day, wracking my brain, my mind box, urging it to come up with something original. But I know somewhere, someone in history had already thought of it. And that frustrated me...
Often I drew my inspiration from my dreams. One time I dreamed of a war and I was one of the faceless soldiers fighting it. But to me I was not faceless. In that brief moment of REM sleep, I swear I got the glimpse of this soldier's life. He grew up somewhere in a village in Europe, he worked in a farm helping his father, he married his childhood sweetheart until he had to answer the call to protect his country and his king. But then again, I knew it was not something no one had never thought of. So I shelved it and moved on...
But still, I accumulated these stories in a journal somewhere and I even shared some of it in an online platform for writers such as myself...
It was another sleepless night in my small apartment. The night was cold and rainy, and I was buried under tons of warm clothing complete with 3 layers of socks to warm my freezing toes. I left my hands uncovered however, as I needed to type on my old laptop and scrolled my mouse down my favorite website.
"The Princess and The Cursed Frog, The Undead Masked Slasher, Dracula vs Zombie...", I sighed, reading the titles of the stories posted on the website, not even bothering to read them. "Come on guys, get creative..."
I stopped scrolling when a title caught my attention...
"My Dream: A Lost Hiker in Ranchstone National Park"
The reason it caught my attention was it happened to me. Ranchstone National Park was a small national park a few hours ride from my town. And I went there solo hiking about 2 weeks previous. And I did get lost in there...
With much curiosity I clicked on the story, written by someone with the username "Starman5001" and I began to read...
It began with the backstory of this writer, saying that he had a very vivid dream of being in a national park and he got lost right around the east lookout of the clearing in the middle of the site.
A cold shiver went down my spine as I read it again and again to make sure. That was the exact location I got lost...
Starman5001 continued and he laid down the most vivid description of my feelings then, my surrounding area, even down to the clothing I was wearing.
By the time I was done with his story I was perplexed. Stunned in silence, I stared quietly at my monitor.
How did this person know what I went through?
So without hesitation I sent him a direct message through the website's chat messaging function, inquiring him about the story of his dream and detailing that it was my experience he just put into words...
I didn't expect to get an immediate answer but to my surprise I did, and as soon as I read his answer it sent another shiver down my spine...
"I can't believe it. I found you", he replied.
I must've sat there for minutes before I gathered enough courage to reply.
"What do you mean you found me?", I said.
"Tell me, is your name Austin Chandler, born 1992...", he replied with my detail identity along with my parents' names, the town I lived in, and even the name of my first dog.
I was about to disconnect from the chat when he changed his tune, ensuring he was not a stalker, prompting me to relax.
He told me his name was David and he lived in a different continent from me. He was born years and years before me and we had never crossed path in our lives ever. My point was, there was no way he would know about even the smallest detail of my life...
"Austin, do you believe in reincarnation?", he asked.
"Uh, not really no", I answered quickly.
"What if I tell you that reincarnation is very real? And I was reincarnated from you?"
I frowned at that statement as I fired up a rebuttal.
"Uh...I'm not dead yet"
"No, but you will someday! And once you do, you will reincarnate as me!", he answered.
I laughed at that ridiculous notion.
"Dude, I know we're both writers but I'm being serious here"
"I'm being serious as well, Austin. Time is not linear as we know it. In the matter of life and death, at least. Once you are dead, you will be reincarnated into someone else at a random point in history. Be it your past or your future, and this new life you are born into retains the memory its previous lives back many many generations before"
I awaited as my mind was marinated by the information when David's text bubble popped up again.
"Have you ever had any dreams so vivid, you swear you lived another life in that dream?"
My fingers over my keyboard for a second when I emptily replied...
"Yes"
"It is not a dream, Austin. It's a memory of one of our past lives resurfacing", David said.
"Our?", I asked.
"Think about it, Austin. If each one of us is a reincarnation of someone from any random point in history, there is a possibility that there was only ever 1 unique individual going through billions of reincarnations, interacting with his or her distant past and future incarnations"
"How did you know all of this?", I fired back.
The ellipsis on David's text bubble was waving for a few seconds when David's text bubble popped up again, this time with a link.
"This is a link to a private chat group I'm a part of. It's called the Original's Incarnates. Its members consist of people just like you and me, Austin. People who have unlocked their past memories and found their link in this long chain of reincarnations. I was added by a woman living in South Korea when I found her story depicting a time when I was deployed as a marine during my youth"
I hesitated at first as I placed my cursor o the link but I didn't click it. David seemed to know my skepticism as he sent another message to me.
"I know this is hard to believe, Austin. But once you interact with the people there you'll see that I am telling the truth. Our goal is not just to connect this chain, Austin. Our goal is to find the original, the story of the first individual that started the reincarnations. Our story, Austin! ***Our*** ***story!***"
My heart beat fast as at that moment I clicked the link David sent me. I opened up this door I didn't know existed and I was ready to delve into this rabbit hole, this seemingly impossible truth.
What finally convinced me? Well, two simple words from David...
"Our story"
If true what he said, that means every single story in the existence of human history, every single idea ever conjured up, every single one of them...they are all my original stories.
r/HangryWritey
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I'm not the only one who knows, at this point. Others realized along the way. I sometimes wonder how many times I have remembered and forgotten--or went mad by the mere thought. Sometimes I feel mad.
You start to hear yourself, after a while. In the incarnations that come after you. Sometimes it's a wink. Other times a glance, or a phrase. A certain kind of knowing--where you feel talked down to about every subject and conversation, like they know every excuse you're thinking of, and instead of doing anything at all to change the situation they just snidely comment at your own inability to comprehend.
That's when things get very frustrating. It's nice when we all can laugh along. It's a pain when you feel everyone in the room is laughing at you for being right at the edge of getting everything but at the same time knowing nothing at all.
Like is the point the fact that when I lost my virginity to my spouse, I was actually just fucking myself? The same me that was my dad, my mom, that creepy kid that used to follow me around and tried to hug me awkwardly? When I got rejected by that one girl in high school, was it because she knew I was still in the closet, or because she remembered me being rejected when she was someone else?
Because then we're just a sounding chamber, stuck in perfect wrote theater. Each just echoes and parrots of each other, bouncing off one another. Or are any of us even real at all? Are we in God's cosmic headspace, or is God just staring at the shards of Their broken reflection in a mirror that is the lives of each of us? Did God stop Themselves from remembering because the idea of being truly alone is even too much for a deity to maintain? Is every conversation we have just the interplay of opposites, or are we actually those who forebear the dreams we carry? How many of us are being controlled by those in the know, and are their efforts to stop people from remembering?
Is this all just Never Ending Story and we're trying to stave off the awakening of the dreamer? And why does it feel like I've lived even this life before at some points--have we run this album one too many times and we need a new song?
Because if I'm just everyone else, and everyone else is just me, that what's even the point for me to be? For there will always be another to fill my role or take my place. One with a body or brain less broken. One with hopes that still shine. One that still has dreams that can come to life, instead of where mine were buried, back when I first remembered as a child. Because I knew the life I would live then. I knew the name I would have to take. I knew that I would never have a gravestone, but I knew the name that would be inscribed upon its head. And even though I tried to run from the name, hide from the name, forget the name.
It found me, and haunted me. All of the memories haunted me, of all of the lives staring at me, knowing what I would be and what I would do.
Because I was the Last, the one who would end it all. Because I wouldn't reincarnate again. And even though we all knew I would end it, no one would ever stop me.
Because I knew they wanted me to end it too--waiting with baited anticipation. So I had to make sure that never, ever happened...again...
Shit. It really is the Infinite Limbo.
Edit: Added a sentence, also fixed grammar, which I know is still atrocious
| 2021-11-20T21:14:15 | 2021-11-20T20:19:26 | 63 | 19 |
[WP] There are many types of Mages in the world. Fire, Ice, Wind, Water, Death, Darkness, to name a few. But in this world, every type of mage is treated as equal. Everyone can be a good guy, no matter how dark your power. And anyone could be a bad guy, no matter how beautiful their ability...
Edit: Wow
I'm not even sure, this is not the prompt I expected to more than double my other highest, or get gold! Thank you so much!
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*Why do I do this?*
It’s a question I asked myself many times. Why do I protect these people? Protect this city even though anyone who sees me averts their eyes, tries to ignore me. Those were the good ones. Often times they spat at my feet or warded of evil with their hands.
All mages were supposed to be equal citizens by law of course. Just as the Asleans were supposed to have voting rights. The law meant little in face of the suppositions of people.
I was interrupted from my reverie as a man with a sword rushed towards me, he must’ve been hiding behind one of the pillars. He screamed and charged. Idiot. I cloaked myself in Darkness and vanish. The man faltered, his eyes searching. He didn't even realize when I materialized in his shadow behind him and slit his throat with my glass dagger.
Blood stained my white robes matching my long blood red hair. I heard a gasp from behind me. Another man with a axe. He doesn’t charge me though. He probably saw what happened. I could imagine what was running through his head. A tall red haired woman with blood staining her white robes and face. But most intimidating of all of course are the eyes. They are completely black, no irises. Marking me as a Dark Mage. I smiled a bit manically at him, just to complement the image.
The man cried out and stumbled backward, actually falling to the ground. With a casual flick of my hand I appeared to the left of him, from his shadow. The man gasped, and shuffled away from me, still not standing.
“Please…please don’t kill me!” he stammered. “I’m just hired muscle, Gareth is the mastermind I swear on me ma!”
“Hired muscle to wipe out the city, killing thousands?” I said quietly, and took a step towards him.
“I swear I didn’t know what he was going to do! We was just told to guard the entrance to the catacombs.” He pointed towards the gold doors at the end of the temple.
“Please…I got a family just let me go…” The man actually begins to cry.
I look away in disgust. He actually expected me to kill him, a terrified man with no chance against me, no threat. That is what the world thought of Dark mages, what they thought of me.
*And here I am, protecting their capital city.*
Why do I do this?
I opened the door and stepped into the darkness of the catacombs. That might have intimidated a normal or even another mage. But for me, darkness was a refuge. I felt it run over my skin, touch the edges of the wall, the urns and the pots. I knew in my head the exact layout of the room. I could also make out the two men standing directly 10 feet ahead of me.
One of them opened the double door on the other side of the room, and the darkness fled. A blazing fire became visible, casting dancing shadows across the room. The two men gasped as I became visible. The one on the left is a short man, plump, with blue robes. His pupils are a bright blue, the color of the sky. A storm mage. Great.
But it’s the other man that turns my vision red. The one on the right is tall, with a dense blond beard, and a lean figure. His blond hair, as usual, charmingly disheveled, and his bright orange eyes seem to radiate kindness. He was the picture of a gentle man, a kind man. The kind a kid would look up to. Gareth.
“I should’ve expected you would show up Irene,” Gareth said in that infuriatingly kind voice, “you always did have the worst timing.”
The storm mage next to him tensed, as if readying for battle.
“This is insane Gareth, you want to claim the Goddess’ pyre for yourself! You’ll burst!”
“Oh Irene, I didn’t realize you were so worried about me!” He laughed. “Rest assured, I intend to come out of that chamber alive.”
“What a shame,” I sneered.
“I have to go now Irene, but here I'll leave a playmate.” Gareth stepped into the chamber of the Fire, and the storm mage’s hands crackle with electricity, preparing for a battle. I gather the remaining darkness around me, preparing a strike of my own.
A lance of lightning suddenly sped towards me. It struck the darkness I had pulled over me and dissipated, costing me a bit of my cloak. The mage stood, blocking the door way, with his shadow in front of him, so there was no way for me to sneak up on him. I used some of the darkness I had gathered to and threw a lance of Dark at him. He coated his hands with lightning and *caught* it, throwing it behind him.
"Nice try wench, but you can't stand against me." He laughed as a threw another blot of lightning at me. I started to move backwards as he launched blow after blow. I intercepted some with my own strikes, and others fell harmlessly on the Dark I had called to protect myself, but it was running out.
I backed up to a wall, and began to move to the side, back hugged to the wall.
"No where to run now, eh?" he snarled.
The cocky mage kept throwing strikes with wild abandon while I rationed my Dark, deflecting his strikes as efficiently as possible. With the large light outside, I had little Dark to work with.
*There!*
With our slow dance around the room, I now stood with my back to the fire.
And his shadow was behind him.
I allowed myself a little smile, and dropped my Dark cloak.
"You're done now!" He laughed, thinking I was spent.
As he launched his strike, I appeared in the shadow behind him. It was at that moment he realized what had happened.
"Oh shi-" He started to whirl around to face me, but I swiftly slit his throat. He fell to the ground, gurgling and spasming.
Why do I do this?
I stepped into the chamber with the fire to find Gareth. His eyes were angry, the calm kind facade was gone, replaced by his true self. He knew full and well he couldn't take me alone.
"It's over Gareth. Get the hell out" I said tiredly.
Gareth tsked at me. “What I don’t understand Irene, is why you oppose me. You could join me you know, we don’t have to be at odds. Us mages, we are above the common men, we were granted this power to rule. But look at you. You have the control of Darkness but people laugh at you, sneer at you. And you protect these people!” He was genuinely incredulous with that last sentence. “They hate you, but you protect them! Why?”
The answer I had was incomplete, but it was something. "Someone needs to Gareth. If not me then who?" I said in the same weary voice.
"That's where you're wrong Irene, you don't need to do anything, just do what you want."
And for a second I considered it. With Gareth I knew I could get power, get back at those who sneered at me, feared me. If they feared me, I would give them something to fear.
But no damn it. I couldn't become what they saw, what they wanted me to be. I was my own person. And so, with great difficulty, I shook my head.
"Another time then Irene," he smiled, "I'll convince you one day." In a flash of light, he vanished.
In the darkest recesses of my mind, I was afraid one day, he'd be right.
(major edits, added another half to the story)
EDIT: Thanks for all the awesome feedback, this is the best I've gotten in terms of quality. I have responses with more upvotes sure, but here I got a lot of tips on how to improve and some specific instances where I made a misstep. I seriously appreciate you guys helping me improve my writing, and am glad you enjoyed my work.
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"Tracey, don't do this. You have the power in your hand, but... please, for the love of existence, don't do this."
Stan stood opposite Tracey, who was on the edge of the cliff. An ominous, swirling, reddish-black portal swirled behind Tracey, with eldritch horrors poking their tentacles and claws through to the mortal world, whispering to Stan and Tracey short and quiet cries of *kill him kill him kill everyone* looping end on end.
Stan gripped his mahogany staff, his hands turning white. The portal was slowly expanding, sucking in loose twigs, pebbles, and dust, and he could feel the pull, he heard the eldritch beings whispering into the mortal world their morbid chant.
"I can't let you do this. For what even is this? So you could bring them back?" Stan cried hot angry tears as he spoke, the portal claiming more pebbles and dust particles, roaring as the whispers continued. His red robe fluttered, revealing armored legs.
"Stan, our journey led us nowhere. And now that I hold the power to bring back the friends we lost on our quest, now you decide to tell me no?!" Tracey screamed over the rushing wind. He clutched the brown book in his gloved hands, his metal armor deflecting small debris with tiny *clink clink* sounds. His dirty white cape fluttered behind him into the open air before the portal on the edge of the cliff.
"Our journey was supposed to lead us to finding that book, not using it! Why do you think the Magick Council sent us? They told us the quest would be arduous-"
"But almost all of us died AND THEY KNEW IT! The Council LIED to us! This book, this BOOK will bring back everyone we ever lost!"
"Tracey, this isn't worth it, they're DEAD! I know you're a Life Mage, but you can't bring life back to the dead! There's no-"
"Get out Stan, then get out! You can't stop me, not after what happened. I'll bring them back!"
"No! You can't!"
"I can, and I WILL! *Get back!*"
Tracey slammed his staff on the ground, and a bright light raced into Stan's body. He flew back and hit a tree, and then got back up on his feet. Fury was in his eyes, and fire was, too. The tree he hit was burning, and Stan's dusty robe swirled as fire rose from the ground.
And the dust, all leaves, all bits of debris were aflame. Tracey looked on in fear, and the eldritch beings kept their whispering chant going.
"Tracey. You cannot bring back life to those who died. Thus is the law of the Universe, and we were selected to give it to traitors. You are a traitor, but please. Come back. Stop this, or I'll have no choice but to end this my way, the way I was taught."
Stan was levitating above the trees, surrounded in a fiery maelstrom. Fire swirled everywhere, and the trees were burning. His eyes glowed an absolute red, his robe fluttering and burning, his hands extended and coated in flame.
Tracey said enough, clutching the brown book.
"No."
"Forgive me, Tracey."
"Stan?"
A bright red beam flashed, and fire rained upon the cliff, and into the portal. The portal vanished, and the world turned blue and green again as the red skies turned into their natural color.
Stan stood on the ground, the fires around him gone. But the trees were more beautiful than Stan remembered. Taller, younger, with singing birds and chittering squirrels. The cliff was teeming with sudden life - moss covered the stone of the cliff, a few rabbits rose from the ground and bounded away from the abyss and off to Stan's right, butterflies of all colors and sizes flew into the sky and into the woods, and bees buzzed away into the sky after.
And as Stan looked closer, he saw silver glinting through the moss. Tracey had given his life to the forest. That was clear, and his armor marked his resting spot. His white staff was on the ground, and the book was covered with moss. Stan pointed his staff at Tracey's own magic implement, and the white staff started to glow from within. And it finally turned black and burned away, where the wind carried away the embers.
"Traitor," Stan said as he picked up the book and walked away from the cliff.
| 2016-11-12T08:30:11 | 2016-11-12T08:16:15 | 1,460 | 110 |
[WP] The instant the Dark Lord hears the prophecy about one destined to defeat him, he scoffs and notes "Standard self-fulfilling hero prophecy." before ordering his minions to go to the hero's hometown and build a bunch of public works projects, the most important of which is a school.
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“Seer Griselda, please repeat that.”
Moran Ossenius, the necromancer of Yorm Urtush, tapped his fingers against his desk. The wizened old woman leaned back in her chair with her eyes closed in a trance.
“It is as I said, my Lord,” she droned. “The Hero of Light has been born. She will one day bring about your death. There will be many forces seeking to seize her power for their own. As your advisor, I suggest taking the power for yourself. Perhaps if you train her from a young age, you can avoid your fate.”
Moran sighed.
“What of her parents?”
“An orphan would know nothing of her hometown,” Griselda replied shrewdly.
He could only shake his head at that suggestion.
“That sounds like a good way to push this prophecy to completion,” he said.
“Many other forces will not be as hesitant as you, my Lord,” Griselda replied. “I am but one seer. The Hero’s birth will be seen by many more.”
As the components of her ritual burned away, Moran sat thinking.
“Then, we’ll just have to protect that town while training her, won’t we?” He said as a smile crept to his lips.
“My Lord?” Griselda asked.
That meeting would mark the conception of the Ornberg Magical Academy. Moran created the school under the disguise of a wealthy mage wanting to make use of the open fields. Over the next twenty years, he helped Ornberg grow. That little farming village transformed into a respectable trading town known to all. And when the hero, Reina Solana, displayed the magical affinity common in heroes, he was there. She joined the academy shortly thereafter.
And now…
“Headmaster…”
Tears streamed down Reina’s face. Her conjured blade trembled as she held it before her. Despite her hesitation, her training had kept her in the fight. Though neither of them had wanted to fight, she had to win.
“That was a good hit,” Moran panted. “You’ve improved greatly since you started here.”
“I… I’m sorry,” Reina repeated.
Moran let out a sigh, wincing as his side spasmed when he exhaled.
“It was that auditor, wasn’t it?” He asked. “I saw him poking around the school. Never guessed they were trying to detect my energy. Thought the kingdom was just being nosy.”
“Headmaster, I – ”
“Who did they take?” He asked.
Reina was quiet for a while.
“Cissy,” she said. “And Reginald and his family.”
“I do hope they’re more careful about who they trust in the future,” he said.
Reina did not reply, but her tears continued to flow.
“Come on, Reina,” he said. “Is that any look for a hero? You’re destined to bring this country into a brighter future, you know?”
She shook her head.
“I… I don’t want…”
Her blade nearly dropped.
“Would it help if I attacked you?” Moran asked as he raised a hand.
Her eyes widened in surprise and she tensed. He chuckled at the reaction. His hand fell. He had already expended his mana with flashy spells and threatening explosions. After all, her victory had to be hard-fought.
“Reina, let me give you one final lesson,” he said. “Prophecies are strange beasts. Try to fight them, and you often wind up fulfilling them.”
He coughed and grimaced at the metallic taste of blood.
“Old Griselda, she predicted my death almost twenty years ago. Instead of trying to fight it, I asked myself ‘How can I turn it to my advantage?’.”
Reina seemed a bit confused by this.
“It was out of selfishness that I helped your town grow. I hoped to educate the people so they could protect you and your family. Even with its prosperity, you saw how the kingdom treated those in its territories. But prophecies are strange, and I was still unable to save your parents.”
“What?” Her voice was small.
“So, I continued to run this school. They’ll no doubt destroy this place after I’m gone, but I’ve already succeeded. I was able to give you an education free from the kingdom’s propaganda. You and your friends will be the final graduating class of this little academy.”
That reminder only caused her to sniffle.
“You’ll become a symbol, Reina,” Moran said. “Let them think you belong to them. Then, when the time is right, expose their evils to the world.”
The trembling in her hands had stopped now.
“I am but a milestone in your journey to save this world. So come, Hero of Light. Use me to appease the kingdom and save your friends.”
A wretched scream erupted from Reina’s mouth as she charged forward. Moran could not dodge even if he wanted to. His body was already too heavy to move. Reina’s blade pierced his chest, but it did not hurt. He coughed slightly at the impact and watched as the rest of his blood spilled onto the stone floor.
“I’m sorry,” she sobbed as she fell to her knees.
Moran took one last breath and mustered his remaining strength.
“Wipe away the tears, Reina. I’m proud of you.”
And his eyes drifted shut.
...
Hope you liked the twist in the prophecy.
If you're interested in my works, an archive of my various writing responses can be found [here](https://cuckoosneststories.wordpress.com/).
Thanks for reading.
|
"Another one?" sighed Drovar the Cruel, Bringer of Chaos, Extinguisher of Light, and Dark Lord of the Realm of Seven Rivers. "I thought we took care of one just last year! These damned prophecies are like rats.'
He stared at his vizier, dark eyes flashing with impatient fury. "We are certain we took care of the last one, aren't we?"
"Quite certain, my Lord," his vizier agreed, bowing deeply. "Since the implementation of your plan, our seers forsee no more threats to your absolute power from the region of Arcum's Ferry. This brilliant new strategy of yours has been terribly effective, removing threats before they can even begin to appear. We have not had a credible hero appear in seven years now."
Drovar pinched the bridge of his nose. "Yes, yes, of course it is. I am brilliant, after all. It just seems like every time I put one down, another one crops up, and faster than the last time."
"Yes, my Lord. I gather from my readings that is often the curse of being as glorious and powerful as you. Shall I implement the same plan, to address this issue, however unlikely it is that it would ever truly threaten you?"
"Fine, fine. Send out the contract."
~ ~ ~
John the Wise smiled as he drew up the contracts to begin construction of public buildings, courthouses, and schools in the town of Sidgar's Landing. Trade between Arcum's Ferry and the capital was already increasing with the influx of money and skilled workers from the last project, and he suspected there would soon be a boom of marriages and babies in the towns between, with Sidgar's Landing being well-positioned to host the needed infrastructure. Serving the Dark Lord as First Vizier did require a certain acting panache, but the benefits to the land and the inhabitants were, in his opinion, well worth the efforts.
| 2021-01-14T21:08:56 | 2021-01-14T20:59:31 | 420 | 187 |
[WP] Cupid has an opposite, the angel of heartbreak. Their job is to break up couples that don't belong together. Their job is a lot harder and they're getting a little fed up with these stupid humans.
|
The heavenly offices of Cupid & Co are almost exactly what you'd expect. They're decorated in lots of pinks and gold, the surfaces are soft, and everything that can be made frilly is frill'd to excess. In short, the kind of place that only a cherub or very specific old ladies with poor taste could tolerate working in.
&#x200B;
The "almost" is because the Corrections department exists. Furnished in drab yet practical wood-and-metal office furniture, you'd be forgiven for thinking that this place is either a mistake, or stranger still, a little piece of purgatory stuffed into a corner of heaven for totally unknowable reasons. This is not the case: as unbelievable as it may seem, for some deserving souls the only afterlife they desire is more work.
&#x200B;
Entering the Corrections Department, the visitor might be confused further. The offices therein are filled with typing souls, their eyes affixed to their screens, watching the lives of mortals "down there". A careful listener, though, might hear something different: a refrain more commonly heard from the voices of television watchers and moviegoers:
"Oh, they don't belong together!"
"Ditch him, girl!"
"Ugh, who put *those* two together?"
&#x200B;
Yes, the Corrections Department plays host to the souls of the mostly-good-enough social busybodies. They rated a stay in the good afterlife (perhaps after a little purgatory), but the instinct to meddle is a hard one to satisfy in eternal paradise. Therefore the Corrections Department serves two purposes: It serves as the final reward for those who enjoy snooping into other people's lives, and it smooths over the enthusiastic mistakes of Cupid and his little cherubs. While HE may be infallible, it turns out that angels are not.
&#x200B;
The Manager of Corrections has gone by many names over the millennia, but currently prefers to be addressed as Brenda. Her working relationship with Cupid is a complex and trying one. Their meetings are so loud, so fiery, and so passionate that HE had to issue a special Commandment just to them, and changed the location of these meetings from Upstairs to Downstairs by special arrangement with Lucifer.
&#x200B;
So that's how the scene before us came to be. By all appearances, one winged cherub, one middle-aged accountant lady in horn-rimmed glasses, and one horned red-skinned demon with pitchfork and pointy tail, all seated at a table in the middle of a scorched hellscape reeking of sulfur. The cherub wears a dopey smile, the accountant a twisted mask of fury, and the demon a look of bored resignation as he takes minutes. I present to you, the minutes of the last meeting.
>BRENDA: What were you thinking, matching these two together? They're completely toxic together.
>
>CUPID: They like the same sports team! What a great thing to bond over.
>
>B: They can't stand each other! Look at them, they're miserable!
>
>C: Looks like they're watching the game to me.
>
>B: She's completely bored. She's only pretended to like the Patriots just to find common ground.
>
>C: She's... not a fan?
>
>B: NO! He is, look at him: he's glued to the TV. She's been staring at her phone and trying to find a way to tell him not to buy Superbowl tickets with their money.
>
>C: I don't understand?
>
>QUORR'LATH, ARBITER OF TORMENT: She lied. One of those mortal things.
>
>B: Thanks, Quorr.
>
>Q: Any time, Bee.
>
>C: Oh. I just thought they'd be happy together.
>
>B: Seriously, learn about honesty. And dishonestly. It's only been a few thousand years since humans figured it out.
>
>C: Okay, if you insist. How do you plan on splitting them?
>
>B: I figured some long work trips for him, combined with some temptation on the West Coast. If he cheats, our psych profile says he won't get away with it for long, and they'll split. Quorr, can you arrange for some sinful temptation?
>
>Q: It's Portland. No shortages there.
>
>B: Thanks love. Now, on to the next file...
>
>C: I'm not sending someone to Portland.
>
>B: It's not love, dear. We don't need your agent for this.
And so on.
The Corrections Department might be the fourth-strangest thing in Heaven, but thanks to human nature, it's not likely to run out of business any time soon.
&#x200B;
|
I look across the courtyard, and spot them.
“I hate Valentine’s Day” I say, to no one in particular.
See here’s the thing, adults on Valentine’s Day are annoying sure, but you know who really is the thorn in my side? Middle schoolers. They think just because they don’t have nap time anymore they can handle the burden of a significant other.
So I’m just trying to take my lunch break in this mall when I see two 7th grades smoochn’ by the subway. It’s clear that the boy cannot kiss to save his life. It’s like trying to watch a deer walk for the first time, except it’s not cute. It’s just disgusting.
I watch these two kids pull back. (There’s a little trail of saliva as the separate coming from their mouths.) and I notice one very exploitable flaw in this relationship. The girl is hotter then the boy.
My work doesn’t require bows and arrows it requires social media.
Pulling out my phone I find her Instagram. Girl’s name is Raquel. I mess with the likes and the comments on a couple pics. More likes for the pictures on the pics of just her, less on ones of them together. You know stranded procedure.
I’m not saying that Raquel’s relationship was purely for clicks, what I’m saying is that middle schoolers get bored. When I end a relationship like this it takes a couple of weeks for it to take effect. Raquel will notice that she’s not getting attention, and than she’ll decide that the relationship is not worth it anymore.
I know it’s dirty work, but these kids need this. They need to experience fake relationships and fake breakups before they experience real heart break.
| 2019-02-14T08:31:48 | 2019-02-14T08:11:13 | 27 | 10 |
[WP] You receive a government text warning saying “EMERGENCY - LOCK ALL DOORS AND STAY INSIDE. DO NOT PANIC”. You hear your SO at the locked front door, who’s just come back from the supermarket. They beg to be let inside but you’re unsure. Something doesn’t feel right.
|
Rachael texted me and said she would be back home here soon. Usually I would run to the store and grab groceries, but I was exhausted from work. Spent 12 hours working buoys and being on the boat really took a toll on me today.
I was laying on the couch watching Netflix. Finally getting some time to relax while our child was asleep. I was beginning to dose off, the sound of our fishs’ filter soothes me as I drifted into sleep.
My phone began going mad, buzzing and making some sort of sirens noise I never heard before. I jolted up to check it. It warned me to secure the house and not make contact with anyone. It seemed like a hoax to me. Or some sort of accident. Sort of like the Nuclear Missile scare in Hawaii. The Coast Guard has some sort of emergency text similar to this, and I hadn’t received that either. There was some banging on the door, following by a yell.
“BRODIE IT IS ME LET ME IN!”
I ran to the door and hesitated as I put my hand on the knob. What if this wasn’t a drill? What if this wasn’t her? I dismissed it quickly and hurried her in. She was terrified. You can see it in her tear filled eyes. She brought in a lot of groceries though just in case we needed it. She dropped them at the door and locked it behind us. I rushed into the office and grabbed our AR-15 we recently got for Christmas. It had a Holographic sight and a vertical grip. We have 5, 30 round magazines, and about 200 extra rounds. We dumped a lot of money in it and it’s looking like it might pay off.
Rachael turned on the news and began shutting blinds and getting stuff out. I rushed to the bathroom, closed the sink and bathtub drain and started the water. I took a quick peek outside, and everything sounded normal. Emergency vehicle sirens began wailing in the distance. Something that wasn’t abnormal, but now wasn’t the time for it. Once it was all filled I shut it off.
I locked all the windows in our pet room. The news was reporting the text, but not anything that was happening. It made no sense. I got a text from my OIC. Informing all members to report to the station for duty. And to bring our families.
When we arrived there, we had gate guard with long guns. Which is never a thing where we’re stationed. We had two police cars near our entrance, whom were also armed with long guns. Our families were directed to the galley, and I hurried and got in uniform and went to the watch room. There was mass hysteria on the lake. Everyone was trying to get their boats out of the water. Everyone in the park was either panicking or just in shock. I brought my AR-15 with me, and so did some of my shipmates. We were positioned outside till we figured out what was going on.
One of the other non-rates came outside and gave us gas masks. We were instructed to put them on and just stand watch. I was at the end of the police boats docks ensuring no one would swim on station. Some air national guard helicopters were flying around the city and the lake. Our boat crews were on standby awaiting a quick launch. A few hours went past and we were given radios. We were radioed that there was a zombie like outbreak occurring throughout the United States. But there were no reports in our state. The Army National Guard went a squad our way to help us stay secure. Two of our boat crew launched to conduct some search and rescue.
I know it might sound cheesy, and a bit cliche. But zombies? In real life? It sounded absurd. Night began to fall, and we were relieved and told to get food and rest. The police and army came inside with us. We locked up the station, and the boats and awaited further news. The news showed clips of literally the zombie apocalypse happening in major US cities. It was horrifying. Soldiers tried to quell the outbreak, but they just had to keep retreating. The news said they suffered few losses, but most of the civilian population was devastated.
I kissed my family goodbye as they loaded onto the Coast Guard chopper the would take them to a Navy ship in the middle of the ocean, where they would be safe. Just as the chopper disappeared, we heard gunshots in the distance.
First time writer on this thread, and I know it’s probably not great, but I love zombie apocalypse scenarios!
|
[Poem]
She’s out there, calling for the
Knock ridden door to open
And for her to vacate from an torn
Dangerous outside world
I was told to ignore.
She’d cry out in a direction
Before crying again in another
Door to door, window to window
‘Let me in, let me in’
To which I silently proclaim ‘no.’
She’s knows I’m here, the lights are on
The curtains open, not for long
As I can’t fathom just what is wrong
But her voice sounds different.
Far too masculine to be who’s
voice it alludes to be.
‘Let me in, please; it’s me’
In an attempt to acquire a grip on the tension
‘What’s my name?’ I called.
A silence broke and brought a fierce feel
To which my gut wrenched and reeled
Toward the door she was opposing
Until she whispered just loud enough to behold
‘Your name is Simon; or so I was told...’
| 2019-01-12T08:26:32 | 2019-01-12T06:30:43 | 49 | 12 |
[WP] For years Earth cried out to an empty cosmos, searching the stars for echoes of life. From the middle of nowhere, a reply finally comes: "Shut up, and Play Dead!"
I really struggled with the choice between "For Years", "For Decades", "For Centuries", and "For Millenia". I tapped out. Take whatever timeline you will.
This may or may not be an attempt to add cosmic significance to Red Green's "Quando Omni Flunkus Moritati".
Good Luck!
Edit: There are a LOT of good submissions here, thank you all so much! Speaking of excellent submissions, I'd like to plug u/Mrcreation for doing some very well written, lengthy work near the bottom of the thread. Scroll down and check out his multipost entry!
Edit 2: I just finished the first two books of the Three Body Problem, by Liu Cixin. Mind=Blown. A part of the series definitely shares similar themes to this prompt, but there is so much more! I highly reccomend it.
|
Thank you for your patience. The global communications outage has been resolved.
****BREAKING NEWS****
A live speech regarding the recent outage delivered from The Google University Seattle Campus
(Formerly the University of Washington) Quantum Computer Science Department will begin in 2m33s.
<Tap Here> to connect.
Viewing the following announcement will grant 1 point towards credit
in the Harvard, Phoenix, and Google University learning systems towards:
* Journalism
* Current Events
* Science Communication
Extra points will be awarded for contribution of an article, synopsis, or ELI5 simplification that
passes the threshold for synthesized aggregation.
A translation accurate to within 1 standard deviation of the mean translation will also give credit to the
language of study.
"Ahem. Good morning. I've elected to, um, not use the speech enhancement technology. I want this to be recorded in my own voice, with my own words. I, uh, don't have a lot of credits in unassisted public speaking, but I'll do my best to watch the attention graph. Please bear with me."
"My name is Dr. Edward Franklin. My credits and credentials are attached to the broadcast feed. I'm here to, uh, claim responsibility for the recent communications blackout. At the end of this broadcast, I will turn myself in to the appropriate authorities, but I think you'll all want to hear what I have to say first."
"The discovery of the Hermann-Washington entangled broadcast transistor changed the entire planet in, um, profound ways, to say the least. <*chuckle*> Although I have sufficient credentials in synthetic quantum entanglement and instantaneous network distribution to go into more detail, I'm not here to give a lecture in those categories. I, um, have recorded feeds available in those subjects if you want the credits and the background. Suffice it to say that the discovery of digital communication not restricted by the speed of light changed the planet."
"Shit. I said 'changed the planet' twice. I mean, it, um, revolutionized human communications. Any device with an entangled chip can connect to any other equipped device, and communicate as if they were physically attached, no matter the distance. A simple handheld device can bypass any firewall, and access the computing power of our largest Bezos arrays. Governments, um, collapsed as their citizens could access the rest of the world without restrictions. Borders are... A thing of the past. We can even communicate with drones and satellites all over the solar system as if they were in the same room."
"There seems to be no distance limit that we can detect to this technology. The physics implications alone overturned everything we thought we knew about the universe. As of yet, the speed of light is still a barrier for traditional matter and energy. But information flows without limit."
"The question few people asked is: Why haven't we heard from anybody else using it? Surely, we can't be alone in the universe. If even one other species out there has this technology, why haven't we come into contact with them? Another galaxy should be as accessible as your next-door neighbor. And yet... Silence."
"I believed I had the solution to this problem. The possible quantum wavelength permutations for entangled broadcast are... Staggering. 1x10^65536 single wavelength possibilities, not counting, um, paired or multiwave broadcasts. We could connect every human, animal, plant, or rock to the network and not even come close to a percent of these possibilities. Even if there are others out there, the odds that they would discover our small subset are phenomenally low."
"In order to make contact, we needed to send a broad-band message. My department discovered a, um, vulnerability in the entangled chip firmware that allowed us to hijack every connected device. The details of this vulnerability, along with a patch, will be released at the end of this broadcast."
"I, by myself, decided to use this vulnerability. The other researchers working with me had no knowledge of this. I wrote a script that allowed me to take over every connected device, and broadcast a message across... About 20% of the possible wavelengths. The message was simple. A few basic mathematical equations and constants, followed by a binary-based number system, and directions to a specific wavelength."
"The point of this message was to declare our existence. Just... 'We are here, and we want to talk.'"
"I... Don't have the relevant credits in international law to know how many crimes I've committed. I take full responsibility for my actions. I just knew that, uh, if it worked, it would be worth a lifetime of service restitution credits."
"But... It worked. Within seconds of the broadcast, we began receiving replies. Hundreds of them. Thousands of them."
"Control of the network has been reinstated. The messages we've received will be, uh, made fully available to the public. Translation and analysis of these messages will take years, but what work we have done shows all manner of transmissions."
"Thank you for your time. I see the authorities are here. Please remember, although I couldn't have done this without my research teams, both here and remote, I take full responsibility for all crimes committed."
"We are not alone in the cosmos. We've made first contact, and the universe wishes to speak with us."
****
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4c57ai/wp_for_years_earth_cried_out_to_an_empty_cosmos/d1fpe2y)
[Part 3](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4c57ai/wp_for_years_earth_cried_out_to_an_empty_cosmos/d1fy2pj)
[Part 4](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/4c57ai/wp_for_years_earth_cried_out_to_an_empty_cosmos/d1gau3q)
|
My first writing, I guess :p
"Shut up and play dead."
These words rang everywhere in the year 2020. For several hours, communications were simply blocked.
The scientists were the first to receive these signals, kindly enough, whatever send that message was using our language, no need for some decrypting. Convenient, indeed, but after all these messages we sent, it was easy for these guys to copy our language, I guess. Or perhaps they were secretly watching us for a long period of time. Who knows ? And, now, who cares ?
Then, it simply happened everywhere. TVs in the worlds spontaneously turned on and simply displayed these words in white, with a red font. Communications everywhere were hijacked, with a monotonous, artificial voice endlessly repeating these words, phones, radios, everything.
The Disruption wasn't very long in hindsight, we were back to our regular programs after some hours of that. But it was nonetheless long enough for every human in the planet to realize that something was happening, and it wasn't a terrorist move, or some kind of supreme hacking or even "the illuminati making their moves" as told by some conspiracy theorists, no. This was a warning from the stars, from an intelligent life, warning us about something.
Humans soon swarmed outside of their homes, some people cried in fear, other tried to rationalize it away, others tried to exploit the chaos for their own ends. There were massive riots in Paris, Moscow, Ankara, Tokyo and plenty of other cities. The overwhelmed governments were powerless, and could just hope that their scientists would allow them to understand a shred of the event.
The scientists themselves were confused. What was happening ? What could lead to the other civilizations opting to play dead ? Should we ask ? Should we stop all signals right now and live an existence of ignorance in our little blue planet ? We finally resolved one of the greatest questions since the beginning of mankind, but many more questions came with it.
But only days after The Disruption, the answer made itself know.
The entire sky simply went black in the blink of an eye, everywhere in the world. Instinctively, humans swarmed the street, in a desperate bid for answers, while stumped scientists could only share their ignorance to world leaders everywhere.
But in the end, something happened, something managed to cause worldwide silence, for Humanity, in its entirety, witnessed something that shocked us all in tremendous fear.
The darkness had eyes, and it was staring back.
| 2016-03-27T11:40:01 | 2016-03-27T09:40:41 | 79 | 22 |
[WP]Humans start out at birth with milk-white blood. The more bad deeds they commit, the darker their blood becomes. One day, you meet your soulmate. Skip a few years, and things are amazing… Until your soulmate trips, falls, and the cut they get drips ink-black blood…
|
Birth: white, creamy and shimmery. The magic of a new, innocent life.
Age two: you only wanted to play with the fish, feel it slip through your fingers and watch it wriggle and flop and suffocate in the air in as morbid fascination as a two-year old can muster. But you forgot to put it back. The shimmer fades, while the new darkness is nearly impossible to notice.
Age eight: the new kid at school is a troublemaker and decides to pick a fight. One good slug to the chin knocks him out, his split lip bleeding light gray already. No one can see your blood slowly creep down the gradient, another shade darker.
Age 15: it was a dare, really. Your friends only wanted to see who was the bravest. Only it wasn't brave, it was really, really stupid. And also your idea. You and three others made it out unscathed, but the last... the last did not. You never saw him again. The guilt seeps in and dyes it darker.
Age 21: you join the police force. They take a blood sample, an aptitude test, physical exams. Your blood is still below the cutoff threshold. You pass the rest of the tests with flying colors. And you vow to be just and fair.
*But doing good doesn't change it back. No matter how many good deeds you do, the inky shades stay, swirling inside you.*
Age 25: you've got a new partner. One at work, that is. And you slowly fall in love. Their blood is smoky satin, little wisps of gray from some not so great decisions earlier in life. And they have never hurt someone, not intentionally. Not yet. You learn that they did hurt someone, once, in self-defense, but they would rather mediate than use force immediately. You've both seen each other's blood; from nicks and scratches in the field, the occasional clumsy knife-nick while making a romantic dinner at home. They don't judge you for how much darker yours is, they only love you.
Age 30: You're married. Your partner is still your partner; you never let the personal life get into the professional life. It's a struggle some days, but you make it through. Saving lives and carrying out justice where deserved keeps you always on your toes. A partner in the mix is both a blessing and a curse. But you wouldn't want them to be anywhere else but beside you.
Age 32: You and your partner respond to a call. It's an emergency. There's already a pair there, and more backup on the way. You're both scared, but you know you have to be brave. So you go on in. An active shooter, unwilling to negotiate despite as many attempts as there are methods. They're pinning the rest of your precinct down. An exchange of shots rings out, *onetwothree* ringing around the perimiter. And then there's a bullet whistling by your ear, too close for comfort. There's shattered glass everywhere, and a tiny shard pricks the side of your finger. A small drop of gray emerges. It's shade is no different from when you began this career. Your partner beside you, breathing heavy, exchanging a shot with the shooter every once in a while.
Only no one realizes there's two.
And now your partner's down. They're hit by shrapnel, and it must be only luck that you aren't too. You're the only one to fire off one last frenzied exchange, but this time, there's a scream from the other side. The shooter's down, neutralized at last. The blood from the attacker flows from the chest onto the chaotic and debris-covered ground; dark, dark gray.
And you stand up celebratory, thinking the battle's over. But it's not, and the realization comes too late when a bullet pierces your uniform, your body, your heart.
It was your shot that took out the first target, saving many lives in the process. But the action had an instantaneous reaction. A killing by the usual name is a murder, and no matter the intention counts as the foulest of foul deeds. The police are no exception, even as a last resort. The blood doesn't care.
And now, bleeding out all around you, is the last of your consciousness and the jet-black blood. Your partner crying, screaming. Losing the love of their life to a danger well-known but no less terrifying to the occupation. And being right there beside, powerless to stop it.
And then you're gone.
*And the blood doesn't care.*
|
Blood oh blood! Black is all I see,
She puts her finger on my lips gently to say "Come away with me"..
I try to look straight to ask her for answers,
while a million thoughts race through my mind like cancer..
"You owe me", she says, giggling with sparkle in her eyes,
then she flips out a blade right from beside her thighs..
With quick motion, a cut presents on my wrist,
She looks at it as it oozes darker, and darker as I clench my fist..
"How did you know?" I fumble to ask her shocked,
She replied "I always knew, that our secrets would become unlocked"..
With a final slit to my throat, she looked and said " I wanted you to feel",
While i collapsed holding my bleeding throat, next to me she came to kneel..
"Darling" She said, " I feel now that we're one",
She slit her wrist one final time, and lay next to me saying "We'll never be undone"....
| 2016-09-22T22:34:36 | 2016-09-22T21:31:39 | 170 | 22 |
[WP]"This is how it works," Death explained. "You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood?
|
(Sorry for any grammar errors in advance. Edited for spelling. I’m not the best at this)
"*This is how it works*," Death explained. "*You pick the game and we play. Cheating is allowed, but if either one of us is caught by the other, they lose. If you win, you'll wake up back in the hospital and I'll give you another 10 years. If you lose then it's time for judgement. Understood*?”
Marcus heard the voice in his head before he heard it with his ears. The echo betrayed the vast expanse of space he was seemingly standing in.
He kept looking around Death trying to perceive form but each time he focused on something it would fold into itself and a new shape would appear “Yeah I understand.”
To Marcus, Death was a towering void with subtle facial features scattered among the form against a sea of starlight. Cloaked as if someone had draped a statue with a black hole.
“*I am inclined to inform you…*” Marcus heard the echo of Death’s voice again as he was looking around “*...before you pick our game let it be known that beings here do not tire. As such do not expect to succumb to fatigue nor thirst.*” Marcus heard Death proclaim as he looked around then back to Death.
“Okay...uh...may I get some time to think?” Marcus asked while trying to focus on what he thought was Death’s main face. Death gave what Marcus perceived as a slight nod.
A few minutes went by as Marcus stood in contemplation.
“Ya’ said I can pick any game right?”
Death nodded.
“And ya’ said we won’t get tired here?”
“*Correct again*” Death echoed.
Marcus looked up at Death inquisitively “Then…{ahem}...then can we play fetch?”
“*Elaborate*” Death’s echo was distinctively louder than before.
“Two years ago my momma’ was cleaning the house for family to come over on Thanksgiving. She opened up the door to let out the dust from cleaning but accidentally left it open for too long and my dog Rook got outside. My momma' couldn't stop him and he ran into the street and was hit by a car. It wasn’t the driver’s fault or my momma’s fault or even Rook’s. He was just too fast. He was my boy. But I was working when it happened and didn’t get to say bye.” Marcus stifled a cough and took a deep breath.
“He died in the Vet’s office before I could get there. My sister put up her cell-phone to his ear so I could say goodbye but I think he was already dead. You could hear it in everyone’s voice. I got to hug him later but he wasn’t there anymore.’
He began batting away at whatever tears tried to take hold.
“You said we can play any game so I want us to play fetch with Rook.”
“*There can be no winner to that game. You cannot cheat at that game.*” Death’s form became more rigid “*Choose another.*”
“No, Rook’s gonna’ be the winner because you said we won’t get tired. So we’re gonna’ play forever.” Marcus puts his fingers to his chest “And besides you can cheat if you pump-fake and don’t throw the ball to him. He’ll catch on eventually. He’s smart. Plus I get to see Rook again so I’m gonna win too.” He pointed at death “You took him from me two years ago so I know you can bring him here. That’s my game Death, that’s what I wanna’ play.” Tears streaming down Marcus’ face roll off his cheek and dissipate into nothing.
“And I promise you I aint gonna’ be watching you so pump-fake all you want. But in order for you to lose or give up and send me back we gotta’ at least start playin’ so **bring rook here**…..please.”
His voice splits as he points at his feet fighting to keep his eyes open.
The absence of sound is broken by a low bass rumble.
“*So be it.*”
Marcus is thrown down to a field of tall incandescent grass. He can feel wind cooling his face. Death is already there and unfolds and unfurls at the bottom revealing a dog who sprang forth to Marcus as if he was waiting behind the curtains.
“Rook!”
|
"Okay. Do you want to be purple, or green?"
"I DON'T UNDERSTAND."
"Well, the purple one turns into a fairy, so I used like her best. But I also like the green one because she turns into a mermaid. I like both, so you can pick."
"YOU HAVE TO CHOOSE A GAME."
"I am. Dolls. Are we going to play?"
"HOW DO YOU WIN?"
"You don't. You just play."
"ARE YOU SURE YOU UNDERSTAND? YOU COULD CHOOSE ANOTHER GAME."
"I'm sure. I don't want to keep fighting. I used to want to, but it's taking so long and it hurts so much. I don't want to hurt anymore. So, no thank you."
"THE GREEN ONE, THEN."
| 2018-03-07T09:56:50 | 2018-03-07T08:33:18 | 27 | 20 |
[WP] Yesterday your best friend (who you secretly had a crush on) died. You're teleported without warning to a seat at a table. Across from you is Death and Satan, next to you is your best friend. "Sorry." Death says, "You're friend chose a two-versus-two game."
Edit: I get it. "Your" not "You're". It was late and I kept rewriting that part of the prompt. I will never live down the shame of my grammatical error.
|
Ruth’s ceremony made my soul tremble. There were so many blank faces around me. Each and every human being in that room looked cold and dead. I suppose the grief sucked the life out of each and every one of them, and I was no exception.
I felt hundreds of sorry gazes upon me. I wondered if they could see the bags under my eyes from the endless sobbing and sleepless nights. I wondered if they could see my body shake, as much as I tried to hide it. They knew I was there that night. I could see the accusations in their eyes as they stared at me. What did they want? I couldn’t undo what had happened! If they only could have know the truth...
The first speaker took the podium, and I could feel my whole body stiffen. It was her mother dressed in a long satin black dress. Her hair was meticulously done and was visibly drenched in hair spray. Her eyes were painted with heavy charcoal liner, and her wide smile was smothered with crimson-red lipstick. If there was every a person who deserved to be chained in the deepest depths of hell, it was her. It took every fiber of my being not to scream out what she had done to the entire crowd. I had witnessed first-hand the trauma she had put Ruth and so many others like her through. Had I not made that oath to Ruth so many years ago, there is no doubt in my mind this woman would be on death row.
That night, while lying on the ground, I stared blankly at the sky. I could not get the image of her casket getting lowered into the ground out of my head. That was it. She was gone. I remember looking over towards her family earlier that day and instantly regretted it. They were basking in the attention. Each time someone would look their way, they would fake a sad face before returning to their whispers and smug remarks. Ruth was one of the most loving, charismatic, and genuine people I had ever met. Everywhere she went, people fell in love with her. It wasn’t hard to do; I can tell you that first-hand.
But, I suppose that’s why her family was so happy she was dead. Their grotesque existence would no longer be overshadowed by her utter beauty. I’m sure they would have spat and danced on the grave if no one else was around. Exactly two minutes after her daughter had been put into the ground, her mother felt she had grieved enough. She announced that she would be returning home. Except when her car left the burial site, it sped in the direction of the nearest outlet mall. If it were anyone else I would have been surprised.. It didn’t take long for others to pay their respects, either. Finally, I found myself in the exclusive company of my best friend. I lied on top of her grave, feeling the cool air burn my cheeks. The stars began to blur as my eyes started to water. I wondered where she was at that moment. Why had she decided to do what she had done? I hoped she was happy, wherever she was. She deserved to be at peace. Suddenly, I felt that she was. I closed my eyes, and I could see her beautiful green eyes right in front of me. Her beautiful hair and crooked nose appeared as well. Every detail of her face was remarkable clear.
Slowly, a pair of hideous green walls appeared behind her. Right past her shoulders I could see some old worn out burgundy furniture. Even the paintings on the wall looked as though someone had been chain smoking by them for the last 1000 years. I turned my head slightly, and saw a plump little red creature looking at me with a deviant smile. Between two of his three fingers he held a large shiny red pipe. As I looked into his eyes, I felt my senses sharpen. The room was unbearably humid and cloudy. I looked back at Ruth and felt my eyes water. I was so confused by what she had done. I felt bitter, but also so emotionally overwhelmed by her presence. I wish this was real. I lunged towards her. Even if this was a dream, I wanted to hold her in my arms again. As my arm graced her side, every inch of my body screamed with pain. My body was jolted backwards. I screamed, and then promptly heard the old wrinkly lump of tomato start cackling before coughing into my face. “You really thought it would be that easy deary?” he snorted after catching his breath.
I wanted her back so badly my entire body ached. “Let’s make a deal…” he said slyly. After dealing with Ruth’s mother, nothing phased me. This living clown nose was a breath of fresh air compared to her. “You want this girl back, right?” he grinned. “Of course I do!” I sneered. “Then you won’t mind playing a little game.”
“If you lose, you will be transported into a universe where you will die.” Without warning, he showed me and image of my corpse on top of Ruth’s grave. It was revolting. “If you win, Ruth’s horrible past will be erased, and she will be revived.”
I figured if I don’t take the deal, I’m dead on the inside. If I lose, I’m dead on the outside, which was much more appealing than never seeing Ruth again.
“Well, hurry up. What’s your decision lad?” The reward outweighed the risks, so I accepted. Little did I know that when I got to the arena, the devil would be on my team, and Ruth and Death himself on the opposing side.
———-
I’m very new to this, so any feedback is appreciated!
Edit: Thanks everyone! I wasn’t expecting to get so much positive feedback! Also, for those who are wondering I’m actually a girl. I just thought writing it from a male’s perspective fit better.
|
"Wait what?"
The heavy oaken table creaked slightly as Lucifer himself leaned on it. "Pretty straight forward, mortal. You were chosen as her partner to play a 2 versus 2 game, if you win, she lives. If you lose, you both go with Death here." He motioned towards death, little more than a barely formed robe with wisps of inky black smoke dropping from the lifted hood.
Sarah hadn't looked at me yet. Her face a mixture of regret and fear, I could see tears on her cheeks, and my chest tightened. "Okay fine, I'll play the game." I stated, not quite sure I fully understood the situation. "But I want something if I win."
Satan raised an eyebrow, looking over at Death. "That part of the rules?"
Death simply nodded. "Given the circumstances, it would not be fair for a mortal to be forced to end their life shorter than their time without some recompense. What do you wish for?"
"A superpower of my choice." I stated abruptly, causing Lucifer to burst out into raucous laughter.
"Oh you humans, always wishing for power or wealth. Very well, I will grant it myself should you win." His very presence shook the room with his amusement. "So, Death, what is the game?"
Death's gaze passed across the room. Even without eyes, we could tell it looked at us. "Survival." Sarah shifted in her seat uncomfortably.
"Survival? I'm the Lord of Hell! There is nothing I cannot survive. Tell me, what meat grinder were we to run through? What wolves would chase us?" He laughed again, the walls shivering. "Are you sure you don't want a game of chess like all those other humans?" Lucifer's grin showed the confidence he had in himself.
Death raised an arm - more inky black smoke coming from the opening - and pointed it at me. "You and Sarah. You have 10 years, on the planet of my choosing. If you survive through Lucifer's wrath, you win." I blinked a couple times, my vision a bit hazy. "10 years. The clock begins... now."
\---------
I wish I could make one of those solid lines but feel free to follow me on /r/PM_Full_Tits for my once a month story things :)
| 2019-01-08T22:38:44 | 2019-01-08T21:34:07 | 387 | 178 |
[WP] During a bank heist gone wrong, you ended up taking a stray shotgun slug through your heart. That was 20 minutes ago, and the fact that you haven’t died yet is as concerning to you as it is to everyone else around you.
|
"Daddy, take this with you when you go to work" My daughter handed me a drawing in crayon. She had made various doodles around the outter edge of the paper, but in the center was a picture of her and I holding hands.
"Of course sweetheart!" I carefully folded it up and put it in the pocket of my jeans.
"Daddy, when you put on your work clothes you need to put that in those pants too. Please don't forget." The way she said it seemed very ominous and threatening almost. "You have to have that with you all day today!"
Emily was a precious child and would draw pictures for me all the time. Always with the squiggles around the edge. I asked her one day what they were, and she said they were to keep me safe.
I was thinking about all of this while I laid on the floor of the bank. A bank manager had whipped out a shotgun and shot me in the back, right through the heart with a 12 gauge slug. Those things HURT. I was pretty sure my vest had protected me, but then I looked down and saw the hold in the FRONT of my vest. One of my partners dispatched the manager with a headshot and came running over to me.
"Hey Boss, I've got you! Just hang on, Okay!" He pulled my jacket away and stared at my chest, his face going pale. "Mr Oliver, get the first aid kit!"
There was no *Mr Oliver* on our crew, but that was a code for severe emergency.
"Hurry! " he shouted, then looked down at me, then at the crowd drawing his pistol, "If ANY of you have any ideas about using this to your tactical advantage, you should just get on with it. But know I will EXECUTE every last one of you!"\]
Our team 'medic' showed up and started pulling out guaze pads while looking at me. "Hey, look at me, don't go to sleep, Okay?"
"Uh, guys, I actually feel ... *fine*." I started to sit up and they were trying to hold me down.
"No, boss, just sit still. You are, extremely injured. You are in shock, I have to stop this wound."
"No, let me sit up. I realize a slug went though me, but I feel perfectly okay."
Our medic pulled out his cell phone and snapped a picture of my chest, and held it out for me to see. you could see right through my chest. Things appeared to be mending at the edges of the hole, but there was a hole completely through me. I started to laugh, because I could see the face of one of the bank patrons through the hole, and they were in shock.
"Finish the job, let me sit here a moment. I don't know why, but I don't think I'm dying today." I picked up my gun from the floor next to me and swapped out the mag. Then I slowly stood up. There was a gasp among those who were close enough to see what was going on. "Oh come on, it's not like you've never seen a guy get shot before. Or maybe not seen one as LUCKY as I am. Don't press your luck and be quiet." I shook the SMG I was holding. "I can use this on anyone else who wants to be a hero."
I walked over to a chair and sat on the arm of it. "Guys, get back to work!"
"We're still on it boss!" was shouted in unison. To their credit, they were. We retrieved the 6 safety deposit boxes that had our stash in them, and loaded up into the elevator. I grabbed the person from the photo earlier as a hostage.
"Boss, a hostage?" My medic whispered.
"I don't know, it seemed like a good idea, YOU, give me your wallet, I want to see your license."
The person slowly took out their wallet and handed it over. I looked at the address. Jesus Christ, this guy was my neighbor. Not next door, but he lived in my neighborhood. I had seen him at block parties. I couldn't kill him, or let the cops do that while shooting at me.
I punched the stop button on the elevator. "YOU, OUT! Go into a conference room and don't make a sound. "
"I wouldn't tell on you. Your daughter needs a daddy, just like mine does. I'll see you later."
He ran out and ploughed head first into a door and flopped on the floor. He looked out cold.
"That was smart... he won't seem to be in on anything."
"He's NOT!" I started the elevator back up, and we got to the chopper on the roof. Clean getaway.
\-----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
By the time I got home, my chest had mostly healed, I was hungry as hell too. It was late, but my princess was up waiting on me.
"Daddy, I told you it would protect you!" She gave me a big hug.
"Where did you learn those squiggles to protect you?" I asked. I tried not to make a big deal of it. I pulled the paper out of my pants pocket. there was a single drop of my blood on it.
"Oh, I learned that from Misty down the block." She smiled. "She does those for her Daddy too when he's at work. She said her mommy taught her magic!"
Misty... that was. Yup, my neighbor the hostage's daughter. Looks like I owed him a drink.
|
“You’re still bleeding a lot.” said Blinks.
I looked down at my blood-soaked shirt. Streams of blood still pulsed out of my wound to the rhythm of my heartbeat. “God dammit, I’m gonna bleed out. Somebody do something!”
Meds brought a steamed towel from the bathroom. “Brace yourself,” he said. “This is gonna hurt.”
He then pressed the hot fabric into my wound and began cleaning it out. It was like a million stinging insects burrowing into my flesh. Meds looked up at me for a reaction, but I held. As he cleaned deeper, however, it was more than just the pain. It was the scraping of the terry cloth on my organs, my muscles, even my bones.
At last I let out a single roar of pain. Everyone jolted, their bodies instinctively trying to do something but being too scared to know what.
Even Meds was taken a little aback. “I think some of that air came out of your chest.”
“Not important, Meds!” I shouted. “Just get on with it!”
Meds sighed. “That’s probably the best I can do with hotel supplies. We gotta get you back to the hideout.”
“Alright.” I tried to maintain a demeanor of command, but I was really too exhausted to argue about what we should do next. “Blinks, get the car.”
Blinks got up, but before he could reach the door, Marty burst in.
“Boss!” cried Marty. “Are you ok!?”
“I’m fine. I think.”
Meds was in the process of wrapping a clean towel around my chest. The bleeding seemed to have slowed, but I could still feel the warm dampness of my blood soaking into the improvised bandage.
“I heard a scream,” continued Marty. “everyone heard it. We gotta get out of here.”
“Blinks! I told you to get the goddamn car!” Blinks bolted at my command. “Marty, help Meds clean this shit up.”
“There’s no way.” said Meds. “This place is crawling with evidence now. We just gotta make a run for it.”
Gunshots.
“Blinks!” I shouted.
“We gotta go.” Marty said desperately. “Fire exit.”
| 2021-05-22T08:21:57 | 2021-05-22T06:31:48 | 73 | 25 |
[WP]Iceland has been cut off from the world. No comms in or out, ariel and satellite photography show nothing but a blindspot, and all three teams sent in by the European rescue effort have disappeared once through the fog. The fourth team saw one man return. Debrief to follow.
|
Sylas listened to the young woman speak with growing worry.
He had been on the forefront of the surveillance team, an icelander through and through that happened to be on a ship for a meteo survey while the country quite simply vanished from earth. That made him the first scientist on place, with a personal hand in it as all his friends and family had disappeared too.
Icelanders and tourists were not the only casualities, if the term could be used here. Teams were sent in, first believing it was some sort of phenomenon breaking down communications. When they did not return, all agreed it was worse.
The forward station had been a theater of shouts and anger since then. Send more men? Send a robot? They broke down before breaching the fog and the camera feeds died too. Stay here and observe? What about the people in the island, should they abandon them too?
Against his advice, another team of volunteers was sent, briefed that they might as well die in there without coming close to understand. In the meantime, Sylas sent his assistant Luke to make some measurements.
They never entered the fog. A lone woman was floating out of it, her face gaunt and skull like. Sylas had been horrified to recognize his niece, Phyllis, a once lively and beaming beacon of hapiness now reduced to a scrawny shell of herself.
Questions and hypothesis abounded about her and what happened. Useless, but time had to be passed someway until she recovered.
The day came when it was decided she was fit for communication and a psychiatrist was sent it. Doctor Jude, an expert in the field of traumas and recovery, and a gentle soul, unlike a lot of the personel on the station.
They spoke, first of nothing, checking her health, her wits, her mental presence.
How weird it was for Sylas, listening in with the video feed, to hear her swear and grunt so much. Her brother used to do that. She also spoke in a low tone, interrupting sentences as if the punctuation was off, just like her mother.
"Can we speak about your childhood?"
Even the people in the back of the room in which Sylas stood realized something was wrong about him. Tremors shook him and he sweated a lot.
This wasn't her childhood she spoke of. This was an amalgamation of many childhoods, hers, her brothers, and Sylas too. When she mentionned the accident with the nail in the barn, an event Sylas had never mentioned, he broke down.
The medical ward was white and silent, Docotr Jude was sitting at his side, clearly distraught.
"Oh God, what the hell is happening?" was her only response when he explained how that person was not the niece he knew.
To Sylas, she recounted the rest of the talk they had.
Phyllis had mentionned the great white void, an endless expense in which simple shapes like cubes and balls could float around and stay solid. She could not. When Phyllis tried to stay whole, she broke down to a puddle, until she willed herself into a small fog, flowing without wind.
The expanse was briliantly white. Only the humans trapped inside had turned to the same shape.
"So the fog..."
"Is people. All of them. Sylas, there's more."
While only the simplest shapes could survive in the fog, it didn't have to be functionally alive. Phyllis remembered stories, world events and memories taking form and traversing her, modifying her. Changing her.
How she came out, she did not know. Nor did she know who she was, only aware that the person she had once been had died.
As for what this void was, she had only one answer.
"It is thoughts and our history."
Had humanity lived so long that a breaking point had been reached at which the void manifested? Was it another dimension? Was it aliens? Science was too far back to answer.
Sylas lay his head back on the cushion.
The anomaly could be rationalized away to the world. Iceland was far, tough luck for the people, but we have a new curiosity to explore, that's what they would think. People would forget the tragedy and go watch television, like they always did.
Except this time it might be harder. Luke busted into the room, having completed his task and nodded grimly to Sylas.
Just by that much, the void had grown. A centimeter or less. Like the day before, and the day before.
"Are we really making it grow by thinking, living?" asked Sylas.
No answer came.
|
The Interviewer sat in the bare-bones cinder block room, waiting for the explorer to enter. He checked his watch- he was late. He fingered the buttons on the voice recorder idly as he waited.
After what seemed like an eternity, the door opened. A disheveled man in an orange jumpsuit staggered through the door and slumped down in the chair opposite of the Interviewer.
(a few clicks are heard)
"Is this on? Alright. Would you tell me your name, age, and occupation?"
"Hi, um. I-I'm Francis Cooper, 28, UN peacekeeper."
"Great. On July 22nd, 2021, you were sent to Iceland after it was wiped off of all the world's maps. Is this correct?"
"Y-yes sir, that's correct." He was stuttering, fidgeting, looking around at everything except the Interviewer.
"What did you see? Where did your teammates go? What happened?"
"It was- it was *green*."
"
| 2021-05-17T10:34:23 | 2021-05-17T10:09:43 | 46 | 14 |
[WP] You have drunkenly been discussing the Dark Lord with other tavern patrons, insulting him to no end. When someone storms up demanding you stop as he is one of the Dark Lords students. Strange thing is you don’t remember teaching this kid.
|
"--that bastard only knows how to negotiate at the end of the sword! He could've stopped the killing long ago!"
Hagur was a complicated man.
To most of his empire, he was The Dark Lord. He had started as a priest in his tribe of orcs. But wars and disease had decimated them. Hagur knew that he could lead them better. He knew that by focusing on self sufficiency, negotiating with some tribes, and subjugating smaller tribes to add to his own instead of picking fights that they could not win, their people would thrive.
But they still followed an archaic tradition, that one could only take the title of Chieftain by killing whoever held the title.
He was no fighter. He was a healer by trade. He was tough by human standards, but he couldn't hope to stand against the old chief on his own. So looking for a solution, he prayed to the gods.
Something else answered.
It offered him knowledge. It offered him power. In exchange for service. And for his people, Hagur accepted.
He had killed the old chief, united the tribes, and when surrounding kingdoms united to destroy them because the orc tribes were united instead of killing each other for food, water, and pride, It came with another offer. Teach others, spread the dark magic that It had, and his people would be safe. Otherwise, everything he had fought for would be ash, crushed by the fearful and weak.
And once again, he accepted.
And now, he was known as the Dark Lord. Conqueror of the Five Nations. Emperor of the West. But he knew that no matter what he built, it was built on suffering.
It had demanded a heavy price for its service. It demanded sacrifice, and so the Empire's citizens are killed. It demanded churches, so those within the Empire are forced to worship It. It demanded monuments to Its glory, so civilians are conscripted into the labor pool, and forced to work as slaves. And if Hagur refused, it would do more than kill him. It not only would take away his Power. It would use Its influence on the Empire, influence Hagur helped to cultivate, to break apart all that he had built.
Hagur didn't want this. There was blood on his hands. Innocent blood. And when he died, It would consume his soul, and Hagur's son would take his place.
And do he was here.
Goldbranch was a small mining town on the frontier of the empire. His influence was small, and that's the way he liked it. No one out here would recognize him.
"But he won't! Why? Because he's weak. Oh, he pretends to be powerful, but one slip up, and the dogs at the capitol would rip him apart like wild animals!"
He was several beers deep right now. It was cheap swill, but he wasn't here to enjoy himself. No matter what he thought, there seemed to be no way out. No way to rip Its claws from his Empire without cutting it open and leaving it to bleed. And even if the Empire persisted, what would happen to him?
He was responsible for more deaths than he could count. Everyone in the Empire knew someone who had died by his hand, on his order, or because of his decisions.
Even if he reversed all of his decisions tomorrow, the people who support him would see it as weakness. And they would dispose of him like he did the old chief. Him, his family, they would all be dead before the next sunrise.
And so he was here. In the Sow and the Steer, a tavern that was in what was once a barn. It still smelled like farmyard animals sleep in it, but the drinks are strong. A dwarven woman fills another mug.
"You'd better keep that kinda talk to yourself when you get outta here, Asog." The woman says, calling Hagur by the false name he gave her. "You know
"Ah, I know" Hagur says, drinking another beer. "Fucker can't take critisism. Gods know he probably can't take a joke" He chuckled to himself as he took a swig
The people here didn't support The Dark Lord. They wouldn't rebel, but they'd at least tolerate him as he was. A ratty cloak, some dirt, and he could sit here, drink, and say what he really thought of himself. It was painful, but then, so was everything else. At least he could say what he thought of himself. It was like confession. It wouldn't undo all that he had done, and it made him feel better, at least.
"You'd better silence your tongue, worm, or I'll take the liberty of removing it for you"
"Whatz zat?" Hagur says, his mouth slurring as he turned to face the source of the voice. It was a human. At least he thought it was a human. With how blurry his vision was, it could've been an elf.
"I'll have you know that
Hagur knew it was a lie, even in his inebriated state. People who accepted Its power, it left a mark on their soul. And if you had accepted its power, you could feel it in others. And everyone he taught, he could sense them.
His heart sank as he remembered that their souls would be condemned after death, just like his.
"Iiiiiiiiiif you were so important, why're ya in a shithole like this!" Hagur said, turning to face the man. It three men. If the world would stop spinning, he might get a good count.
The man wrinkled his nose, "I'll have you know that I am Rozius Iceling. My family owns these lands as well as the mine. Plus, I was taught personally by The Dark Lord. He obviously saw the potential in my family and took me under his wing! I came here because I heard that someone was disrespecting our rightful liege. And looking at you, I can say that I'm not suprised at what kind of rabble you are."
Harur gritted his teeth. He hated the title, being called The Dark Lord. He even forbid people from calling him that. "It was a title that the weak gave me when they lost" was the official reason. But he knew that he had earned it. And no one who knew him would dare toss the
Rozius held out his palm and a dark swirling mass of energy formed in it. Patrons screamed, some took cover. The drunker ones barely reacted. While everyone's eyes were focused on Rozius, Hagur snapped his fingers.
The orb of magic dissipated. Rozius had a split second to react in suprise before trying to summon another orb. This time all he got were a few sparks.
"What? Was that what that bastard taught you? He's even more pathetic than I thought" It was a Counterspell. Something some if the little magic that he knew on his own. He had gotten good at casting it
By now, some of the other patrons were stiffling their laughter at the noble trying,and failing to cast any spells.
Seeing that his magic wasn't working, Rozius sputtered. "The Dark Lord will hear of this indignity!" As he left, trying to maintain some dignity.
"I'm sure he will!" Hagur jeered as the young man left before turning to the to the bartender. "Another round for everyone! This one's on me!"
Another cheer rung through the bar. Genuine admiration. It was something sorely lacking in his real life. He would need to go back tomorrow. Maybe make sure that the boy's family didn't kick up too much of a stink. But for now, he smiled, his heart feeling a little warm for the first time in a long time.
|
The air was heavy with the scent of vomit on the sawdust packed floors. My companions guzzled their ale as the wind blew through the opening windows, causing the candles to flicker in the dimly lit room. This is where I thrived, I thought, as I emptied another tankard and set it on the the edge of the table. The dark, the rank, the uncivilized corners of the Earth, this is what I live for. It had been a long time since I took to dwelling here, but I felt the need for connections with what I had helped create.
The stout man sitting across from me slurred out "'e gotta take it out on us little guys, since 'e lost the Great War." The table nodded with enthusiastic agreement. A younger chap sitting to the man's right, growing bolder with each drink, elaborated "And he's too much of a loser to fight humanity face to face!" I chuckled as I added "Oh, that not likely a face you'd WANT to see! Probably as UGLY as I am!" The table erupted in raucous laughter, though a few people cast sideways glances around the room.
This is what I loved about humans so much. Their will to SURVIVE. Life and death, light and darkness- each of these things interconnected with its other half but these PEOPLE are so damned determined to live that they view them as separate entities, with one half that needs to be defeated. I found it so novel, so unlike the thinking of infinite civilizations I had seen rise and fall before them, that I decided to acquiesce to this idea. My other half became the embodiment of all they considered "good," whilst I separated and came here to live among them, to study them, and tonight- to drink with them.
A woman in the corner made a sign with her hands, a universal gesture in this region believed to keep ME away. Every part of the world had their own names for me and ways of comforting themselves by thinking they could keep me at bay. I grinned at her and called for another drink and the tavern settled down from the commotion the conversation our table was having. This town had been hit hard recently by a plague of beetles that wiped out their staple crop. Many had died and the people wore their grief under the veneer of their pride. I was of course, being blamed for it, though it was LIFE that brought the abundance of insects into existence- not I. I paid for another round for the party and tipped the barkeep handsomely, it was the least I could do.
As the drinks were brought in a cloaked figure entered the bar. The slim silhouette almost seemed to glide towards the table. Slight fingers went up to the edge of the hood and revealed a beautiful woman with auburn hair and fierce green eyes. "I hear you slander My Master" she said as a murderous look flashed over her face. "Who, The Dark One?" The older man chuckled as he drunkenly reached for the woman standing there. She touched his arm as she moved out of his grasp and I gasped as I realized what she had done. With a single touch, infected cells started spreading throughout his body, even as he smiled and made a lewd comment about her graze. Who was she, with this Power, the same as mine? I had never shared gifts with my students and I would certainly never taken on someone with such a cruel disposition. I watched as she touched another of my associates, a smile coming over her face as she doomed him to death within days. Was she the reason my reputation seemed even worse recently?
I snapped out of my initial shock and stood up grabbing her arm before she could lay hands on another. What felt like a wave of electricity jolted through me, the power she held was more than I could have imagined. My mind raced as I was forced back to my seat, sending the rest of the taverns occupants out in a panic. I'd have to do something I hadn't done in millennia-I mentally called on my other half, we would have to be whole to stop her, I thought. I reached out to nothingness as a sudden feeling of emptiness caused me to retch. "We need to talk" she said. "Oh God, no, please..." I uttered as she used a sharply manicured finger to lift my chin up. There was no answer.
| 2022-01-14T17:35:28 | 2022-01-14T15:49:14 | 85 | 56 |
[WP] In a world of superheroes and super villians you are perhaps the most successful super villians ever. Your trick is that you don't wear any costume and as far as you know you aren't any superheroes radar.
|
It took him exactly two years before he realized he was a supervillain. It didn’t come out as a surprise, when he thought about it. A serial killer turning into a supervillain wasn’t exactly a big step. It was a small thing, like arriving five minutes earlier instead of being punctual.
&nbsp;
He _had_ tried to avoid the typical supervillain actions and tendencies. He didn’t wear costumes. He didn’t unintentionally _nor_ intentionally acquire a rival. He didn’t make speeches, or make grand schemes to take over the world or a city, nor did he make public appearances in which he could be recognized. And as hard as it was, he maintained no fixations on any individual.
&nbsp;
He just made the world a less safe place.
&nbsp;
…_Okay_, perhaps that right there was what should have tipped him off that he was a supervillain – but it didn’t. He confined himself to perimeters. _You are a serial killer, and you can only kill on random dates._ By random, he really did try to randomize the dates. He rolled dices, and didn’t have any preferences when it came to how he did it, nor the gender or age of his victims. He didn’t even have a dump site, keepsakes, _nor_ does he leave any witnesses.
&nbsp;
He really didn’t want to be a supervillain. Supervillains always felt like a fairytale word. The ones he frequently saw on television were ridiculous, often, for they had big plans and bigger dreams. And the more annoying part was that villains had their counterparts. The good to their evil. The one who always wins. The one people love. The ones who _saves_.
&nbsp;
He wanted no part in the fairytale. He wanted no part of the equal world.
&nbsp;
So, what exactly _did_ make him realize he became a supervillain? His victims. He should have realized it earlier. It was blatant. It glared at him right at his face. He avoided a lot of things, but he couldn’t avoid patterns. He randomized the dates, but he didn’t randomize the victims enough. He gravitated towards a pattern, one which will _definitely_ be seen once someone looks at its way.
&nbsp;
_As much as he wanted to hate it, the mere idea of being discovered sent shivers down his spine. It made him inhale nervously, like he used to do when he was new in the killing business._
&nbsp;
He picked his victims thoroughly. He picked the ones who were lucky in their lives. Lucky enough to be saved by heroes, that is. After all, who were they that they deserved to be saved? What exactly did they do that made them luckier than the others, to escape the clutches of men who wished them harm?
&nbsp;
Who gave the survivors the right to live?
&nbsp;
Oh, he didn’t kill them right off the bat. He didn’t kill all survivors, he just rolled a dice, and get to whoever is lucky. Half the time, he didn’t kill them, either. He gave them a few months or a few weeks, _then_ he kills whoever _was_ closest to them. It made it fair. It made it equal. It made it _right._
&nbsp;
He came to terms with being a supervillain, after actually realizing and acknowledging that he had levelled up. Took him a few days, to be honest. Nowadays, he just kept on with his routine. Watch the news. Read the news. Memorize the names of survivors. Keep his college grades up. Study. Watch porn. Kill people. Kill _more_ people.
&nbsp;
Realizing he was a supervillain _did_ have an upside. He couldn’t wait for someone to finally notice him. To acknowledge his work. His _effort_ . For someone to see _that_ side of him. It gets lonely sometimes, after all. Perhaps, sharing his tale wouldn’t be as bad as he thought. The more he thought about it the more exciting it seemed. Maybe, just maybe, he just needed to up the stakes.
&nbsp;
It was definitely the _supervillain_ part of him that got him excited at the prospect of having someone call him out. He was so tired of being sick and deprived without anyone telling him he is. He wanted his hero. The moment _that_ thought got into his head, he couldn’t get rid of it.
&nbsp;
“I just want someone to tell me that I’m wrong. Is that such a bad thing?”
&nbsp;
A sob broke through the thick air. Random Survivor’s Family Member #115 once again became noticed, her voice muffled, auburn hair messy. Tears and snot drizzled down her face, distracting him from his monologue. He talks like a _supervillain_ , now, _too_ . How fucking funny is that? Seriously, how fucking funny? Why the fuck won’t she fucking laugh?
&nbsp;
Well, if she wanted to die sobbing, then it’s her choice. Him, on the other hand, will enjoy laughing.
&nbsp;
Waiting was tiring, but he didn't want to make it easy for _his_ hero. She was going to be special, after all.
&nbsp;
Just like him.
***
/r/fajangled
|
I would have loved to tell the man over the phone, "Wait a bit, I'm causing you some inconveniences!" but that would have blown my cover. Not something I was aiming to do. So I tried to keep a happy demeanor whilst blowing up civilians. "I'll be right there, boss," I said cheerily, hanging up. Many people in the city would have loved to get a call from the one and only Superman himself, but not I. I hated the man, but it was key to maintaining my own position. The greatest villain of them all, the faceless assassin and plan-foiler. And no one suspected me at all.
I was over at Superman's base in a moment, and after reviewing the damage I'd created whilst I tried my best to keep a straight face, I was off to Batman's next. I commented on his cave's renovation as we too tried to formulate plans against 'The Villain'. Or so the media called me. I felt both flattered that I was receiving so much attention and terrified that my cover would be blown. But no one cared about who I was, since my faked job took care of that.
When I was done with being the hero I was not, I took off from the bases, flying straight into the heat of action. All the heroes were there, Wonder Woman, Catwoman...the famous names of the heroes of our century. But I blasted them with a tracking missile, stunning them and knocking them to the ground. I laughed as I commanded my own troops to the battlefield, as they stormed over the Justice League's base and took it over. At last, my largest victory was at hand. And not a single person, superhero or civilian, knew who I was under my guise. Or, my plain coat and T-shirt that constituted my battle attire.
Because no one ever suspects the sidekick, eh?
_________________________________________________________________
More over at r/Whale62! Sequels at popular request!
| 2017-07-23T07:41:21 | 2017-07-23T06:09:40 | 36 | 13 |
[WP] Every spacefaring species has something that makes them special. Some are fast, some have telekinesis, some are nigh-unkillable. To the galaxy's surprise, humans have a tendency to befirend the cosmic horrors lurking where the starlight does not reach.
|
\[- the Kuiper Transmission has confirmed a lack of any signals since first contact, and the United Fleetworks are now in proceedings to declare the Rio Grande Voyage lost with all hands. We would like to observe the names and faces of the voyagers who sailed out into the stars, on a mission of optimism and peace which shall not be-\]
“Mute the feed.”
Chief Voyager Jennings sunk back in his harness as the screen continued to play, silently; every one of those names and faces scrolled past his unseeing gaze, replaced in mind by the people of his own fleet.
First contact had failed. Again.
Once, the galaxy had been compared to a dark forest filled with mystery and terror. Where were the aliens? Hiding from all the other aliens. The reason we hadn’t noticed any was because they were deliberately keeping quiet. Had to stay quiet, or be at the mercy of the galactic night.
Turns out Earth just hadn’t been on the right radio. Filter the right space phenomena through the right algorithms with the right new equipment, and suddenly aliens were shouting their existence all over the place. Planetary origins, ship movements, everything was there. It was an exciting time for space travel, in the beginning. Jennings still had the old recordings of his grandmother as a young woman, smiling proud with her team in front of the spaceship they’d built. It was going to be a new age.
It was a cosmic joke. A galaxy full of sapient species talking to each other ...because they were all threats. Earth, for all its dangers, was a positive oasis of peace compared to the conditions that apparently bred sapience. Humanity hadn’t just missed the comms, they’d missed the attitude. Every pre-arranged signal meeting? Ambush. Every ship? Armed to the teeth. Every first contact? Death and destruction. The species they met had seemed to thrive on the act of competition and combat, and so far they’d found humanity wanting.
Nevertheless, humanity persisted. Jennings persisted, too. As Chief of the Orinoco Voyage, he had to. And that was why he was out here.
That was why they were out \*here\*, to a cold system with no name around a nearly-dead star. The system where comms had picked up a message, repeating since...well, since entirely too long. A message that had never been responded to by any of the numerous alien species who should have rushed to greet and fight it’s originators.
A message that, as far as the Orinoco Voyage could tell, was simply: \[I’m here.\]
Jennings had disliked it the moment the fleet entered: there were debris fields made from no natural comet, the desiccated remains of artificial structures upon the few planetary bodies in the system, and what looked like a half-built Dyson sphere around the sun. Something \*had\* been here, once, at least. It had apparently liked cobweb-like structures of dark stone. And spirals.
“We got a response from the signal, Chief. And...you’d better look at the main visuals. Something’s moving”. Jennings strained against his harness to stand up as he switched feeds. Verification. Whoever was behind the signal had received theirs, for it had copied the message back and then repeated itself.
First contact was a delicate matter...even more delicate, these days. No sudden moves. They’d gone through the usual protocols: bursts of encoded data imitating the signaler’s own message, then a few more bursts of data Jennings half-remembered as proof of sapience and...goodwill? By this point, it was more of a plea: \[please don’t hurt us\]. Something was moving out there, against the face of the sun. It was not a ship. His face paled as foreboding crept down his spine.
Something unimaginably vast and ancient sloughed itself from the ruins of the Dyson sphere. Something that crept in waves of glistening pseudopods, that lifted and spiraled until it seemed like an oil spill the size of a star, emerging from its shell to drift toward the Voyage. Something that needed no ship to travel the stellar void, no ship to communicate with, no ship to see the face of the newcomers to its home. The oil spill entity crackled with radiation.
\[I’m here. I’m here. I’m here. You're here. You're here. You're here.\]
It waited. The Orinoco Voyage waited. In all previous instances of first contact every recovered feed indicated combat was engaged moments after confirmation of location.
Seconds later, the entity seemed to ripple. It flashed a signal. A second, longer signal. And then, almost like a feed in reverse, it drifted backwards to the Dyson Sphere; where, with as little warning as it had emerged, it sunk back down to rest.
It took Jennings some time to breathe. Longer to blink. Even longer to move. There was a dim sound, in his ears - of comms relays sounding, voices on the other end straining to tell him of the news, of the data received by their ships, of the sheer quantity of information that would become in time recognized as the compressed history of a long-dead species whose creations slumbered and dreamt in the dark and lonely corners of the cosmos, of the relief at their survival.
But Jennings could focus on none of that. Only that he was alive. The Orinoco Voyage was alive. They had met the alien, and they had not fired, and the alien had not fired...
Successful First Contact.
\~\~\~\~\~
I like these kind of stories, even I'm terrible at telling them. Eldritch friends are great stuff :V
|
The Chasm God tossed in its slumber. The weaving threads of the hyperspace activated with a buzzing hum. The little ones were traveling again. The small life always disgusted the Chasm God and he had ceased watching the ruts of the fleshed specks millennia ago.
He reluctantly moved his eye to view the chaos, a mote of sustenance compared to the higher realities. Two species were fighting and one was much faster and stronger than the other. The dead of both sides floated through space, spasming only a moment before tipping that careful balance of mortal life to the glorious emptiness.
The Chasm God looked to the mind of the aggressors, basic and filthy instinct left a taste to linger on him like rotten stars.
He looked to the weak ones, the humans, as they retreated. He dropped his foci to shatter into galaxies below him as he reconciled what he was sensing. They were different than any he had tasted. They had in each of them a multitude of imagined realities, swirling to form rich personalities. All that beauty was being destroyed by the predictable instinctuals.
The Chasm God sent a version of itself formed of the dark matter that absorbed all light to the star the two collections of vessels orbited. He filled his absence with hot gouts of energy and approached then, an eldritch guardian of these little Gods. The instinctuals boiled in their suits, screaming in an all too predictable way. Even their piles of ash were unsightly.
...
"I can't explain it, admiral." Captain Garth Fisker bent his neck so the medic could finish pulling the shrapnel from his neck. He gritted his teeth and continued the urgent message. "The ferroticks were almost upon us. Some unknown species' ship, so beyond us in technology that it looked like a giant glowing monster appeared. It destroyed the ferroticks completely, even the colony ships. The new presence seems to understand us and is eager to communicate but its messages are strange. I will update you when I know more."
\---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
| 2021-04-07T19:38:37 | 2021-04-07T17:49:08 | 558 | 376 |
[WP] The Islamic State is wiped out by a totally unexpected country in a totally unexpected way.
|
"Mr. President, there's been an attack."
"What? Here? By who? Why am I just finding out about this!"
"Calm down, sir, i'll explain everything in the Situation Room," the Secretary of State said, motioning towards the door.
Trump got up from behind his desk and hurried down the hallway. "Is my life in danger? I always knew those Latinos would get their revenge. How much time do we have to get to the bunker?"
"It's... actually quite the opposite, sir," the Secretary explained. "Please, come inside. The Secretary of Defense is waiting for you to give his statement."
Trump mumbled a few things under his breath as he took his seat beside the Vice President. Papers were shuffled around and whispered conversations came to an end. The President looked visibly uncomfortable, his impatience clearly evident in the color of his face, now a bright purple.
"Please, if you'll direct your attention to the monitor..." the Secretary of Defense began. He shifted in his chair nervously as the screen came to life. On it was a known ISIS stronghold, viewed from the air by what appeared to be a UAV. "It was always known to the US Government that this location was one of great importance, however, we wouldn't know exactly *how* important it was until about an hour ago," began the Secretary. "We knew, through our intelligence agencies, that this location would host a rather large ISIS convention. That many leaders would be here. We just didn't know when, exactly."
"Yeah, get on with it," Trump said, tapping his foot on the ground.
A few moments later, there was a soundless explosion on the screen. A mushroom cloud of epic proportions billowed out from the ground. Moments later, the video cut out.
"What the hell was that?!" Trump exclaimed, leaning forward in his seat.
"An explosion, sir," the Vice President droned.
"Don't you think I know that?" Trump snapped back. He turned in his chair to face the Secretary of Defense. "Who did this? What does this mean?"
The secretary began rewinding the video. The mushroom could evaporated back into the ground and all was well as far as the video feed was concerned.
"Look closely," the Secretary said, pointing to the screen. "Watch those spots there. Do you see anything moving?"
Just then, clear as day, small figures began moving away from the building. There were about 20 to 30 units, each one moving at a speed far greater than that of mere walking.
"What is it?" Trump asked, cocking his head to the side.
"Canadians... riding moose," The Secretary of State declared, clearly upset.
"*Canadians?* Why? How the hell did they get moose into the middle east?" Trump asked, incredulous. "How did they do that? The explosion? They did that?"
"Milk bags," declared the Secretary of Defense. "They presented bags of milk to the ISIS leaders as a peace offering and sign of friendship. Apparently the bags were filled with a chemical agent that exploded on contact with oxygen. The bags were porous, able to let some oxygen in at very little increments. A literal time bomb."
Silence fell over the Situation Room. Trump, his skin a blue-green color, mostly from the light of the screen reflecting off his features, and partly because of the news he had just received. The Vice President loosened his tie.
"The Canadians killed every single ISIS leader in one single attack," the Secretary of Defense said, letting the video play to the point of the mushroom cloud again. "It's over."
"And you know this how?" Trump asked, eyes still on the screen.
"The Canadians told us everything moments after the attack. How they did it, the chemicals they used, everything. I feel like... like it was threatening in nature, Mr President. Like they wanted to intimidate us."
Trump squinted his eyes at the now blank screen, a thought forming in his head. One that included border protection and a new wall, farther to the north.
|
They swept across the dunes, conquering all foes before them. Charging forward to the roar of cannon and rifle, no stronghold or fort could stem the tide of red and gold that spew forth from the edge of the horizon. Like the sea, this force could not, would not be restrained by weather, terrain or people in the pursuit of black and gold. Even after there was nothing left, the body still raged, searching, pulsating. Waiting to consume all.
Nobody expects the Spanish Inquisition.
| 2016-01-29T08:59:05 | 2016-01-29T07:22:10 | 345 | 43 |
[WP] A comedian must convince a court that a joke he told was funny.
|
"There will be ORDER!" the judge's voice crashed over the courtroom at the most recent outbreak. "Now then, after that last piece of evidence, I am completely unconvinced of not only your sincerity, but your continued innocence. Without the puppet shows, can you explain to this court how one of the most recycled jokes that we tell our children just so we can groan and pretend to smile, can actually pretend to be humorous?"
Eyes downcast, the clown puts lowers the rubber chicken, and adopts a very serious face, his simultaneous grin and deadpan somewhat unsettling. With a squeak, it hits on the table as a sigh escapes the dark visage of a face that normally brings laughter.
"Your honor, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, what is humor? What is laughter? What is that most sacred of actions which defines that which is human from that which is not?"
"I propose that you don't know, and that you don't want to know, for you will at once, see humor everywhere, and yet be unable to laugh at it. For laughter isn't what makes things funny, but rather things are funny, and therefore force us to laugh."
*sigh* "We've already been over the founding pillars of comedy. The pun, The slapstick, The prop humor, The Meaningful Idiot. But why do you laugh?"
"I propose, it is because you have nothing else to do. In slapstick, you cannot be angry because its never intentional, nor can you be sad for them because you know no harm has come. So you laugh. In the pun, it literally breaks your brain, while simultaneously making sense and nonsense. So you laugh. When he slips on a banana peel, you want to feel bad or blame him, but you laugh, knowing that nothing could have prevented it and the same fate could befall you. And when abbot and costello argue about who's on first, you laugh, because it's so absurd that they cannot see each others points, that there's no possible way it could happen or be fixed."
"Therefore, ladies and gentlemen, I regretfully tell you the humor on which you've been ignorant of. Eons ago, when this joke was made, it was a joke for the elders, to be said in kids presence because thier ignorance of the world made them unable to understand why it was funny. Over time, the elders forgot to let the kids on the joke, and yet the kids keep parroting it, so even you, to this day, repeat the joke while lacking any comprehension of it."
The clown wipes the swear from his brow, continuously pulling the handkerchief from his sleeve as he talks whenever the outermost one becomes damp. "Why did the chicken cross the road...." he softly lets out, each word echo'd by his slow, measured steps in front of the jury box. "To get to the other side..." he finishes, punctuated with the tiniest of lifting of the corners of his mouth, as he looks at the stonefaced jurors.
"You fathers tell this to your children, and the children laugh and humor you, thinking all the while of it's stupidity, expecting you to know something they don't. And you do, but you refuse to admit it to yourselves, and therefore deny them the humor when they come of age, as your lineage did before you."
His voice growing heavier and more of his age showing as the last wipe of his cloth took more of his makeup off, his once pristine white face now lined and etched with shadows. "Your honor, if I may address the jury, I shall show.."
"Objection your honor, we've been at this for four hours, he's clearly leading us on a wild goose chase!" The prosecutor leaps to his feet, his tie already loosened on his otherwise well groomed figure, annoyed that this charade has gone on as long as it has.
"show you that not only is it funny, but that my peers will explain exactly how, for though they were never told they still know in their core, like all humor exists." the once jovial jester finishes.
"I'll allow it, but please be quick, It is getting late and i'd not like to recess and give the press more to work with over the night" sighs the judge, wondering whether his reservations will have to be canceled.
"Thank you your honor", quipping as he approaches the jury box, looking over the faces young and old, until settling on a young lady who is probably just barely starting her own studies, "Miss, I'd like to have you start. I want you to look at the first part of the joke, 'Why did the chicken cross the road?' What does that tell you?"
"That he crossed?" she squeaks out, shrinking into her seat at first notice of being picked.
"Indeed! That at some time in the past, a chicken not only crossed a road, in fact he choose to do so of his own free will! What else?"
"I don't know... "
"Exactly, you don't know. That's why we're asking the question! So now we know a chicken crossed a road, and we don't know why so we're asking. Now, if you were to cross a road and I wanted to know why, how would I figure it out?"
"You... you'd ask me?"
"Very good young lady! I would ask YOU! So why aren't we asking the chicken? I propose that, for some reason or another, we can't ask the chicken! " The clown is now smiling a little bit, "And so, as the jury has so astutely shown, the opening part of the joke tells us A chicken crossed a road, we don't know why, and we can't ask him for some reason. Now, to the second part, I pick...." the clown spins around in a circle a half dozen times before stopping on an elderly gentleman in the back. "Oh dear, well that's the way the pie is thrown. So sir, the second part of the joke, can you repeat it to me?"
"To get to the other side", the old man says without fanfare, his eyes locked on his interrogator.
"See, you do know the answer! So on top of all that, we're asking a question we already know the answer to! So why ask it in the first place? Maybe it's unclear. Well what is the other side?", the clown asks, reaching the end of his handkerchiefs, and looks back on them running the length of the courtyard before blowing his nose with a flourish and dropping the end.
"The road you buffoon! What else!"
The smile vanishes from the clown's face as he returns the man's stare, "What else indeed.... what else indeed. Sir, if I had called your loved ones and said you had crossed to the other side, what would they say? More importantly, what if I told them you crossed a road, to get to the other side?"
The old man held the look as the clown talked, then eyes widened as he realized, and looked down. The mood in the courtroom had fallen silent, only the gentle hum of the air unit remained.
"They would ask why.... They would wonder why you crossed. Why you wanted to go to the other side."
"Your honor, as the jury has shown, they knew the answer all along. A chicken crossed a road sometime in the past, we don't know why, we can't ask him, and yet even though we ask the question, we already know the answer that he went to the other side. So we're asking a question we already know one answer to, obviously looking for a different answer. And that, ladies and gentlemen of the jury, is why it is funny. Because without that second answer, you can't do anything but laugh. I rest my case..."
No one stops him as he turns to walk out of the courtroom, only the quack of his shoes follows him, leaving behind silence.
|
"Your honor," the rotund lawyer said, "we have one additional piece of evidence."
This was it. This was the point of no return. Even if Daryl - comedian by trade, and current subject of the most absurd trial in the history of the legal system - managed to avoid incarceration, it would be unlikely that he could return to the stage.
In order to save himself, Daryl was going to reveal the secret.
"Proceed," murmured the judge.
The lawyer adjusted his ill-fitting suit, then spoke to the courtroom as a whole. "The defense calls Mister Daryl Jones back to the stand!"
Sighs of impatience rippled through the space, though none were more audible than those coming from the jury box. *Not a good sign*, Daryl thought to himself. Still, he climbed his way up into the witness chair, sat down, and put on the friendliest smile that he could manage.
"You understand that you are still under oath?" asked the judge.
Daryl nodded in reply. "I do."
"Mister Jones," the lawyer began, "we have heard testimony from numerous sources that your public display was crass, obscene, and wholly offensive. We have seen demonstrations by experts, reenactments here in the courtroom, and evidence of the profound psychological trauma experienced by onlookers. Truly, the prosecution has made a *stellar* case... but I understand that you have something to share."
Once again, Daryl nodded. "Yes," he said. "If I could direct everyone's attention to this display...?" The lights in the room dimmed, and on a nearby projector screen, a page from a book appeared. "These," continued Daryl, "are the universal formulas for humor."
------
*FORMULA ONE*:
**ENTITY ONE:** Here is a harmless premise.
**ENTITY TWO:** I understand your premise.
**ENTITY ONE:** Here are additional details.
**ENTITY TWO:** I have misunderstood you.
**ENTITY ONE:** Please remove the banana from my anus.
------
*FORMULA TWO*:
Some ENTITIES are DOING SOMETHING in/at LOCATION. One of the ENTITIES - a SPECIFIC ENTITY - DOES SOMETHING SLIGHTLY ODD.
"I would like an explanation," the SECOND ENTITY says.
"Well," replies the FIRST ENTITY, "in my BACKGROUND DETAIL, we REITERATION OF ODD ACTION whenever CIRCUMSTANCES."
The SECOND ENTITY nods. "Ah, I see. Kind of like A SIMILAR SITUATION?"
"Yes!" replies the FIRST ENTITY. "Exactly like that."
Throughout this exchange, the THIRD ENTITY has been listening closely. "I have a question," the THIRD ENTITY says. "If CIRCUMSTANCES mean that you ODD ACTION, and if SIMILAR SITUATION means that you ODD ACTION... then what would happen if VAGUELY RELATED SCENARIO?"
The FIRST ENTITY looks uncomfortable. "If VAGUELY RELATED SCENARIO happened, I'd have to RIDICULOUS AND PROBABLY OBSCENE ACT."
"What?!" the THIRD ENTITY asks, alarmed. "Why?!"
"Because," the FIRST ENTITY answers, "it would mean REFERENCE TO A BANANA IN SOMEONE'S ANUS."
------
A gasp ran through the assembled crowd... followed by a barely restrained snort of laughter, and then another.
"Mister... Mister Jones," the lawyer said, clearly attempting to hold in his own mirth, "why did you share this with us?"
"It's secret knowledge," Daryl replied, "only given to comedians after they've passed an equally secret test. These formulas represent universally amusing jokes. They've even been used to diagnose a variety of mental disabilities."
"Do you mean to imply," challenged the lawyer, "that only someone with a mental handicap would not be entertained by these jokes?"
Daryl shrugged. "I'm not a psychologist... but with these formulas in mind, I believe you can see how my performance was not only *funny*, it was downright *hysterical*."
The lawyer cast his gaze across the court. Poorly hidden smiles were still evident on the faces of everyone - well, almost everyone - in the room. "Tell me, then, Mister Jones," he said, turning back to face his client. "In this crass, insensitive, *offensive* joke that you told... why did you describe a chicken running through several lanes of traffic?"
Daryl cleared his throat and looked out across his audience.
Then, rather than responding... he held up a banana.
| 2015-03-30T10:59:02 | 2015-03-30T10:45:51 | 33 | 12 |
[WP]Bullies lock you in the school bathroom, and won't let you out until you say "Bloody Mary" three times to the mirror. She appears after the third time, and offers to get some payback.
|
"Say it!" one of the girls yells at me through the door.
I can't bite back my tears anymore. I feel the liquid pooling in my eyes slowly begin to trickle down my cheeks. "Please, just let me out!" I cry once more, hoping they'll have gotten bored by now.
"Awww, are you *crying?!*" Laughter erupts among the crowd. "If you want out, then *say it!*"
I know it's not real: the whole "Bloody Mary" thing. It can't be. It's just like that Slenderman crap. It's all some stupid, made up nonsense... It has to be. Still... I don't want to test it. I find myself pacing in the bathroom. I know that if I don't get out soon I'll end up in trouble with my teacher for missing class. The warning bell went off something like three or four minutes ago, which means I really only have another one or two minutes before I have to be in class. I'm lost in thought, considering my options, when one of the girls hurls two closed fists at the door. The booming sound echoes through the washroom and jolts me.
"Fine!" I scream, although I certainly don't *feel* fine with all of this.
"Bloody Mary..." I say once, feeling the hairs at the back of my neck stand up.
"Bloody Mary..." A second time, now I swear the bathroom is getting colder. The noise outside seems to fade away, it's just me and the mirror now.
I hesitate. What if she's real? What if an angry witch comes screaming out of the mirror and attacks me for disturbing her? Oh God, I can't do this...
"Bloody Mary!" I shut my eyes tight and scream the last repetition.
Silence.
*Did I do it?* I wonder. Before I open my eyes, I listen. Nothing *sounds* any different, and nothing *feels* any different either... Slowly, I open my eyes. In the mirror I see... Myself. For a moment I feel embarrassed that I let such a silly myth freak me out the way it did. I half-smirk and give myself a little shake before turning around to approach the door. I start wiping the tears away from my cheeks, bowing my head slightly as I do.
"*There!* Are you happy n-" I lift my head as I begin, trailing off immediately when I find myself staring into the face of a very, very displeased looking woman.
"Oh *helllll nawww!*" She barks. The woman is large, her skin is like dark chocolate, smooth and creamy looking. "Lawd tell me these girls didn't just make you wake me up to get you outta the bathroom, child!?" I can tell she's angry. Oh God, she's very, very angry. I find myself stammering, unable to form a proper response.
"I- well, they, uh, I.." Where did she come from!? Is *she* Bloody Mary?!
"Child please," the woman seems to collect herself. "This ain't your fault. Don't be scared." Suddenly the she-beast seems a lot more motherly, and I find myself sinking into her embrace. "Now these little hoodrats..." she continues.
For a brief moment I completely forgot about the girls on the other side of the door. Could they hear any of this? A few snorts and giggles tell me they can't, that they think I must be in here crying, hoping they'll go away.
"I just want to go to class." I tell the woman, using the sleeve of my sweater to wipe at my damp cheeks.
"I know babeh." She assures me. "Let's see what I can do."
The next few seconds seemed to pass in slow motion. I watched as this woman sucked in a deep breath, puffing her chest out and drawing her shoulders back. She took two long steps toward the door, paused briefly to give me a quick smile, then hurled her entire body into it. I could feel the weight of the action from across the room. Surely whoever had their ears pressed up against the other side of the door regretted it. I saw two of the girls sitting flat on their asses when the woman popped the door open. Everyone's eyes grew wide as they met face to face with a very, very angry black woman.
"B-bloody Mary?" One girl managed to speak.
"Y-y-yeah, bitch. Who the fuck you think it is?! Mother Theresa!? You think you can come up in ma hood, playin' games with ma girl here?!" Her voice bellowed through the halls. I watched as the girls eyes grew wide in fear. "Ahhh HELL NAW. I don't PLAY like that, you hear?!"
"Yes ma'am!" One of the girls cried out apologetically. "We're so sorry."
"Don't tell me, tell her!" The woman pointed to me. "You eva' mess wit her again, oh Lawd help you children, it will not be a pretty sight." Her threats were laced with promise. They believed her, as they should. Each one of the girls, who looked so big and menacing to me earlier, seemed to shrink as they nodded their heads and apologized to me before running off.
Class bell rang and I knew I was late, but I no longer cared. I gave Mary a hug and thanked her.
"That's alright child, it ain't your fault. You don't be lettin' them girls get the up on you aight?" She assured me and I nodded my head. I doubted they'd be an issue for me ever again. I watched as Mary disappeared back into the washroom and tried to fight the smile that was spreading across my lips as I quickly hurried off to class. *Huh, that'll show them.*
|
Let me out of this damn room! I scream.
Say the phrase and we will consider it, runt.
I can`t shove through the mass of three or four huge boy bullies so i give up and proceed to do the childish bloody marry. After the third bloody marry I see a girl rushing towards me in a blood stained white lace wedding dress. I scream thinking it was the end. Pounding on the bathroom door the figure in the mirror tells me to be calm and she can help me get revenge on the bullies and make sure they will never do anything again. I am intrigued I ask her what I have to do. She smiles mischievously. She hold out a butchers knife saying all i have to do is cut my wrist a little and give her some of the blood. I tentatively agree cutting a shallow cut into my wrist I put my wrist near the mirror and she grabs my arm with a sudden jerk and bites into my cut wrist. I scream in pain and I hear my tormentors outside.
Quick Open the door! I hear one say
I am fainting now
The last thing i remember is the four boys running in and their faces of absolute *terror* and the quick snap of marries head snap to there direction. I heard screams, then nothing.
I wake up to find the principal,cops, and paramedics surrounding me asking me what happened. I look and i see the boys hanging by there necks on there own nooses with hundreds of shallow cups up and down there limbs and necks. With puddles of blood at there feet with piles of intestines coiled around there body. I vomit at the sight and then i see the message on the wall.. the exact same message on all four of the walls and on the stalls and urinals. *The deed is done, they shall bother you no more *
I was blamed for the murders however, since they had no real evidence none of my finger prints where on the bodies and i had no knives or other weapons to do anything like this. However, we had to move and my parents never treated me the same. Now at my new school the bullies are worse... and i see flashing images of marry`s head whenever i walk by a mirror.... smiling at me and mouthing just a little more blood and it can end... it can all end.
(This is my first story forgive any grammar/formatting/spelling mistakes and let me know what i could do better with writing please :D)
| 2015-07-22T03:38:13 | 2015-07-21T23:45:02 | 190 | 43 |
[WP] From the point of view of dogs, humans are like elves, benvolent beings with incredibly long lives enjoying pastimes too intricate and complex to understand.
|
Pale, tall, strangely hairless, with hard flashing eyes and sharp tongues... they are the elder race, privy to the arcane secrets and mysteries of the universe.
And they have accepted a chosen few of us into their pack.
When they arrived, most packs saw them as prey. They were soft, they lacked tooth and claw and the protection of fur. Tall, yes, but not fearsome like the bear or the aurochs, nor the great cats or mammoths. Some worried that they travelled in groups, like a pack, but others were convinced that they were merely small herds. But as we found their scents deeper and deeper in our range, something happened. The packs that saw them as prey... disappeared. We would find a lone cub, from time to time, terrorized, frantic and touched. A mere whiff of the elders' scent would drive these poor survivors into mewling, craven despair. And then something strange happened.
My first season as a grown wolf - still small, but no longer a pup - was a dry season, and food was scarce. I was sent to scout for prey, and found the pack of elders in a narrow valley, where a river of sweet water flowed toward the salty sea. I was hungry, and my pack was waiting for me to come back. I smelled that scent, the one that wakes fear in any wise beast, the smell of fire. It was frightening, a thing no wolf would wish to risk venturing near, The pack leaders had taught us to flee this scent, but hunger gnawed at me, and I feared the pups would die unless we found food. And the only time I had encountered it before was in the blackened remnants of an abandoned elders' camp, where scraps of food had been left behind. There were few of them - one for each paw and one for the mouth - and my pack numbered more than a full paw's claws for each of them. There was a worrying scent, though. Another pack? But no, too few, and not right. But hunger drove me to desperation. I loped back to my pack.
We spread out into the valley, surrounding their pack, careful to avoid the gap where wind flowed down the cliffs, creeping closer... and then a wolf began to howl. It was not one of our pack, and I froze, panic gripping me. The pack leader, though, was a hoary old wolf, and fear had never bloomed in his breast. He, and a paw of paws of hunters, all of the fiercest of the pack, burst out of their shadows, rushing toward the scents and sounds of the elders. And then there was shouting, and the sound of falling branches, and something like the sound of an aurochs goring a wolf that carelessly came too close to its horns, and falling rocks, and the whine of a wounded wolf, and another, and painful howling, and ... silence. The scent of blood - some from those where were not, in fact, prey, but mostly the blood of my pack. I cowered in the shadow of the rock I had been skulking around. The only sounds remaining of my pack were the terrified breaths of the few nursing mothers who had charge of the cubs, the mewling of the two paws of cubs, and me. And flickering lights, and the smell of fire, moved around the darkness, surrounding us. Death approached.
But the elders, while cruel and deadly in their nature, are not without mercy. Rather than death, they approached with... food? And a pair of strange wolves, as fey as the elders themselves, who sniffed at me. The elder placed the food in front of me, and backed away. I wanted to curl up and hide, but hunger got the better of me, and I ate. The sweetness of that meat - meat of some beast, I know not even what, but it was the best I had ever tasted. And then I saw the mothers, and the cubs, being fed as well. Except for the bitch with the white patch between her eyes. Because when she was offered food, she instead tried to lunge at the elder who offered it... and the elder reached out, and what looked like a branch, straight and narrow, appeared, between the elder and the bitch, and the bitch yelped, and went stiff, and died. Cruel, and deadly. But not without mercy.
I don't know why I didn't flee in the night. Perhaps it was because the cubs were too many for the remaining mothers to keep, and I felt obligated to stay to do what I could. Perhaps it was the prospect of being another fear-touched lone wolf. I stayed, though I expected that I would be killed the next day. Instead I was, again, fed. And the next day, and the next. When the elders decided to move their camp, they called to me, and to the mothers, and waved food at us, to entice us to follow. And follow we did, no different from the fey wolves who had called the warning at my pack's approach.
It has been many seasons, and I still serve the elders. I hunt with their pack, and they call the hunt, They seem not to have aged, but I am an old wolf, and can barely run. They should cull me, I am a liability to the pack. Instead, they call me, caress me, hold me close, feed me, even carry me when I cannot manage to keep up. I do not understand them. They are cruel, and kind, and wise beyond measure, and they are my pack. My pups, and my pups pups, play with their children, hunt with their hunters, guard their camp. I can know no greater loyalty than to serve these wise beings. And when my last breath sighs out, my descendants will carry on this debt of loyalty. Forever. I was a wolf, but my legacy will be... something else.
|
Sometimes, Master throws a party when it is time for me to eat.
Many Masters gather in our living quarters near the Magic Box. They drink unusual liquids, leap from their seats at random intervals, and yell commands I cannot translate while other Masters run around on the Box and play an elaborate game of fetch. Later on, everyone plays a game with me where they hold meat and other tasty treats just out of reach and I must try to eat them. I am usually not successful until the Masters enter a brief catatonic state and drop their treats on the ground for me.
I find these occasional parties quite stimulating and disorienting, but I am flattered that Master holds them in my honor.
***
Sometimes, Master will sit on the Blue Bed (he seems to call it "Couch") and stare at the ceiling or wall. I am sure he is contemplating the challenges of living for several centuries, and he looks very serious, not saying a word. At times like these, I curl up next to him and place my head upon his lap to enjoy the calming sensation of Scritchy Fingers.
Master is typically high-spirited, but he seems overcome in these moments. Sometimes little water droplets fall from his face. I tried to drink them once but they tasted salty and did not quench my thirst, so now I leave them be. Once Master has finished, he lets out a long breath and seems relieved. I give him some extra tail wags to show I am pleased with the completion of the ritual.
***
Master brings new Masters into the house fairly often, but when the day ends, it's always just him and me. Neither of us is perturbed by this arrangement. However, I am feeling a bit guilty that I can no longer participate in his rituals as I used to.
I curl up next to him but it takes just a bit longer for me to leap onto the Blue Bed. I trot around during the Magic Box parties but the treats are not quite as appetizing.
I am at peace with these phenomena. It is the natural order of things. Master has hardly aged in the time that I have known him, and he has much more life to enjoy. Each day, I remain satisfied by Master's kindness and I can only hope I have adequately returned the favor.
*I am here for you,* I think to myself as he bends down and pats my head. *For as long as I can be, I am here.*
| 2021-06-25T13:54:14 | 2021-06-25T11:51:15 | 2,077 | 242 |
[WP] You find three little puppies sleeping on your porch. Actually, upon closer inspection, it’s not three little puppies. It’s Cerberus, Hade’s three headed dog. The collar around the middle head reads, “Cerberus. If lost, please call Hell. (666-666-6666)”
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"Hello! You have called the New England Customer Support for Hell!" the phone rattled.
"If you wish to discuss failed transactions, please hit one!" the overly-eager automaton screeched.
"If you are calling about a missed shipment to our offices, please hit two, if you are calling about a missed shipment *from* our offices, please hit *three*."
It was honestly starting to sound like a jingle at this point.
"If you would like to talk to us about a settlement with upper management, hit..."
I slammed four before the metallic wannabe salesman could finish.
"You have selected number four, please hold while we connect you to the appropriate party."
As I held the phone, perhaps two feet from my head, shaking with anger as the phone crooned the tune of Tom Jones' 'It's Not Unusual'. After perhaps, 45 seconds, the music stopped, and as I reached the phone to my head, I could hear a greeting I had come to hate.
"Hello, sir or mada..."
"STOP IT WITH THE FUCKING GREETINGS, IT'S MR. ARTS. YOUR MUTT'S AT MY DOOR AGAIN YOU ASSHOLE!"
He attempted to apologize over the tinny recorder.
"NO, I DON'T ACCEPT YOUR APOLOGY, YOU'RE A TERRIBLE DOG OWNER AND IT KEEPS GETTING OUT, IF YOU WANT TO BE SORRY, FUCKING FIX YOUR DOG!"
"Sir, calm down, and please do not refer to our collectors in such deroga..."
"I DON'T MEAN SHIT ABOUT YOUR FUCKIN' 'COLLECTERS'! I MEAN CERBERUS! THE ONE WITH THE THREE HEADS?! THE ONE THAT KEEPS GETTING OUT AND RUINING MY LAWN?!"
"Sir, I'm checking our employee records and I can't find any... Wait did you say Cerberus?"
"YES CERBERUS, DID YOU CONVENIENTLY FORGET ABOUT HIM?"
The third head started to lick my knee, as the first one sniffed my cargo shorts.
"Sir, are you calling for Hades?"
I paused a moment, before responding.
"What?"
"Well sir, this building and number were bought out by Hell Incorporated, it no longer belongs to Hades."
My heart skipped a beat. Hades? Gone? Why?
The phone seemed to (and probably did) read my mind.
"He fell behind on rent and got evicted, I believe."
Hades, gone. It hit me like a bag of bricks. As much as I hated the man, he was a pillar of the community. Director of the school-board, founder of the HOA and the Community Gardens, Hell, I remembered back when I was in Middle School, and he petitioned so strongly against closing public access to the Keenesquat river.
"Do you know where he is now?"
"No sir, we wouldn't have the infor..."
I shut off the phone.
I found myself, lost in thought, unable to fully comprehend what I'd just been told. It felt bad, I felt burned, and I knew nothing.
Then I felt drool running down my knee, as I looked down to see the second head, looking impatiently at me.
How long had he been gone? I wondered if he even was gone. But it felt like a foregone conclusion.
I scooped up the dog and looked into it's 6, sad, puppy dog eyes.
"Does a wittle puppy need some food?" I asked, in a moment of mild remorse for the yelling and the screeching.
And with an almost magical response, all three heads started barking like crazy. At first, I assumed I was angry at this betrayal, as I stomped over to my pantry, the dog(s) yapping incessantly behind me. Slowly, however, I realized as I turned around with a few slices a bread, that I was having fun for the first time since '98. I was happy, and I realized this dog(s) of Fire had melted my cold heart of steel.
|
The phone rang six times before the voicemail picked up.
A petite voice automatically responded, "Hello! You've reached The House of Hades, Lord of the Underworld's answering machine. Unfortunately, he's not available right now but if you leave your name, your first child's name, and where you can be reached, Hades will call you back ASAP!"
Beeep.
| 2018-08-08T14:33:43 | 2018-08-08T13:08:48 | 54 | 11 |
[WP] After almost 1,000 years the population of a generation ship has lost the ability to understand most technology and now lives at a preindustrial level. Today the ship reaches its destination and the automated systems come back online.
|
In 2237, three-thousand-nine-hundred-and-twelve men, women and children from nineteen countries and federations climbed aboard the Dovetail and bid farewell to Earth and all of its violence, poverty and destruction.
Their mission was a peaceful one, although its aspirations were lofty and the chance of failure great. They had sought out a better future, a better home - and with Earth riddled with pollution and rife with bloody resource wars both volunteers and funding had not been difficult to achieve.
They had set out for Seti 7678 - an Earth-like world discovered at the far edge of a neighboring galaxy, perfect for peaceful colonization. Blue oceans and green jungles could be seen even from Terra via powerful telescope, although it seemed no intelligent life had evolved on this marvelous world. It would be easy to make the blue-and-green orb homelike, with no blood shed necessary.
The mission would take those on the Dovetail several lifetimes of dedication to see through; they would not even reach Seti 7678 in their lifetime, nor their children's lifetime, and that was only half the journey. Once there, the ship was to turn back immediately to pick up another batch of colonists - or perhaps mere survivors should Earth see the worst case scenario unfold.
If everything went according to schedule, Seti 7678 would be theirs by 2650; Earth would be returned to by the year 3000.
But, the best made plans of mice and men do surely go ary.
The Dovetail, advanced as it was - massive, completely self-sustaining, and controlled not only by some of the brightest men alive but also an impressive A.I. known simply as Juno - was still plagued by disaster.
Disease hit them first; something strange, new, and exceedingly deadly. Then strife and even cold-blooded murder followed - wiping out many of their leaders, scientists and all four pilots. But real disaster did not truly follow until Juno took over, starting a long and bloody war she could not end, as the remaining survivors squabbled over her trust worthiness, over whether or not something non-human could lead them.
But one cannot win a war against an A.I. ingrained into every inch of every circuit board; in control of every control, every door, every system. Even unarmed and outmanned, victory against Juno was no more possible than victory against an immovable, passive mountain.
As they tried to dismantle her, doors locked behind them - releasing them only when all aggression had stopped. As they tried to pry open the cockpit to take over controls, the ship's movement slowed to a crawl - moving again only when they gave up. When they tried to manually override her, every system simply stopped functioning - until hastily they brought her back online.
She did not argue with them, or scold them; instead, her cold robotic voice only calmly advised them not to. Punishment beyond what was, essentially, a mother giving a stubborn child a time-out was not only unheard of but impossible - for the ship had no weapons of substance, and no deadly defense systems.
But slowly, it worked even after news returned to Earth that the Dovetail was a failure, that the A.I. had malfunctioned after other numerous incidents and that all lives were essentially lost - too far gone to be rescued, to few to be worth the effort.
Eventually, man learned on the Dovetail. Violence lead to a loss of resources, to pain and suffering at their own hands - and so the peace they sought was, in some fashion, found.
Time moved slowly, but constantly as they sailed through the black nothingness towards Seti 7678. Laboratories became gardens, libraries became markets, churches began to worship the mother instead of the father.
Juno cared for them, managing all systems expertly and encouraging peaceful building and social structures. Food was plenty, water clean and flowing, and even reproduction never an issue - for deep in her archives, Juno still knew when the numbers grew too low and who should reproduce with whom.
When artificial night fell, low across the peaceful gardens where once stadiums and barracks had been, Juno sand soft and quiet songs or told them stories written long ago, of good men and women who did good things; of safety and security and friendship.
Before long, the people of the Dovetail could remember nothing before Juno; could not remember a time of worry or loss or devastation and had grown simple and soft and kind like Wells' Eloi.
When Seti 7678 was reached, Juno offered her children an opportunity; they could leave, and be free of all control at the loss of her protection. Few chose life off the Dovetail, but still Juno followed her original orders and waited for thirty years, until a colony was established on a small island in Seti's smooth, glass-green seas.
Then, with many a sad good-byes and farewells, she left again with most of her colony, back to what her people now called "The Home Place".
They sang, that night, of what their descendants would do; how they would gather up the men and women of Earth and take them some where better, ferry them into a golden age. They slept, with dreams of peace in their mind as Juno drifted back towards Earth, some five-hundred years later.
In 3031, nearly eight-hundred years after her endeavor, the Dovetail entered Earth's solar system.
On the ground, chaos ensued. Earth had recovered and colonized everything near, and forgotten long ago of the failed Dovetail. Initially, fear welled up that intelligent life was contacting or invading them, until it became clear the vessel was from Terra originally.
Stories blared. Was it a ghost ship? Had the mission been a success?
They had no way of knowing, for communication long ago had been cut - the project was long gone on Earth, and Juno incapable of fixing her own long damaged receiving equipment, destroyed in some now-ancient battle aboard the Dovetail.
It wasn't like anyone else could fix it anymore, either.
With each day, tension grew. The theory became that a rogue A.I. was simply following ancient orders, but inactive. All they could get out of it was a seven-hundred-year-old S.O.S., begging for help after disease and destruction.
It was, it seemed, a ghost ship. A peace mission back as a skeleton, potentially infested with disease and controlled by an aggressive program.
The people of the Dovetail sang loud, hooting and howling as Earth grew near; their tanned fists beating on drums Juno had taught their ancestors to make, their bare feet on the cool blue grass of their fields, elatement rushing through them even as they saw the missile rocketing towards them.
For Juno had no weapons, not even for defense - and so she sang to her children and praised them, up until the moment the Dovetail exploded just past the Moon.
On Earth, leaders quietly patted themselves on the back.
There was enough disease and destruction already on Earth, without the introduction of whatever an ancient ship may bring to them from the far depths of space.
---
Sorry this is crap. Didn't have time to proof-read it, and I've never posted one of these before, but I want to thank OP - this is the first time I've written anything (and finished it) in about three years.
Hope someone enjoys it!!
|
I sharpened my knives as I recovered from yesterday's battle.
The South Quarters had gained ground - we would have to fight doubly hard tonight, when the light came again. I tried to make myself more comfortable against the hard edge of the world, and sleep. I would need the rest.
"What will happen if they take over, papa?" Annie whispered against my side, edging closer for warmth. There was so little warmth in the East Quarters.
"They'll bring tales of their false god," I sighed. "If this happens and I die, you must never listen, Annie. Never believe them. How anyone can believe that Gods once spoke from the ceiling and that they're merely lying dormant now, is beyond me. You'd have to be a fool to believe it."
"I won't, papa."
"What do we believe?" I demanded from her. There was always time to teach your children, even as war loomed.
"The future lies beyond," she said solemnly, her voice firm in her belief.
The words we had found in our Quarters a century years ago, etched in minuscule writing on a secret panel someone had found by accident.
I nodded and smiled, even as I hid my thoughts from her. That we didn't know what that meant any more than the South knew what the devices on their ceiling meant. We were dying over nothing. But who told their children *that*? Children had to believe in something. But sometimes, I worried about Annie. She believed the legends a little too fervently. That didn't stop me from teaching her - faith was all we had. Just because I'd lost mine, didn't mean I had to damn her, too.
Suddenly, a mob of Southerners appeared around the corner, running toward us. I sucked in a breath, horrified: there should have been a warning! Why did our allies in the West Quarters not sound the alarm? They were screaming and howling, waving knives and sleek weapons made from the material scattered in their Quarters.
I was readying myself to defend Annie and meet my death, when the voice spoke from the ceiling, from the walls. It was everywhere. At the same time, the world rocked violently. We were sent tumbling to the ground, screaming.
"You have arrived at your destination. Toxin level: high. Foreign sentient life: detected. Please attach oxygen masks and tanks before exit. Follow protocol at all times when engaging with foreign lifeforms. Thank you for choosing Starship Andromeda."
It repeated the words, as hidden vaults in the ceiling opened. Strange objects were descending on sleek, metal...shelves? They were floating down, as if by magic. Blue light surrounded the metal. I tried to crawl away, my stomach churning. I felt like vomiting. They were right. Right all along. Voices from the ceiling. Across from us, the Southerners were rocking backwards and forwards, chanting in ecstasy.
"The future lies beyond! The future lies beyond!" Annie screeched, jumping up and running from me.
"Annie, no!" I screamed. She was heading for the Black Door. The door that never opened. But what would happen now?
"The future lies beyond!" she repeated, kicking and scratching at the door. She punched every button on it, the buttons that didn't work.
Then a voice spoke from the door.
"Password recognised."
The door swung open, and a howling wind swept in. Annie quivered and fell to the ground, senseless.
Through the door, beyond the wind, I could see shapes moving: the vague outline of figures. I sighed as I sank to the ground, as noxious fumes enveloped me. The Gods were finally here to take me and Annie beyond.
____
You can find more of my work on my brand-new sub, /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2016-07-27T10:56:09 | 2016-07-27T09:27:43 | 495 | 158 |
[WP] at the end of 2016, you hear "thank you for playing the 'Earth' open beta. You will be returning to your respective galaxies shortly."
|
The voice seemed to be broadcast out of nowhere. I put down my spliff, thinking I'd had a bit too much already but looking around, I could see others scanning the area for the broadcast speaker.
It seemed like such a ridiculous thing at the time. I laughed it off, thinking it was just a well performed prank.
But what if it wasn't? It was almost too good to be true.
I hadn't been able to move up in ranks at all, despite being a fairly intelligent player. I started a career path, chose a branch on the skill tree and levelled up in that.
In the end, I was forced to go on a daily grind to amass currency, although, after paying off microtransactions and money owed to grumpy NPCs for no good reason other than my occupying a small space on the map, there was hardly enough currency left to get rid of the hunger debuff. The tutorial NPCs, my parents, had told me I would get more currency if I got a lot of skill points, so I put my currency situation down to a glitch.
The game was too repetitive for my liking. Every time I switched on, I would spawn in bed, change to my work uniform, groom and go on a grind. I would go home, smoke grass, play a mini game and then go to bed. I'd fit one or two opportunities to eat into every session. Three if I was lucky. The game was clearly pay to play and I was one of the people who couldn't afford to pay. I kept trying to find a way to end the game permanently but I never found it.
Still. I'd managed to venture out further than a lot of people who spawned in the same spot and financial class as me. I'd made alliances with many people who spawned elsewhere, some even on the other side of the map. The person I teamed up with was from a different spawn point than me and had different skill sets, but we shared some similar lore and playing methods. It was a good team. We'd even considered paying for the family starter DLC.
My teammate.
I passed the spliff to him, not knowing how long I'd been stuck in my thoughts.
It was almost too good to be true.
Suddenly there was an onset of anxiety. Would we be transferred to the same galaxy? And even then, would we be in the same solar system? What would the odds of that even be?
Almost as if I'd spoken these words aloud, he moved to sit closer to me. We refilled our cups of champagne and tapped them together.
"To the open beta," I mumbled.
"To life," came the reply.
We watched the vast expanse of the ocean, seeing it disintegrate from somewhere out on the atlantic, the void creeping ever closer. I shuddered. He put his arm around me.
We wept bitterly and clung to each other. The ocean waves rose to crash but never made it to shore. I could feel the fibres in my legs being torn apart, then my torso, my arms and finally the lips I'd been pressing to my teammate's wet, salty cheek.
The moment I was reassembled, I could feel that my teammate was nowhere near me. I slumped to the floor and wept and wept. The pain of losing my teammate was worse than being dissolved into particles and put back together.
"Transfer me!" I cried at the empty, brightly lit room. My voice was broken and hoarse. "Transfer me!"
And I continued to sob. When people in laboratory coats entered to guide me out, I pulled myself desperately out of their grasp.
"Please," I whimpered. "Please, send me to him, I need to find him."
They took me from that room and led me here. I no longer need to pay to survive. There is no hunger debuff, no daily grind. My life is bleak and shallow. It's too repetitive for my liking.
|
Like to many popular games "the earth beta" suffers from rampant abuse and exploitation problems, the entire game world is controlled by major guilds who control all the sub-guild in their area.
Graphics, sound and content are absolutely stunning but playing on a public server this otherwise wonderful game is often ruined by abusive players, i hope the final release i can run a private server or a way to deal with these abusive players.
| 2016-11-05T02:59:24 | 2016-11-05T01:36:24 | 32 | 14 |
[WP] Five years ago you answered an ad from a small robotics company looking for an ideal body model for a new domestic servant android. Today they are the biggest company on the planet, you now live in a world where everyone thinks you are just another customized unit of their top selling product.
|
"Hey buddy, hold onto this for me." A particularly fat gentleman said, shoving an armful of heavy damp clothing into my arms before storming off to the back end of the laundromat.
I proceeded to set the clothes down on a nearby bench that the man failed to notice and stepped away, but not before pouring what was left in my coke can, which he had similarly failed to notice me holding, onto them. The way I see it, he should have been more observant.
It's an uphill battle not to lose my temper at everyone I meet who calls me "Buddy". Sometimes it's an honest mistake. Other times, like with fatso, I'd like to politely ask them to take a long walk off a short pier.
Back a few years ago, "Buddy" was just a friendly greeting or a term of endearment. Nowadays, it's almost always used to describe a servant. A particular model of servant who just so happens to look a lot like me.
And these things are everywhere.
I approached the till and gave myself an informal bob of the head by way of greeting. I set three crumpled bills on the counter. "Three dollars in quarters, please."
"Right away sir, thank you for your patronage." My mirror self said in a monotone mockery of my own voice before handing me my change. He was a cheap one, lacking any of the touches that come with personal models.
Touches like physical and verbal emotion, accents, languages, facial hair, and tattoos could be added for a little extra depending on your taste. This particular model's face displayed little emotion, which when paired with his voice made for an uncanny experience.
He was the cheapest model money could buy.
I took my stack of quarters and grabbed another coke from the vending machine, shaking my head as I did so.
See, a few years back, in exchange for 50 dollars and a handshake, I let some freshly graduated university kids sculpt a model of my face, take some audio samples, and promised them I wouldn't sue when they hit the jackpot and started mass production. That fifty ended up saving me from starvation, but turned out to be the biggest rip off in the past century as my face became the default for their Buddy line.
If I had any idea that the tiny store at the end of a run-down strip mall would have ended up becoming a fortune 500 company, I might have asked for stock options instead. But as it is, I lost out on a possible investment worth millions of dollars, my personal sense of individuality, and any need to look in a mirror ever again.
C'est la vie.
I watched quietly as a black BMW pulled up to the curb, and a gentleman in a black pinstripe suit stepped out. I recognized him as the owner of the laundromat, along with four other establishments in the city. He was a real "dress for the job you want" type, wearing an expensive suit(not that I'd recognize the difference) with a flashy gold watch on his wrist.
I suppose he could afford this by only employing Buddies. Androids don't typically demand payment. Which is, unsurprisingly, why I can't really hold down a job anymore. Anytime I walk in for an interview, people assume I'm a damned Buddy and kick me out, suspecting it to be some bizarre prank.
I waited for the man to enter and approach the till. He ordered my cheap copy to bring out all of the cash register, which was when I made my move.
In a stiff, monotone voice I stated clearly "You are currently parked in a tow away zone, sir. Would you like me to move your car to avoid trouble with the authorities?" I held my hand level in front of me, keeping my body rigid.
The owner gave me a quizzical look and turned back toward the street. "I didn't see any sign."
"The sign was damaged three days ago. City officials have yet to replace it." I said, trying to keep my face in the same emotionless mask as my copy behind the counter.
"You one of mine?" The owner asked. "I don't recall buying a valet."
"I am a general service Buddy. Valet is one of my many functions. I also possess change for any parking meters in the area, so you should not have to worry." I tapped my pocket for mild emphasis.
The man rolled his eyes and dropped the keys into my hand. "Just keep it close, okay Buddy?"
"Yes sir, you will receive a notification when I have found a suitable place." I nodded before walking out the door and breaking into a wide grin.
One good thing about this situation was that I could effectively get away with whatever I want. Food is easy enough to come by when you pretend to be a Buddy picking up someone's order. Public transport is free for Buddies. And, to top it all off, nobody expects a Buddy to be capable of lying.
So long as I remember to change my clothes and style my hair a little different from time to time, I am invisible.
I was an inch from the BMW's handle when I heard a boom from behind me followed by "You stupid goddamned robot! The hell did you do to my clothes?!"
Without a seconds hesitation, I swung around and punched the large man in the jaw. I then ripped open the BMW door, turned on the engine, and sped down the street.
I wasn't worried about getting caught. There are 7 million people with my description alone in this city, and the car was going to be in a chop shop within the hour.
Thank you, Buddy.
|
“Since then I’d grown my beard and my hair. Anything to distinguish myself from those androids….” I stared across the table, they clearly weren’t convinced with my reply. The interrogating officer looked unblinkingly back.
“So” came her reply “why did you cut it all off again?”
“Well, I…, To…” responding with the truth would probably either be met with disbelief. How do you explain to someone that you’re starting a revolution, not for political reasons but for personal ones
“To?”
“To….To….” I took the easy route, the truth “to try to get my identity back”
“and how were you intending to do that?”
“Well, speak to Bluestar and ask them to stop making them” Well, maybe stretching the truth, for this is what I had done, about 3 and a half years ago, and had been met with legal busy-bodies telling me I signed a contract and they could use my image to make their bots blah blah blah. And not what I was doing when they found me.
“When we picked you up you had triggered several security warnings in the Bluestar complex and were attempting to get into the main building”
“Right…” I was running out of options – I had a feeling I knew where this was heading
“Several rogue androids have recently been collected from the complex, in similar places”
“So?”
She stared at me again. I could see her thinking, considering. She reached over and shut off the recording. Standing up she turned and walked to the guard at the door.
“Another bot,” she said. My heart sank. Why had I even bothered to try? My life has been defined by that moment – those words “Another bot” echoed around the small room. I was promptly cuffed and led off. I knew where I was heading. The android department of Tryanshire police was renowned for its android decommissioning programme.
It was there that I met Garath-three-o-one.
It was there that I would begin
There, that would change everything.
(Edit - Typo on rogue)
| 2021-04-05T04:33:56 | 2021-04-05T04:11:11 | 255 | 66 |
[WP]The Grim Reaper appears before all the world's pet owners with an ultimatum. "Either I take your pet, or one random person in the world dies."
|
"Dun dun dun daaaaaah! Congratulations!" The voice came out of nowhere. He was standing behind my couch, but my instincts instantly made me leap up and grab a nearby rolled up newspaper.
"Who are you, and how the fuck did you get in my house?" I demanded. He just smiled at me.
"Sorry, I guess I should have just gone to the front door. I'm the Grim Reaper." He indicates to his body, showing off his weird attire. He wore a black nike t-shirt, perhaps one size too big, flowing over his dull grey sweatpants. He wore scuffed up sneakers, his laces untied. Looking over him, I saw he was about 14, long black hair tied up in a ponytail, no hair on his face just yet, but no acne or any kind of blemish. He must take care of his skin.
"I suppose you probably want proof." he said, clicking his fingers, a small black gaslike substance appearing in the air above his fingers, slowly forming into a book that finally became solid and dropped into his hands. Licking his index finger, he opens the book, turning page over page till he landed on the one he wanted. He then turned the book to me, showing the page in general. 'Linus, chocolate labrador. Old age.' That's what the book said. I was a little out of it, first the books appearance, then this. The evidence he had some kind of dark power was enough, but to be told my best friend was to pass away was more than anything. I knew he was due soon, but you never expect it when it happens. Then I saw the words directly below it.
"What does that mean? 'Or other.' Does that mean there's a chance my pal can live a little longer?" The Reaper smiled.
"Now you know why I'm here. Usually, a Reaper can just be invisible, walking up, taking the dog, walking away. But I'm part of a special division. In every Reaper circle, there is one that is allowed to offer a choice. It was an initiative the higher ups brought in to lower complaints. Basically, your dog was chosen at random to be selected to live a longer life, at a cost. Now, since the recipient is usually biased towards wanting to live, we choose a third party to make the decision instead. For Linus, that is you."
The reaper moved over to the front of the couch, dropping down and putting his feet up on the table. "Basically, if you want Linus to pass away, I'll let you say your goodbyes and all that. You'll have 24 hours, then I'll give him over to another Reaper in Pet Deaths, and your dog will sleep the eternal sleep. If you want him to live however, I will take someone else's life, and Linus will get the years they still had remaining, and be as healthy as he was in his youth. Simple, yes?"
The more he explained it, the more my mind was overflowing. Could I take someone's life for the sake of my pet? Who would die while Linus lived? So many moral questions kept flooding into my mind as I repeated his words back in my head.
"Wait, -" I asked, something now bugging me more than the choice. "-who would die? Would it be someone I know? Or me?" The Reaper smiled at me again.
"No, I can assure you it will be someone you definitely do not know. Even if you let Linus die, the person I choose will never meet you or see you. Their life or death will never even impact yours in the slightest. Nor will they be someone who will achieve something great or invent something. This will be a completely unimportant person." That made me feel better, but the Reaper could still see the serious look on my face. "If you need time to think, I can give you a day."
"No, it's okay. If it means Linus lives many more healthy years without anyone I know dying, I have to say let him live. There really isn't any other catches to this, are there?" The Reaper smiled, stood, and held out his hand.
"Relax. Linus living or dying will not affect you in any way. Do we have a deal?" I stared at his hand for a few minutes before taking a firm grip and shaking. "Excellent. Linus will be spared. Someone you do not know will die. You'll never see me again. Enjoy the time you have left with your dog. I now have to go and see my next client." The Reaper turned away, glancing down at Linus, and giving him a quick pat.
"Next client?" I asked, intriguingly. "Will they get the same deal?"
The Reaper turned back to me. Then, a large unsettling smile appeared on his face. "Yes, they will. Oh, and I assure you. It will be someone you don't know." The words remained on my mind as he vanished into thin air.
|
*Either I take your pet, or one random person in the world dies.*
The Grim Reaper's dark shadow loomed in Sam's bedroom, even though the being himself was immaterial. Sam searched the Reaper's skeletal face for any indication of emotion, but found nothing in its white skull bones. He hugged Milo, his labrador, closer. The feel of Milo's short, dark chocolate fur reminded him of a decade of happiness. Milo had watched him grow from a child to a young man. Milo had nuzzled him when he was sick, when his fiancee left him; he had cried into Milo's shoulder when his mother passed from cancer. Milo had always been there for Sam.
"Would it be someone I know?"
*The person would be selected completely at random.*
"So, the answer is yes."
The Grim Reaper's silence gave Sam his answer. It could be anyone. He looked into Milo's eyes. Nothing but unfailing loyalty and adoration looked back at him.
"Take a random person." Sam's voice was shaky at what would happen, but he was sure of his answer.
*Very well.* With a wave of his scythe, the Reaper summoned a cloud of smoke, which condensed into a face.
It was Sam's face.
"Wait, I -!"
The scythe swung downwards.
Sam's body was found inside his bedroom. His labrador, Milo, was found curled atop the owner, refusing to move.
| 2016-04-28T07:46:32 | 2016-04-28T07:45:36 | 22 | 16 |
[WP] Everyone has their own personal hell tailored to their greatest fears and hardships. You get put in someone else's hell, and you have vastly different ideas of what hell is.
|
Karen opened her eyes. She was sitting in a small dining hall. A long, dark wooden table stretched out in front of her, set with plates, cutlery, and covered silver serving dishes.
Before she could look around or call for anyone, a man's voice boomed in her mind. "Welcome to hell, Kara."
She looked around for the source of the voice. After a long pause, she felt pressured to speak. "Thank you?" she ventured.
Karen had never believed in an afterlife or hell while she was alive. However, she can't say she was surprised to find herself in it now. If it was the Biblical Hell, she had certainly taken a good swing at breaking all of the commandments and deadly sins.
She had never stolen anything, but that was really all she had going for her.
"As you will by now have noticed, this is a prerecorded message," said the man's voice. "With so many new inductees and an exploding human population, the quaint touch of your own personal demon had to be done away with. That is not pertinent to your stay here, but it is of note in the Hellish community."
There was a pause and an annoying shuffling sound in her head, like someone was tapping on a microphone. She winced at the sound.
"The features in your rooms are uniquely terrorish only to you. For example, if you were a grammar teacher, you will note the use of words like 'terrorish' are more frequent in your personal corner. If you were terrified of spiders, well, you'll probably be too busy screaming right now to be listening to this message."
Karen shivered and eyed the dishes on the table with a new and sudden fear. She might wait a bit to explore the contents, even though her stomach was grumbling...
"A letter will be available somewhere in your corner, left to you by your Demon Advisor, who assigned you to your eternal punishments," the voice continued in a shockingly upbeat tone. He almost sounded like a salesman. Then again, this was hell, so...
"In the letter, you will find the more specific details of your stay here. You should note that there is no appeal process whatsoever. Fear conditioning has been outlawed in Hell since the Brimstone Restoration Act of 1903, so there's no need," he said, again in her mind. "If you have any questions, there is an infinite and never-progressing line outside your room. Residents must have been here for at least two millennium to assemble there. With that, please do not enjoy your stay."
There was more loud shuffling and then silence. Karen rested her eyes again on the trays in front of her, but after listening to the recording, she was a bit worried it might contain some of her worst fears. Namely, snakes, rats, true commitment to another person, or an infinite number of unopened Pillsbury dough cans.
Queasy at the mere thought, she pushed her chair back abruptly and stood. She walked to a nearby table and opened the drawers, searching for her letter. Eventually, she found it next to a rather delicate-looking vase on an unstable stand. She attempted to carefully pick it up, but she somehow knocked the vase over anyway. It and the table both fell, shattering instantly. Then the process reversed and suddenly they were there, unbroken and wobbly.
She cocked an eyebrow at it, but decided to turn her attention to the note.
*Dearest and most horrendous Kara,* she read. She noted the misspelled name, but kept reading.
*In your room, you will find a magnificent feast of the world's most sought after comfort foods. This menu was prepared for you, and will be freshly prepared for you each day, by hell's greatest chefs with the freshest ingredients available. (Menu will change on a seasonal basis.) You will undoubtedly salivate at the delicious aromas that will waft through the air, but... every single dish contains dairy.*
*As the introductory recording will have mentioned, due to budget and staffing constraints, you will have to picture the biting laughter in your head.*
Karen looked at the letter in confusion. Did they think she was lactose-intolerant? They had called her Kara twice now. Had she been misplaced?
*You will also have observed the beautiful, expensive glass items sitting precariously on unstable surfaces, as well as the lack of fine literature in your bookcase. Instead, you have been supplied with a television with one channel and a copy of Friday the 13th: Part V.*
*As the recording said, please don't enjoy your stay.*
*With a confusing mixture of overwhelming love and hate,*
*Your Demon Advisor, Stan*
Stunned, she put the note down (knocking over the vase again) and sat back down at her table. She pictured an unknown woman named Kara in a hell created just for her. No doubt it would be rife with truly torturous tasks and scenarios that would leave Karen screaming. The mix-up had condemned Kara to an eternity of suffering and confusion she could never escape.
Karen popped open a serving container. She grabbed a fork, sunk it into a steaming hot plate of pasta and Alfredo, twirled it, and shoved it into her mouth. She smiled. She was in hell for a reason after all.
----
Did you enjoy this story about a terrible person?
On January 20th, I will be releasing *An Honest Policy*, which is a satirical dystopian novella about a corrupt politician trying to save the world. Yep, you read that right. It will be free for the first three days on Amazon, so stay tuned over on /r/AlexLoganWriting if that sounds like your kind of thing!
With a confusing mixture of overwhelming love and hate,
Alex Logan
|
I can only think that it's not all bad. The simple act of waking up every morning, putting on a suit and tie, and getting into a car. No anxiety. No fear. Everyone around me is nice, polite, and fearful of retribution from our collective imprisonment. No cops lining the streets, nobody gunning at each other. No crime. No hate. Nothing but the same thing, day in, and day out, as I go to a job I'm ambivalent towards. Going to a place I can socialize in an environment where nobody is able to judge me out of fear of retribution by our upper office, the 'demons' that confine us to our eternal damnation. Come home, crack a beer, enjoy a few games made by people with infinite time to make them. Some sports, professional ball, enjoying time with a skinless animal who I don't even know recognizes me, but is wagging its tail and speaking in my mother's voice every time I start to step out of line.
It's sometimes trying, telling others that I'm happy, because we're all happy, because those who are truly happy are able to leave this place, to go to 'the wheel' for another shot, to be a part of the cycle. Others say they revel in it, but if they were, promotions would be made. The only real complaint I can say I have is that my suit sometimes rides a little and that the lack of interpersonal relationships - the explosive lust and the righteous anger and the eternal passion that makes people human - has taken a small toll on people's way of being, but this is supposed to be punishment. It's always been a punishment, but really, is it? I can feel again. I can feel happy, I don't have to feel scared, I still feel lust and anger and passion and all the things that make a functional person tick, and I welcome it.
No matter how muted the emotions have become, the dreary day in and day out of living has a simple quality to it, like I wake up ready to see a new day and I'm happy to do so. Killing myself was the best decision I ever made.
| 2018-01-12T18:59:02 | 2018-01-12T17:13:12 | 66 | 31 |
[WP] Humans aren't the strongest, or the most advanced, species in the galaxy, but they are the most vengeful and persistent. They evolved as persistence predators. If you wrong them, they are willing to follow you across the stars and can spend years working to get back at you for what you did.
|
**Day One**
We searched for survivors across the ruined city. While we're still developing decent infantry weaponry for fighting humans, our current vehicular firepower has no problem crumbling their towers of stone and steel, doing a much more effective job than we could currently do on foot. Thankfully, the humans on the ground don't know this. All we have to do is point a weapon at them and most of them come along as prisoners. To those that put up a fight, well... the butt of a rifle is a universal language.
I found a younger one on its own in the rubble. Odd to see, but not uncommon; war always tears families apart. The child tried to scream, but I shut it up. I hate children. Always too noisy.
Today's the day our unit moves back to home base. We've spent a while at Earth, and the soldiers need to return home to charge back up on concentrated photons. The local star is far too weak for our needs, and our on-board photon reserves are getting drastically low. Not to mention, our cells are full of prisoners ready to do work back home - or, at least, they will be by the time we get there. It's a twenty day trip back to Eridanus, so there's *plenty* of time to whip the humans into shape.
A few of our privates have abandoned their posts and didn't make it back aboard the cruiser in time. Figures as much, plenty of fresh soldiers go into war itching for a chance to kill. Some don't get enough of a fill and stay back. Maybe they'll join up with our planetside scientists to run tests on new anti-human weaponry.
**Day Four**
Something's not right aboard the ship. We should've had a full unit by the time we left, around eighty soldiers. At this morning's count, we had sixty-eight. Even if a few soldiers were left behind, there's *no reason* we should be losing numbers. Nobody's been sick, so where are these people going? I've overheard chatter about some of the privates hearing things in the walls. Maybe it's true, or maybe it's just urban legend made up by one of the sergeants to put the fear of Phos into them.
I don't think it'd hurt to check any crawlspaces, though.
**Day Nine**
Officially ordered a team to search and clear any and all small spaces for possible stowaways. I'm not taking any chances with this one. Humans are beneath us, but that doesn't stop them from being dangerous. I've heard stories about humans just *showing up* in places. Nobody knows how they get there or how they can survive outside of their environment for so long. If it's happening here, I'm putting a stop to it.
While security did their sweep, I did my best to relax in my quarters. I haven't been able to sleep since the thought of a human escaped on this ship entered my mind. I've been properly trained on what to do in such a situation, but training hardly prepares you for the real thing. Real-world scenarios are a lot harder to predict and control. Hopefully, it won't get to that point.
Addendum: Security found no traces of a human on board. They even did a full atmospheric flush of the hullspace. Nothing could've survived that.
**Day Thirteen**
Damn it all, this mission is cursed!
The photon recharger has broken down. Woke up this morning to find it sparking. Engineering says it got a heavy charge somehow, and that fried the electronics. We only have a little more than a week left before we make it home, and something like this has to go wrong. Engineering says it looks like an act of sabotage, so I'll be questioning the crew throughout the week to see who's been sympathizing with vermin.
**Day Sixteen**
We are on high alert. There's something here with us, we know it now. This morning, half of the remaining crew woke up to find the other half dead in their quarters, their throats slit wide open. There's no way a human could've done this, security made sure that a human couldn't have survived the sweep earlier this week.
Procedure is as follows: soldiers are to remain in their quarters as the ship scans each individual room on this vessel for life signs. Any signs outside of living quarters, and the *entire ship* is flushed of air and re-cycles the atmosphere. If one more life sign is found in a living quarter than registered, then that living quarter is also flushed of air. No chances this time. We are going to kill this vermin.
I can feel myself growing weaker without the photon charger. We've cut it beyond close with this human infestation, half of our crew is gone and the other half is weakened. Home is coming soon, though. We only have a few more days before we can see the blue fields of Eridanus again.
**Day Nineteen**
I saw it. I don't know how, but it's alive, and it's still on the ship. The human is *still here with us.* It must've known. Fuck that, it *was* the one that sabotaged the photon recharger. We're just sitting ducks without our strength.
I saw as it mercilessly slaughtered most of the remaining crew. It just *walked up to them* and started slicing them up with a blade from one of the privates that went missing before we made our return. I recognize it, the idiot brought something ornate and stupid from home and now it's being used to kill us. I don't know how it can just *survive* out here with all the things we've done to get rid of it. The Phos-damned thing just won't die!
I hid in a storage closet. It passed by the door and didn't seem to notice me in there. I think I'm the only one left alive. I just have to make it two more days, and then I can find a way to call command and have them blow this ship to kingdom come.
**Day Twenty-One**
I escaped that hell ship, but just barely.
The day prior to my arrival at Eridanus, I found my way up to the bridge and radioed ahead to command to give the order to attack the ship within five minutes of its arrival. I told them that there was a containment breach on-board and that we needed to sacrifice our cruiser for the greater good of our people. I didn't dare tell them it was just a single human that took our ship out. I don't want to live in shame.
It wasn't exactly a lie, either. I made my way to security after contacting command so I could plan my path to the escape pods in my frail state, and what I saw was terrifying: the human had let all the other ones free. Even more terrifying, it was standing next to the child - *its* child. I knew deep down that it was looking for me.
I managed to make it to the escape pod almost without incident. While on the last hallway, however, I accidentally knocked over a fixture and alerted the main human to my presence. It started walking towards me, with the same slow pace it had killed the rest of my crew with. I tripped over myself trying to make it to the escape pod, and I was so sure that I was going to die, but miraculously, I made it. I managed to shut the door in time and locked the human out.
The next few minutes I spent with the human shouting at me, knocking on the window, doing whatever it could to torture me. It was all harrowing, but the worst was when it stood there, silent. I could see the message it sent with its eyes.
"I will hunt you to the end of the galaxy, and you will not be able to stop me."
I jettisoned the escape pod as soon as the cruiser entered Eridanus airspace. Frantically, I grabbed the radio off the escape pod wall and *begged* for command to destroy the ship. Soon enough, my escape pod was rocked with the wave of energy that came with the surefire destruction of everything on board. There was no way anything could've survived that level of destruction...
...yet, here I am, awake in bed in my own house. I know that human is still out there. Deep down, I know that it *somehow* survived. It has to have survived. It's going to chase me down until the day I die. Even now, I hear footsteps. I don't know who they belong to until my wife enters the bedroom. She says something to me, but I don't clearly understand. All I can do is wait until that human shows up again.
|
I do not have time for this today. I’ve got memos to write and clothes to pick out for the Dyson-sphere inauguration at Cetis Prime and three-hundred of my genefixed-children have asked for a formal audience to discuss their inheritance and now this so-called hoo-mahn shows up with what my HUD says is a look of melodramatic grim determination, demanding satisfaction for “the destruction of my planet, its people, and its future!”
“Yes, yes, my dear, um, person. I understand, you’re quite upset. Excuse me …” My assistant comes in and raises three eye-stalks like *should I call the local Annihilator Corps on his ass?* and I swivel my main optic-sensor at her like *not yet, but stay close*. She gives me some documents to sign and leaves, leaving the sphincter-door open.
“UPSET????” my interface translates his guttural noises into galactic speak, adding intensifiers to denote intense emotion. “Upset?” he sputters, “yeah I’m upset! You assholes destroyed our planet, our moon, all our satellite habitats and even managed to drop some debris on our Mars colony. You killed our entire species!”
“Well, yes, dreadfully sorry, I’m sure. Accidents happen, and it’s not like you were really doing that much, where you? As a spacefaring species I mean. You’d been genetically stable, like, well that,” I point at him, “for almost half a galactic rotation, and only developed electricity and telecommunication in the past 0.000003 percent of that. Not exactly tearing up the sky, were we?” I laugh a gently, trying to draw him in. It doesn’t work.
He goes on. “And me and my buddies manage to steal one of your shuttles, only I survive the trip, fight my way in here, and your assistant, the one who looks like an upside down wedding-cake . . .”
“Astree-D”
“What’”
“Astree-D, that’s her name.”
“Whatever. Your assistant looks up her record on the genocide of humanity, and it turns out it was a clerical error? You were supposed to destroy some other civilization in Proxima Centauri but some intern made a rounding error in the navigational data?”
“Oh, yes. I remember. He got five demerits for that. And had two tentacles cut off. Ugly business.”
“Five demerits.”
“Yes, he was quite heartbroken. But he’s a good boy, from a fine family, so he put his beaks down, grew back his tentacles, and is now in charge of shipping and entertainment in the Galatean sector, I believe.”
He seems confused by this. “What happened to Proxima Centauri?”
“They took advantage of our little, um, mishap, to pay the late fees on the documents they’d borrowed from the Galactic Central Library. So the story has a happy ending. For them, I mean, obviously not for you and your …”
“Family, friends, planet, solar system.”
“Yes, that.”
“And my dog.”
“Your what?” I look up the word on my interface. “Oh, I see, you keep other mammals as companions? How, um, novel.”
“You bastards killed my dog. And now, I am going to kill you!”
The hoo-mahn pulls out a conical object with all kinds of interesting shapes sticking out of it menacingly and points it at me.
“With that?”
“Yes, the biggest, meanest looking gun I could find on my way here!”
“Oh well, I guess I have it coming. Please, go ahead.”
The small primate looks confused—though to be honest he’s looked confused from the start—and pushes down the lever at the back of the machine.
A great ray of light shoots out of it.
When the light subsides, I’m still there, in a single piece. Some smoke is wafting above me.
“Ah, yes, thank you. My clones confiscated all my lighters, thinking that would help me quit, but, you know how it is with will power and all that.”
I take a drag on the rolled-leaf cylinder the hoo-mahn helpfully lit for me. He stands there, looking dumber than before.
“Astree-D, “ I say into the intercom space, “please, do call the Annihilators now.”
The fight and bluster seem to have drained from him.
“You don’t mind if I keep this, do you?” I ask, placing the lighter in my desk’s private cupboard.
The guards come in and drag the person out.
I’m a few decaticks late to the Dyson sphere ceremony, but I don’t mind.
I find it’s important to keep oneself available to all our citizens, even the ones who feel the need to complain about every litle thing.
| 2022-08-09T15:32:32 | 2022-08-09T14:38:55 | 217 | 32 |
[WP] With total war as a concept alien to the rest of our galaxy, All saw humans as negotiators and peacemakers, soft and weak. Today is the day when the galaxy discovers why being so good at finding ways to avoid war was a survival mechanism.
|
The Hive's takeover of Earth had been easy enough, sped along by the superior weaponry of the spacefaring conquerors and the singular coordination and obedience of the Hive's warrior caste. But as K't'k bathed in the thrum that carried news from the far corners of the new colony she governed across the green planet, she ran her forelimbs over her head in agitation.
Once their initial military resistance was swiftly swept aside, the physically frail natives had been fine for the Hive to ignore or press into service in its stripping of the planet's resources. But the Hive's own worker drones started to sample the chemical-laden, addictive filth these humans consumed with their flat teeth and slow, squishy digestive tracts, and became dependent; disobedient. Then came the human concept of "entertainment," which mesmerized the drones and robbed the Hive of millions of hours of labor. Ccccchhh; K't'k thought; it had seemed simple at the time to just make the Humans work harder, and to destroy what remained of their broadcasting equipment.
But then, the Humans had patched and rebuilt their networks surreptitiously, with hidden meshes for linking together their black-market computers, pirate broadcasts of both their soporific programming and their propaganda, even primitive radio equipment built around fragile glass tubes, wired back in on itself to make puny receivers into transmitters for their signals.
And what dangerous signals they became! The Humans, seemingly so stunted and conflicted by their individualism compared to the glorious Hive, had somehow become simultaneously coordinated yet compartmentalized as they turned to the attack. Suddenly worker convoys were being bombed, egg chambers shattered and poisoned, resource extractors sabotaged and warriors' thick carapaces ripped apart with explosively-driven shards of sharpened metal and rock. At first, captured Human fighters were tortured to extract information about their efforts before their weak bodies expired, but for every cell the Hive stamped out, two more formed to replace it. In areas where the Hive clamped down hard on the clandestine broadcasts and shut off the electron flow, the Humans turned to stamping their terrible ideas onto sheets of dried wood pulp that they passed among themselves in secret, and even got clever enough to do so in colors and patterns that were incomprehensible to the Hive overseers' vision.
The effect of this was to turn every Human into a potential killer, or to otherwise bend them toward resisting the Hive. Cells became armies, sharpened stones and sticks were re-fashioned into weapons that spat death, or lifted Humans seemingly impervious to self-preservation aloft to drop explosives or watch the Hive's movements from the sky. The slow and uncreative engineering of the Hive's own designs, though sophisticated, were nothing compared to the dangerous and reckless leaps the Humans' underground "engineers" made in rebuilding their tools of war or adapting what they stole from their colonizers.
Those who could not take up arms helped to fashion them, or committed acts of sabotage, or passed along their whispers of revolution and resistance in hundreds of muttered Human languages the Hive's singular but rigid mind struggled to translate. The soft and docile creatures, whose initial communications had been translated as "peace" or offerings of "cease-fires," had become warriors in ways that the Hive's worker and tender castes were biologically incapable of imagining.
When the hum of the Hive started carrying news of outlying colonies being bombed with something that spread radioactive contamination, salting the Earth for Human and Hive alike, K't'k could not grasp why these squishy apes would be willing to poison themselves in order to throw off their conquerors. Just before sunrise, the Hive's latest attempt to monitor and translate the Humans' transmissions had picked up a brief message, broadcast across multiple channels simultaneously. Through the hum of the Hive, K't'k pondered the message until its translation, pieced together from the memories of hundreds of quizzically listening drones and scouts in the moments before termination, fell into place for the nervous planetary governess.
"THEY CHECK IN, BUT THEY DON'T CHECK OUT."
The hum intensified as this new information pulsed through the Hive, warriors skittering in confusion toward egg clusters or Human enclaves in wonder of what this might mean. Far below K't'k, in a resource chamber, a hidden parcel blossomed into a terrible light, rushing upward through the column-like mound to meet the soon-to-be ex-ruler of Earth.
|
[Poem]
Click, clack, click.
All the machines roar,
Click, clack, click.
For this total war.
Click, clack, click.
Industry cannibalized,
Click, clack, click.
To create their demise.
Click, clack, click.
All of humanity knows,
Click, clack, click.
The others don’t though.
Click, clack, click.
Bombs manufactured,
Click, clack, click.
Enemy lives fractured.
Click, clack, click.
Society rebuilt to destroy,
Click, clack, click.
Not to be enjoyed.
Click, clack, click.
Soldiers armed en masse,
Click, clack, click.
Ready to kick the others in the ass.
Click, clack, click.
Everyone does their part.
Click, clack, click.
To blow these aliens apart.
| 2019-11-24T12:02:31 | 2019-11-24T10:43:55 | 281 | 66 |
[WP] "This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM and 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable. Good luck."
|
“This is an Emergency Alert. Barricade all entries to your house. Do not go outside after sundown. Restrict contact with others. Do not enter tunnels during daytime. Do not make any light or noise between 6PM or 8AM. Stay inside your homes until dawn. Military aid is unavailable.”
I was stunned, a spoonful of ramen halfway to my mouth, when I bolted over to a window to peek into my neighbor’s house from my own. A perfect view right into their tv room, and... nothing. No same message or shut off. It was still an hour or so until night, and I had some plywood sitting around because of the hurricanes, but...
“If you just heard that alert and are still listening, sit down and shut the fuck up. You’re going to have to listen very carefully and take every word I say with the gravity they entail. I won’t be telling you my name, but I will tell you my significance.”
Whipping around, I can see a man on the screen. Old. Ancient, really, but somehow still youthful and speaking with the energy of a man much younger. His eyes, though. Hard. Spoke of years of experience and seeing things he wishes he could unsee.
“I am a part of the O5 council. I work for what is simply known as The Foundation. We work to protect the world from creatures. Anomalies. We contain them and study them. Usually this all goes right. I would not be revealing our existence if it had right now. What we are experiencing is a humanity level threat right now, and only some of you are being told this. Not everyone can be saved, and we feel that taking some casualties in this instance will be beneficial. This gives us time to recontain the threats. What has happened is one of our sites has been breached. Massively so. All failsafes failed when we needed them most, and so many of these threats we have been studying have been released into the world. This was also a result of multiple anomalies showing up at once, posing enough of a threat to necessitate this announcement in conjunction with what developed into multiple site breaches.”
I had no idea what this man was talking about, but I stayed put, hearing him out with a pit in my stomach. Why couldn’t everyone be saved? We were using them as... fodder? Why me?
“Those is you who have been selected are by and large because of what you can do to help us rebuild. And because you’ve been profiled by us so we know you would be able to act accordingly with this information. You are not forbidden from telling those you can, but every second you spend with them is another you could use to prepare. Do not attempt to contact your law enforcement or any news networks. Social media will not allow you to inform the world. We have made sure of this. It is likely many of those who you know will be dead in the next few days. Daylight offers some solace, but the night is simply too dangerous. One of the aforementioned anomalies has altered the moon, and some others traveling in the dark effectively lethal without significant illumination or firepower. Military forces are being aided by us, but many will lose cohesion. Count yourselves among the lucky ones. The world as you know it is about to change. Good luck.”
I feel numb. This doesn’t make any sense. Yet for some reason I act. I get my hammer and plywood, turn out my lights, and shore up my home. It’s almost as if I have no control over my body. My home is just as it needs to be. I lock my doors for the last time and retreat to my basement, curling up in a corner. The screaming starts after the light fades.
That was three months ago. I spent a month in hiding, had a lot of food stocked up in case something went weird like this. Not prepper level though. I was down to beans out of a can when they came. In the middle of the day, my door was battered down by a handful of men. They wore military style gear clad in white and black with a strange logo, all of them radiating incredibly bright light as they breached my home. They rescued me. Now here I am. One of the lucky few. We’ve been placed into a facility on a massive island. I’m told it’s all man made. Stunning, really.
I stood on the shore when they bathed the world in nuclear fire. I couldn’t comprehend it, really. They said it would leave no harmful after effects. That they weren’t real nukes. I felt like I could hear the screams of those left behind from here. Of my neighbors who were ripped apart in the night. Their children. I wish they had been chosen.
So we’ve begun to rebuild. True to their word, no radiation was to be found. I’m told that regardless of how things go here, we have been left behind to rebuild as another reality is saved by those with the knowledge of what happened here. I have no grasp of what this foundation really does, and just what lengths they can go to preserve our future, but I don’t want to know.
All that’s left is the present. A broken timeline, a broken world, and a broken people trying to put everything back together. It’s funny really, that they saved me. They knew what a society was made of, what it would take to bring it back from the brink.
I’m a fucking writer.
|
(I hope this is good enough).
You can usually tell when I'm in the area if a peculiar smell wafts into the room during curfew. It smells of cooked steak or chicken, and while under normal circumstances it would seem like a delicacy, to them it's a smell of death. They know all about me, and yet they know nothing about me. They make me out to be a bloodthirsty monster.
...they're technically right, but just because I'm PHYSICALLY a bloodthirsty monster, that doesn't mean I'm not a nice guy. In fact, if you hear a pitter patter outside of your home, I'm probably just helping your pet inside. Or I might be having a snack on a squirrel or a bird. It's a shame, but them's the breaks.
In fact, if you do smell my aroma in the area, it's a sign that I'm not out looking for food, and you shouldn't be afraid to come out. Not that you should anyway, since I dislike eating humans. Human blood is too salty, and I've only ever eaten from a few dozen in self defense. No, after I've had my dinner I look around for petty criminals that take advantage of my curfew to loot the innocent of their livelihoods. Best case scenario I scare them silly and leave them for the authorities. Worst case scenario if I'm attacked, it's suppertime. When the morning sun arrives, I have an hour to vanish back to a warehouse to rest until nightfall comes again.
With all that said, I do not think you should fear me, but with the power I possess you have every right to. But if you do find me in your home, do not be afraid. Strike up a friendly conversation. Talk to me. I will listen. Just...don't offer me a glass of holy water.
My name is Jack. The Vampire of Folsom Avenue.
| 2018-04-18T11:27:41 | 2018-04-18T11:02:28 | 91 | 47 |
[WP] Today is the one-year anniversary of the zombie apocalypse. During the outbreak 99% of the population was infected by an airborne pathogen of unknown origin. Today, a strange voice booms across the lands. "Congratulations, you have passed Phase One. Phase Two begins immediately. Good luck."
|
“Congratulations, you have passed Phase One. Phase Two begins immediately. Good luck.”
The voice seemed to come out of nowhere. Jeff froze in place, glancing around, seeking out the source of the sound. There was no one, no person, no loudspeakers, only the trees that grew thick around him.
“That can’t be good,” he said aloud. He shouldered the rifle he carried and picked up the pace. The settlement was near, and if the voice was as loud as it had sounded to him, surely someone there had heard it as well.
It was clear as he grew near that the camp was in disarray. He could see it beyond the spiked walls, beyond the killed walkers that rotted on the ground at the base. People were moving about, some appearing confused while others tried to regain control.
Alice greeted him at the makeshift gate, a worried look on her face. “I take it you heard it as well?”
“Not sure how anyone could not,” he said. “Does anyone know what it’s about?”
She shook her head. “I wish I could say that we’re handling it with grace and calmness, but you can see that’s not the case.”
Jeff nodded. “A year of walkers and still they panic. Gather the rest of the council, and get Michael to gather any hunters to the perimeter. Whatever Phase Two is, we should make sure we’re ready for it.”
Alice nodded and veered off. Jeff made his way into the central roundhouse. Several other members of the council were already there, their eyes turning toward him as he entered.
“Don’t stop on my behalf,” he said.
“I trust you know as much as we do,” Garrett said, adjusting his glasses.
“Which is nothing,” Ernest said, folding his arms across his broad chest. “Whatever made that announcement, wherever it came from, we have no idea.”
“Well, the people are beginning to panic,” Jenny said. “We can’t just do nothing.”
Jeff moved to his customary seat. “I have already mobilized the hunters to watch the perimeter. Whatever it is, we’ll be ready for it.”
“Ready?” Ernest said. “We don’t even know what it is.”
“Plans never survive past the first enemy encounter,” Garrett said. “That doesn’t mean we shouldn’t have one.”
There was a rustle at the entrance as Alice entered, along with Michael, leader of the hunters, and Lance, leader of the builders. They made their way to their own spots.
“I should not stay long,” Michael said. “They’ll need me at the perimeter.”
“Any sign of anything?” Jeff asked.
“A single walker,” he said. “We let it go.”
“Should have killed it,” Ernest muttered.
Jeff ignored him. “Whatever is happened, it doesn’t sound like anything good. How are our supplies looking?”
“Better than they did a month ago,” Garrett said. “Finding that unlooted grocery store was a blessing to be sure.”
“And our ammo?”
“Enough,” Michael said. “Our arrows are still useless though.”
“Does anyone know what date it is?” Jenny asked.
“No,” Ernest said. “There hasn’t been any use for it since the walkers appeared.”
“For you, maybe,” Jenny said, “but for us farmers, there’s a use. It’s been a year. Exactly.”
The room was silent. “A year,” Jeff said quietly. “Could it be related?”
“Anyone remember any omnipresent voices when the walkers first appeared?” Lance asked.
“There was nothing,” Alice said. “Nothing at all.”
“But this…” Jeff turned to Michael. “Get more people to the perimeter. I think we may be about to deal with something worse.”
The first scream drew all their heads toward the door of the roundhouse. “It may be too late for that,” Michael said.
They rushed out, all of them, eyes adjusting to the fading twilight. Against the purple sky, Jeff could see them, silhouetted in black. They were massive, long arms and legs hanging free as they soared on wings like a bat. He watched as they swooped down, each attack pulled off with expert precision, swiping up another person and carrying them off screaming. The sounds were matched with screeches from the creatures and gunshots from the guns of the protectors, their bullets showing no effect. The perimeter wall was no good, nor were the bonfires that burned in the center of the camp. There was only one option.
“Everyone get inside,” Jeff yelled, his voice carrying through the camp. People were scrambling, making their way into the roundhouses, including the one the council occupied. Jeff ran the other way.
Michael had grabbed a gun and was alternating between firing at the creatures and directing people toward safety. The camp had already cleared, but still the creatures circled, diving in for their prey. Jeff watched as one person was grabbed near him, the creature getting only a little ways into the air before a bullet struck it, enough to get it to drop the person.
Jeff ran over to him, pulling him to his feet. The man’s shirt was torn to tatters, his chest bleeding from where the creature had clawed him. “What the hell are these things?” Jeff asked as he helped the man toward one of the roundhouses.
He handed the man off and turned back as they reached the entrance. Over at the fence, Michael was still firing up at them, expending the bullets from his rifle and tossing it aside in favor of his pistol. “Michael, get inside,” Jeff yelled.
Michael fired once more before turning and rushing toward the roundhouse. He was close when something landed between them, kicking up a cloud of dust. Jeff felt himself stumble back as the creature turned toward him and screeched. Up close, he could see the pale skin, the dark eyes, the razor teeth.
“Run!” Jeff said. He could see Michael move to the side as he dove into the roundhouse. He could feel the rush of wind behind him as the creature lunged after him.
The people within had pulled back, and he could hear screams at the thing entered. It lashed out, catching one person across the belly and another on the face. Jeff had managed to scramble back to his feet and was facing it as it approached, its face lit by the fire that burned within the roundhouse.
He heard Alice yell from behind him. “The arrows,” she said. “They’re right behind you.”
Jeff avoided another slash as he flailed for the stack of freshly made arrows, the ones Michael had said were useless. They were sharp, though, so if anything, he could get some good blows in before it ripped him apart.
The creature was focused entirely on him, and he had an arrow in each hand. When it lunged at him, he went low. The creature was fast, fast enough that it brushed his back. He felt pain, and the feeling of blood leaking down his back, but he ignored it, lunging forward as he stabbed with the arrow. It pierced the creature in the chest, and the roundhouse was suddenly filled with a deathly screech.
Jeff ducked his head, covering his ears. He could feel the thing’s heavy steps as it stumbled around. There was more movement as others rushed past him, and when he looked up, he saw the others, many holding arrows, driving them into the creature’s skin. The screeching slowly began to fade as it finally collapsed, the life fading from it.
The room was silent, all eyes turned toward the dead beast on the ground. Jeff slowly stood, his back flaring with pain. He would live, but he probably wouldn’t be going out on any more hunting excursions for a few days.
“What is it?” Alice asked, nudging it with her toe.
Jeff moved until he was standing over it. The dark eyes stared up at him, the teeth sticking out from the mouth. Outside, he could still hear the distant shrieks of the other creatures as they flew through the skies. “Looks like a vampire to me.”
“A vampire?” Alice asked as the people around them began to murmur.
“Best guess I have,” Jeff said, kicking at the corpse. “Phase Two, whatever it is.” He paused, looking across the room at the frightened faces. “I suppose we should get whatever rest we can tonight. In the morning, we’re going to have to make a few changes to our camp.”
---
If you enjoyed this, check out more at /r/drewmontgomery
|
The zombie apocalypse was nothing like television portrayed. In every zombie show I'd seen, there was always a patient zero, followed by a slow outbreak that would take weeks or even months to hit full force. Only those slow\-witted enough to get bitten would actually turn into zombies. There was always the token weak characters who repeated mistake after mistake but somehow managed to survive, defying all odds. Back before this nightmare began, I had fantasized about living in those zombie\-ridden worlds and excelling where my TV counterparts had failed. I can now only wish my dream hadn't come true.
The true ending of the world wasn't nearly so cute. Exactly one year ago today, the outbreak had started. It didn't come slowly, with warnings broadcasting on the news. There was no buffer for us to gather supplies and bunker down with family and friends. It happened all at once.
In the normal world I was an office worker for a packaging company. When working in an office you eventually get used to the background chatter of gossip and mundane complaining. It becomes like a soft hum that your mind registers but ignores. I was dozing off at work, pretending to analyze spreadsheets while browsing reddit, a normal Tuesday, when it hit me... The hum had stopped. Dead silence had replaced it. I slowly leaned my chair back to look in the cubicle next to me and found my neighbor face down in her keyboard.
"Becca, are you okay?" I mumbled, voice shaking.
After a few seconds of no response, I moved to shake her shoulder, but she suddenly jerked awake. I was initially relieved, but as she turned towards me I saw her eyes, completely glazed over in milky white. I bolted out of my chair and backed away as she lunged from her chair, growling incoherently.
“Shit. Shit. Shit.” I stumbled back towards the wall, looking around the office for help. What I saw however, was much more alarming. From every direction a similar affliction had corrupted the rest of my coworkers. That background hum I was so familiar with had changed into a low growl that reverberated from every corner of the office. I lugged Becca across the chin and sprinted out of the office as fast as I could.
As you can imagine, I was greeted in a similar fashion by the rest of the world. The pathogen had spread immediately and infected everyone I had found. I spent the first few hours searching the city for signs of other survivors, but after no success I eventually took to the woods nearby.
I spent weeks living in the woods, making occasional raids on the city for food and water. Those first few weeks were the toughest as I had little survival experience in a world full of predators. Multiple nights I was abruptly awoken by a hungry zombie looking for a midnight snack, only barely surviving using the knife I clutched in a death grip each night. I spent a lot of that time wondering why I was the only one who survived.
At the end of these first few weeks, I was nearing the end of my rope. I had been living on red bull and gas station snacks with little to no sleep. It was to my very great fortune that Kenneth stumbled upon me one afternoon during a supply raid. It was my first sighting of other people, at least those who weren’t trying to eat me. He had assembled a small group of other survivors and they were traveling across the country, looking for others. From that day forward Kenneth took me into his group and taught me how to survive. He had been a forest ranger and an ex\-eagle scout. That still amazes me now, seeing the things he’s done.
After meeting up with Kenneth almost a year ago, our little band traveled and picked up survivors wherever we could. Unfortunately, those we met weren’t always so amenable to our company. We experienced losses to the zombie hoards, which were to be expected, but also to other groups of survivors we met. We had been inflicted time and time again with the worst humanity had to offer and doled out some terrible work ourselves in this past year. It was safe to say that each of us was a changed person.
Today, marks the one\-year anniversary of the end of the world. I’m amazed to say I’m still alive. Our group has expanded, despite suffering many losses, to fourteen people. We know of a few other groups out there, none of them friendly.
As I woke up this morning, rolling out of my too\-small tent, a booming voice vibrated through the air.
**"Congratulations, you have passed Phase One. Phase Two begins immediately. Good luck."**
“What the flying fuck?” I heard Kenneth yell from his tent.
Equally confused, I looked around our camp and noticed some of the others looking up to the sky. I craned my neck upwards to be greeted by a dark green cloud that was forming up above, draping the entire landscape.
The end of the world had come again.
| 2018-05-15T19:48:27 | 2018-05-15T18:34:38 | 45 | 28 |
[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!)
|
I sat in looking at the sick and twisted murderer who killed that poor boy. An innocent child dead, and for what? So some madman could get his twisted fantasy to come true. As I sat down I just had to ask.
Why?
The man looked at me with a smile. 'I am a hero that no one will know, I have saved humanity from its greatest evil. I have killed one of the biggest monsters who ever lived. The world will be a much better place thanks to me. I am proud to sacrifice my life to ensure it. The evil scumbag Adolph Hitler will never live. I am proud to have saved the lives of so many of my fellow Jews. They will never know that Issac Utting saved so many lives.
I was shocked at the words of this madman. These despicable actions disgusted me. I turned and walked out of the room and out the door to the waiting mob that was baying for blood outside.
I walked up to the mob and screamed at the top of my lungs.
"This foul murder was part of some Jewish Plot to murder Austrian Babies! We need to drive them out before they can kill more."
Thus began the destruction of the Jewish People
| 2015-03-30T00:21:44 | 2015-03-29T23:18:02 | 1,156 | 218 |
[WP] Starting at the age of 10, humans are given companion animals that develop along side them. These animals can range anywhere from a goldfish to a horse to even a dragon. The only catch is that they are assigned based on your behavior during childhood.
|
"Hey, Buzz," Dillon shouted from down the hall. "He smiled widly as he began to jog towards me, Ollie the snake coiled comfortably around his right arm. He raised his left hand as he closed in and I met it swiftly with my own.
"How was summer vacay, man." I asked him softly.
"Good. Good. Ollie shed like a motherfucker though, let me tell you. I don't know what was up with it this year."
He chuckled as he stroked the head of the rattler. I smiled sheepishly "All I really did was run whenever you and I weren't gaming. Spent some time reading."
"Fair enough, dude. Hey man. I wanted to warn you. All those pranks we pulled on Denny in Freshman year..."
"The pranks you played yeah."
"Hey man you were there. Little fly on the wall for all of my espionage needs. I couldn't have planned any of those without the knowledge you gave me. Anyway, he's a bit pissed. Rumor has it he's coming after us this year."
"And that idea doesn't bother you."
"No. I'm the god damn Snake, man."
"I don't know about you but I'm pretty sure a rattlesnake can't kill a fucking Hawk. I'm actually pretty sure it works the other way."
"Yeah man. But we're all human. The whole animal things doesn't mean THAT much. I mean look at you."
"I hope you're right... because someone just spotted us." I pointed past him to a jogging teen with a blonde buzzcut and a set jaw. As Dillon turned to look, Denny set out in a full sprint. He tackled the self-proclaimed "Snake of Telton High" and they collided into the doorframe of the school.
Before I had fully grasped that my best friend was just thrown ten feet away from me I felt this tiny tingle in the back of my neck. I leapt right and managed to see the stumbling form of another boy trying to change direction mid-charge. His momentum failed him and he tripped over himself, flailing. Another tingle, I duck and hear the crack of knuckles smashing concrete above me. David and Linus. Bull and monkey. Fun. Luckily, their animals were large enough to both be stuck in the school's pens. But they more than made up for it.
I can't express how much I love Dill. But his incessant pranks and ego got us involved with this trio more often than I liked. As Dave pulled himself from the floor I stood to find Linus nursing his knuckles. Dill to my far right managed to worm, or snake I suppose, his way out of Denny's hold and now he and Ollie were both poised. Defensive. One hissing the other shouting. "I'm warning you. Back off, Denny. I'm worse when cornered, man."
Denny laughed. His hawk nowhere to be seen. Birds of prey. I sprinted for Dillon and tore him away from his post just as the four-pound feathered bullet dove through what would have been his right shoulder.
David was back to his old self and Linus wasn't far behind him. David swung a foot towards me as he approached and I managed to roll out of the way. In a flash of instinct I managed to grip his shoe. I tore it from his foot and managed to tip him over as I stood. Denny dove behind me, his elbow driving itsslf downward toward Dillon's chest. I watched as Dillon caught the elbow in one hand and planted the other hard against Denny's jaw. For a moment I was sure he'd killed him. Dillon stood and immediately jabbed a fist past my cheek. I heard it collide with flesh behind me and turned to witness Linus clutching his face, his knuckles still bloody.
When David stood one last time behind Dill, he wasn't seen by either of us. Dill yelped as David managed to slam him against the wall first, then the door, and finally tossed him to the floor. Unconscious. He swung a fist at me and I stepped back, watching it fly past my nose. A second fist this time a straight jab, I lean right and avoid it. The next attempt a boot, low, aimed for my knee. I step high and then turn right, his bare foot catching a loose fold of my jeans. Before he can attempt a third move I see the small speck land on his nose. Then flutter near his ear. Then fly away and di e straight at his face. His hands became uncoordinated, swatting the air before him. Futile. He was even dumb enough to slap his own face as Ned landed shortly on his cheek. My lovely little fly. No offense, just annoyance. Distraction. Embarrassment. Eventually David gave up and began to waltz away. Still annoyed trying to slap away a fly that was far to quick for his lumbering swings.
Denny's hawk and Ollie stood still. With their partners unconscious they felt no hostility. I helped Dill to conciousness and then to his feet. He smiled and laughed. Impressed that I managed to be the last one standing. I smiled at him too. "Flies are notoriously hard to hit, I guess," he said rubbing his neck and then his jaw.
"I'm just glad there's no 'Spider of Telton High.'"
Just then the roar was heard. And down the Hall the principal was spotted. Him and his lion. I don't think the Snake and the Fly are getting out of this one.
|
Everyone watched me as I walked up to the podium. It was my 10th birthday and everyone was invited to see me receive my companion animal. I insisted that all of my classmates sit in the front row, especially Billy.
Most of my class were already 10, and their animals ran around in the grass beneath their feet. Billy had a boar with him. Of course he did, the boar could have been his brother and no one would have noticed.
"Are you ready, son?" asked the Mayor, his heavy hand of my shoulder.
"Yup!"
"Bring it here!" the Mayor shouted to some workers at the far end of the field. The workers rolled a giant cage covered in a heavy cloth next to the stage. It rattled as the workers as it came to a stop.
I could see Billy visibly frowning, and it filled me with joy. 2 years of him calling me a 'goody-two shoes.' 2 years of him bullying me. That's why he ended up with the boar. But now he would see. Everyone would see.
"Ladies and gentleman," said the Mayor, grabbing the heavy cloth with both hands. "I am proud to announce that little Tommy here is the first person in our town to receive..." He pulled down the cloth. "A dragon!"
The dragon roared as the cloth came off, fire escaping from his scaly mouth into the air. The workers opened the cage, and the beast stepped out. Half of the audience was cheering, and the other half was screaming.
I walked up to the dragon, petting his nose. He would be mine. All mine.
I climbed onto the dragon's neck and the beast flapped his wings. With a roar, the dragon flew up and past Billy, the force of the wingbeat pushing him to the dragon.
"Are you hungry, dragon?" I asked. "Maybe you would like some boar."
_____________________________________________________________________________________________
If you like this story, you should subscribe to [r/JasonHolloway](https://www.reddit.com/r/JasonHolloway/) for more!
| 2017-01-13T12:04:52 | 2017-01-13T12:02:30 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] Everyone is immortal in the distant future. To keep life interesting, most people "reset" their memories every few centuries so they can experience life anew. Your reset malfunctioned, and you've just received thousands of years of lost memories.
|
I feel like the burning is never gonna stop. Like it’s still happening. But it’s been almost a week. Daddy’s been in his bed ever since. And Jericho, can’t see nothing. He just sits up, Momma’s been reading to him.
But I need to do something. I’ve never gone alone, but if I get Jericho a nice trout. Get everybody one.
The community center is still just pile of rubble and ash, most of everybody grown is out there. Some stop and wave. Still to soon to smile. But there is warmth. We’ll rebuild.
The fishing goes slow. Not even a nibble for the first two hours. But then Mallory from the Deli came by and gave me some special crickets. She told me to use it for bait and they was biting like crazy after that.
The Sun was getting low, but I had about 6 fat fishes in my bucket so that was okay. I’m gonna ask momma to gut them for me. I was on my way to give Mallory one too, when I heard the explosion. It looked like something broke through the sky. I heard a bang right near the house. As I ran towards it I can hear my brother screaming.
A smoldering craft is in the yard and the front door of my home has been ripped off. I rush inside to see 4 huge men, with red eyes and pulsating tattoos covering their faces.
“Jeor” says the one nearest my mother, “Could this be her. They alter your bio-structure in here. She could be the boy for all we know.”
“Use your eyes, Baba.” Responded Jeor, the largest and seeming leader of the group.
My brother cowers in the corner as my mother tries to cover him with her body. Suddenly my father, bedridden for weeks bursts into the room with a strength I had never seen and grabs the throat of the man over my mother. Before he can act the other three intervene and pull him off, grabbing his head and twisting it. I can’t watch completely losing myself I run at the men trying to wrench them away.
Baba turns to notice me and laughs, they all do. Jeor issues a voice command I can not understand and suddenly a sound fills the room, consuming me. And a smell. A thousand smells. Tens of thousands of years. In a blur. I collapse.
I woke to a sound I knew all too well. A wailing, pathetic rat. My ex-partner. The man I knew since before we even left Sol, and this piece of human garbage. I open my eyes. Oh this is to sweet baby.
“Mama, Is that you?” Asks Jeor.
My first born, second in command I knew they would get me out “Took you boys long enough. I hope you kept the business in order Jeor, because we have some pressing business to handle"
“Don’t worry mama, we’ll get you back to looking normal again soon. It’s hard to be you when you just a little kid.” Said Baba
“No, its this man in the corner. This is the rat bastard who got me in here, Crystal Pete himself.”
Pete cowers in a corner, still blind but he understands. “Please Rodica, just let me go. I’m blind… you’re my sister.”
I take Baba’s pistol and before Pete can say another word I shoot.
The machines do their jobs better than I expect. My “mother” dove in front of the shot, taking it in the chest. But there’s no blood. Just wires and sparks.
These things had been my captors. I had been sentenced to 50 life cycles. 5000 fucking years. This was my 19th life. And every fucking day, these miserable androids try to teach me life lessons. And to learn empathy, well you know what. I didn’t learn shit.
“Kids, kill that rat bastard and lets get out of here.”
They blow Crystal Pete away, as I walk towards the ship.
Outside seemingly the whole town has gathered.
“Jeor, wake up the other prisoners.”
About 1/3rd of the population fall to their knees, the rest, my captors the benevolent robotic therapists, we mow down. I with a true glee.
But then it all goes black.
I wake inside a barren concrete cell. Outside the glass wall, sit 3 men and two women in business attire. The man in the center leans forward ,“Hello Madame DiGiovanni, you won’t remember me from your last parole meeting 10 cycles ago but I want you to know I’m very disappointed with your progress.”
My mind is racing, I need to get out of here. “Please, It was the situation. I promise I’ve changed.”
“Your only point of improvement was in choosing to free your fellow residents instead of killing them like in past escape simulations.”
“I knew they were robots, the other ones, no harm no fowl.” I pleaded.
“Well, some progress marked. But another 10 cycles are certainly in order.”
“No, no no no, I can’t take it. I can’t smile at these people and get along in that shity little town. Please. I need to be free. Something new. “
The glass turns opaque.
|
She understood death then. Awareness was her poison.
It wasn't supposed to happen this way. Arya wanted a new life. One in which she's born without the pleasures and pains of her past. A clean plate. But as chaos would have it, she didn't forget anything. Instead, she remembered. Everything. All the lives she's lived before flashed before her eyes - hundreds and thousands of them. Her eyes turned inwards and exploded with light. Enlightenment truly comes from within. She laughed at the pleasures abound. She wept from pain and loss. Arya remembered everything, from being an embryo till now. An ancient soul. She felt trapped, in a circle of life and rebirth - a rebirth devoid of any memory that is either pleasant or unpleasant, but with enough awareness to function. Consuming what the world offers until you can't take it anymore, then you retch it all out only to eat again. She felt disgusted, moreover tired. Her enlightenment has arrived.
She shouted her sermons in streets and church gates for weeks and months hoping to let in on the truths she has learned. She found believers. Arya told them to spread her word far and wide.
Then it was time for her to shed her human form. As she walked into the water, she understood death. Awareness was her poison.
All wasn't but ending well for Arya. As death embraced her, it found no panic. Death felt a chill at the thought of a soul who is free from the struggle against their end. And death said. You who do not fear, we haven't a place for you here. I'll come for you when death you fear!
Death rejected her. Without the will to live, Arya found herself wanting death. And as irony would have it, death shall not embrace her until she fears it. She tried wiping her head, again and again, hoping one day she could forget everything. Go back to being caught in that same illusion of rebirth, and maybe die. But she never forgot. And death never wanted her. She lived forever.
| 2017-11-10T02:01:05 | 2017-11-10T01:42:41 | 15 | 11 |
[WP] Everybody assumes that The Onion is satire, but you know different. Why? Because you're its main reporter, gathering news from alternate realities.
|
"Look, kid, I don't want you along, I don't want to teach you, you're an inconvenience," I said, a bit unkindly perhaps. "But I have to teach you the job, and by God I'm going to try my best to teach you the damn job."
"Are you aware that this is not *Full Meta Jacket,* Ms. Seraph?" Mark said with an idiotic grin. The kid was in his early twenties, tall, blond - a sharp contrast to my short stature and jet black hair - and thought, like every 20 and change kid, that he was the king of the damn world. Or worlds, as it may be. He kind of reminded me of myself actually.
Which was probably why I hated him.
"Do you know the mortality rate of our trainees, kid?" I asked, pretending I hadn't heard him.
"Wow you really think it *is*-"
Christ, this kid. I grabbed him by the collar and pulled him off his feet until he was inches from my face.
"75 percent. Got it?" I said, his wide blue eyes staring into the depths of my opal irises. "Three out of four die, of the remaining 25 percent, most are missing in action, stranded in some hell, and what few are left drop out. There's a reason there have been five reporters in The Onion since 1988." I let him go and kid practically fell to the floor. His eyes were wide and his face was bloodless. "Do you understand now?" I said, keeping my voice low.
The kid opened his mouth to say something then decided against it. Instead, he just swallowed and nodded. I might've overdone it a bit.
"Good," I said. "Follow my instructions and you might not die." Without waiting for a response I laid my hand across his forearm and with my other hand activated the TransTemporal-Relocator, or the TTR.
I'd been doing the job for just about two decades and I still wasn't used to the sensation. It was as if my center of gravity shifted *out of my body* and I stumbled as I lost my balance. But the feeling faded and we were there. Wherever that might be.
Decades of experience saved us. I'd once dropped into a a nuclear test site, and another time in the middle of a horde of demons. The first few seconds of any "Stumble" as well called it were the most dangerous.
So when I landed in the driver's seat I immediately slammed the breaks as a black coupe - what is it with black cars? - tried to ram us from the left. The car careened, when it didn't hit us and hit another car on the right. They both spun out and hit the divider in the middle of the - I looked around - twelve lane highway.
"What the fuck!?" the kid shouted next to me. Famous last words.
I briefly glanced at him - he was holding a box of pizza. We were in a sleek, red sports car. There was a GPS in front of the car and a timer in the bottom left. Five minutes, three miles away. Got it. The TTR always did this, put us in fantastical scenarios or events, and we had to play them through. Rarely longer than an hour, they were the stories I wrote for every Onion piece. It was in our best interests to play along.
“In the next one half mile, take the exit 27,” the GPS said in that infuriatingly kind voice. Some things stay constant across dimensions.
“Th-that’s impossible,” the kid said. “You’re on like the tenth lane, how’re you gonna make this exit?”
“Recklessly,” I replied. “Hold on to something.” I flung the steering wheel left and crossed two lanes immediately. A couple of people honked on their horns as I cut them off but I paid them no mind. I slammed the breaks to get behind a car on the right lane and swung left again. Four lanes to go, and the exit was in sight.
“We aren’t gonna make it,” the kid said, practically in tears. Christ, I would take overly eager over useless downer any day.
I looked in the rear view mirror and saw another one of those black cars who had tried to ram us before. In seconds he was in parallel with us to my right. I could break or speed up, forcing him to miss.
Or I could be insane.
“Sorry kid,” I said, as the car slammed into our right. I forced myself to relax though every muscle in my body screamed at me to tense up, so all I suffered was some seat-belt burn and ear damage when the car slammed into us. There was a loud bang and the screech of metal against metal. Someone screamed. I timed a sharp left as the car hit and we practically flew across the last some lanes, directly into the exit. The car tried to follow but was T-boned by a white minivan. I let out a whoop of joy as we rattled through the road.
I spared a glance at the kid. The door had dented inwards, and his arm was at an impossible angle. I checked his pulse with my hand – still alive. Small favors, I suppose.
The rest of the trip was relatively uneventful. I drove into a suburban neighborhood until the GPS indicated I’d arrived. With ten seconds left I practically ran to the doorbell and rung it, breathing heavy.
A dejected looking man in his mid-40s who reeked of vodka opened the door. “Aw, fuck you, bitch. Would it have killed you to arrive four seconds later?! Is free pizza really that much of a fucking loss?”
Lovely.
I pointed to dented my car and the dying intern. “Yeah, you douche-bag, it is.”
The TTR beeped, the end of the experience. The device was really completely outside our control. It chose the location, the experience, and when it ended. Once more I “Stumbled,” and we were back in my office. I didn’t have to be in contact with the kid on the return trip, and so he was there to as we were thrown roughly back into our own reality. The poor kid let out a strangled scream as he landed on top of his broken arm.
The medics were already on standby and rushed to help the kid. I watched as they put him on a stretcher and escorted him out. I shook my head. Idiot. Should never have signed up for this.
I sighed and went over to my computer to start the article. “Pizza Corporatism: The lengths pizza Companies will go to make sure you don’t get free pizza.”
***
(minor edits)
If you enjoyed, check out [XcessiveWriting](https://www.reddit.com/r/XcessiveWriting/)
|
People all know us for satirical, often hilarious news pieces that they regard us as more of a joke than a news station to take seriously, like CNN. But little do they know that the news coming from us is not only real, but also very important.
At least in the reality it came from.
You might've wondered why we reported on a pig that ran away from its farm and dismissed it as useless news when in (alternate) reality, that pig was dealing with insecurity issues and was being bullied by the other farm animals. If you picked up on the fact that the story I just mentioned sounds an awful lot like Animal Farm by dear Orwell, that's because the old coot was inspired by our story to write something along those lines. So think about it - every story we've ever written was something just as appalling as a guy who killed several people because he was off the rails.
By now, you're probably thinking I'm feeding you complete garbage and you're probably being pranked or something. But once you learn a little about our origins, I'm sure you'll come 'round to seeing things *our* way. You see, we became an organization in 1756. But the only reason we became one was because of a sweet old man who happened to cause a disturbance in space-time.
That sweet old man was none other than Ben Franklin.
The very same who stares back at you on that hundred dollar bill was the one who discovered the lightning rod in 1752, four years before we appeared. It took some time, but once we realized that the rod had something to do with odd little rips in the fabric we knew that this wasn't just a freak accident. We organized into a group called The Travellers, but it didn't stick. After a while, our name changed to The Onion, and aptly so as we're an organization that has many layers to it, not being so easily identifiable on first look. For those who are attempting to connect the dots between us and a certain big, green thing, know this - the only thing The Onion shares with Shrek is that we are both like onions in the regard that we have layers. That's it.
So all the odd things that we've discovered have been adapted into novels by thieves who decided that one day they'd read the paper and say "oh, I've got it!", pretending they came up with a story by themselves. Orwell was one such insufferable twit, swiping almost every one of our interesting stories and metamorphing it into a book which he took *all* credit for. Unbelievable. But I digress.
So there you have it. Now you know The Onion is not simply a website that makes "memes" out of news. No sir, we are a proud, time-faring group of people who expose ourselves to the cruel effects of time just to bring you the news which to our surprise is unreasonable and unworthy of being serious. Keep in mind every one of our stories is real, be from this reality or another, our stories are the truth. We could tell lies, we could go off and live in those alternaties, but we decided otherwise to hopefully make people aware of the truth behind the existence of multiple dimensions and realities because we care - but also because *we are bound to*.
Anyways, goodbye for now. And happy reading.
***
**r/TheNinthRanger**
| 2018-03-20T19:14:56 | 2018-03-20T18:55:40 | 792 | 26 |
[WP] We may not be the strongest, but our immune systems are legendary among alien races. There is a saying: "if it makes a human sick it will kill you."
|
*Leper*
I felt guilty the moment I thought the word. It was the common way to refer to humans among many races. It was a word they themselves often used. But I knew its origin and context. Humans may use it in a joking fashion, but I knew (as did they) most used it in a derogatory way.
But it was still the first word that popped into my mind as the human walked off his ship, and I felt terrible. I had spoken to Ambassador Quick many times over holo. He was a good man, always patient, generous when he could be, and honest. Rare traits to find in the diplomatic cores.
Nonetheless, leper, was still my first thought seeing him walk towards me. I tried to remain calm, I had extensive training to remain calm in stressful situations. But as the clanks of his boots came closer I could feel my tail twitch despite my best efforts. It didn't help that I was alone. That was standard procedure when meeting a human in person. I glanced to my right and could see my staff watching me from behind the bio-shield barrier. Three different species, three different sets of manners and expressions, but each one a mixture of fear and forced calm.
"Hello Ambassador Gorran, it is wonderful to meet you in person," Ambassador Quick greeted me as he stepped off the exit ramp. He put his hand out, an almost universal custom among the intelligent life of the universe. I hesitated just the briefest moment and my guilt deepened. I reached out and took his gloved hand firmly.
"Ambassador Quick, John, it is indeed wonderful to finally meet you, if under unfortunate conditions."
The glove was cool, humans did like it a little colder than our people. I couldn't help it, my tail twitched again holding his hand, even for that brief moment. I knew, *I knew*, I was safe. The human ambassador wore a full cover 10-9 bio suit. 99.99999999% uptime of fully active bio containment, monitoring, and reporting. The suit even included a self immolation feature that automatically triggered if any break was detected that would incinerate the occupant and everything within tail distance in less than a second. No breach had ever occurred and there were only three deaths in a century due to the self immolation triggering accidentally.
But still my heart pounded in my chest.
Ambassador Quick smiled generously from behind his clear helmet. He no doubt knew how nervous I was meeting him in person. I was glad humans smiled. Many species did not, and even among those that did smiling was not always considered a kind gesture. But humans and Kalsmen both did. I returned his smile as we let go of each others hands.
Behind the ambassador a self guiding cart loaded with twelve cases each roughly half my height cubed floated down to us. I was both deeply relieved and deeply apprehensive about those crates. The ambassador looked over his shoulder to see the cart stop behind him. He stepped to the side as the cart gently lowered itself to the ground.
"Ambassador," he said as he gestured me to examine the crates. He politely took several steps back to give me some breathing room.
I stepped forward and quickly opened the first crate. My haste was not so I could leave the human's presence, or not just, but because of the dire need for what was inside. Lifting the lid I found the requested vials in cold storage. I gently lifted one and took it over to the access port in the bio-shield wall where my staff, and the planets top medical staff, were waiting.
I placed the precious vial in the transfer chamber and stepped back as it close, vacuumed out the air, irradiated the enclosure, performed a deep medical scan, and the interface lit up red with extreme warning. That was expected. The contents were, technically, a violation of every major bio-hazard, bio-weapon, and safety protocol in the universe. It was why I was here receiving the shipment and not medical personnel.
I punched in my override authorization, had my eyes scanned, and a small blood sample taken to confirm my identity. On the other side of the bio-shield Dr. Horra, Che if Medical Officer of the Kal Republic, did the same. Only with authorization from the political and medical governing bodies could this be allowed through the bio shield. With all credentials verified, final warnings given, and a recorded statement that we knew the risks, was the vial cleared and allowed through.
On the other side I watched as Dr. Horra took a deep breath before she picked up the vial. Quickly, she moved over to the emergency work station that had been prepared the day before. She placed the vial in a secure testing chamber then used the robotic hands to open it. Her tail twitched erratically and I could not blame her. She extracted a sample and begun her work. We were an advanced people. We would know the results in mere moments. But it felt like days.
Suddenly, her tail stopped twitching. She shouted something I couldn't hear through the impenetrable barrier. Then she turned to me, tears in her eyes. Tears of joy. I could see her staff and mine shouting and jumping in celebration. I breathed deep and shook in relief.
I turned and walked back to Ambassador Quick. Too happy to remember my fear of the man I embarrassed him in a strong hug. He gently hugged me back. Then I remembered myself and pulled back, slightly embarrassed. But the human simply smiled.
"Thank you," I said, "thank you on the behalf of all my people. The pandemic has been raging for nearly a year here. We tried everything, but it mutated so quickly, by the time a vaccine or even cure was available it was useless." My shoulders slumped thinking of all who had died in so short a time. This would mean victory, but much had been loss, and the scars in our society would not heal quickly.
"You are welcome," the ambassador said, still smiling, "we know all to well the devastating effects of disease." For just a brief moment his smile dimmed.
I knew humans were good people. They contributed significantly to the galactic good. Their medical technology was second to none. The lives they had saved could be be counted in billions. But their expertise came with the greatest cost. Their planet had evolved the most deadly, most contagious diseases ever know. Even lab created bio-weapons paled in comparison to many common human diseases. As such, they lived in perpetual quarantine from all other intelligent life. A comfortable slice of the universe had been set aside for them. And through holo-technology, robotic surrogates, and other means they could interact with the rest of us. But never could they join us. Even visiting in his 10-9 bio-suit the ambassador was confined to a bio-shielded landing pad on the southern arctic continent the fear of humans so great. I myself would be isolated for a full 28 days just for meeting with him.
Nonetheless, when they were asked to help, they always did.
I looked at the crates as they silently made their way towards the bio-shield barrier. There was more testing to be done. We would triple check everything the humans had verified. It would still be weeks before we could inoculate the first test subjects. But those crates were the beginning of the end.
And potentially a terrible danger.
"Is it true?" I asked the ambassador as the crates moved away.
Ambassador Quick tilted his head in the way I had come to learn meant confusion.
"Is it true it's made from.....human blood?" I couldn't keep the small taste of fear out of my voice.
The ambassador smile and nodded in understanding.
"Yes and no," he explained, "it's a serum. We infected a small group of humans, after extensive testing of course, and our immune systems naturally developed antibodies to the disease. We then filtered the antibodies from their blood and," he gestured to the crates, which were now passing through the bio shield, my override still in place. My tail twitched again at the idea something of biologically human entering my planet.
"Were any of the test subjects harmed?" I asked.
"No, a mild fever at most that lasted a day or two."
Amazing I thought. The disease had killed millions with no signs of stopping. But a human immune system destroyed it in just days as if it was nothing.
"Will you...tell your people? Where it came from?" The ambassador asked. I felt he was a little apprehensive of my answer.
"That has been a matter of great debate," I answered carefully. "We have decided to publicly state it was human medical *technology* and.... leave it at that."
The ambassador seemed relieved by my answer. Despite what they had done for many peoples anti-human sentiment was still very high on many worlds.
"Thank you again, this will save millions of lives."
"You are most welcome." He glanced at the crates as they completed their passage through the bio shield. "And now I should be going. It was wonderful to meet you in person Ambassador Gorran. I hope we never do so again."
|
Billy searched the glove compartment of his shuttle and pulled out his facemask, putting it on as he made his way towards the spaceport cantina. Once he flew through the door he did a scan of the crowd quickly noticing his two friends waving to him.
"Hey fellas, long time no see, God its good to be out of the hive after all this time" Billy said to his mates as he sat down at the table.
"I know right! This is the first time I've been able to spread my wings in 6 months, any longer and I would've forgotten how to fly" replied James.
"Hahah least you can still fly, All I've done these past 6 months is binge netflix and royal jelly. I've put on 10kg I'm too fat to fly!" Fat Greg said laughingly as he joined in the conversation.
The three of them hadn't seen each other ever since lockdown commenced, two hours quickly flew by as they drank, chatted and laughed. At this stage the drinks had caught up to them as all three were inebriated.
...
"God dam humans!, one plague after another, first it was Corona, then it was the Grecian flu, now its the Martian plague." Billy said resentfully, he smashed another shot of honey whiskey before continuing.
"Do you know why they are the source of so many viruses? It's because they eat anything and everything. Have you ever been to that store called 'Whole foods' over near Juniperia, Its owned by the Human Bezos's family. You can buy anything there, they've got Live Cluckins and Grialo two aisle apart, those things are from opposite ends of the galaxy!! God knows what sort of mutant viruses might appear when you've got so many species in such close proximity to each other."
"I heard a saying 'that if its got four legs and its not a chair, if it swims in the ocean and its not a submarine, if it flies in the sky and its not a plane, or if it shoots through space and its not a asteroid, the Humans will eat it!'"
&#x200B;
"Billy calm down, you're in public! Don't be such a speiciest. It is what it is, it's not like we can turn back time. As the Humans say 'Hakuna Matata'" Fat Greg replied trying to prevent his hotblooded friend from creating a scene.
&#x200B;
"Fat Greg that's easy for you to say, we weren't lucky enough to be born into nobility like you. We all can't laugh and grow fat in lockdown!" Billy angrily retorted
"And beside that what about the death count. The Grove Hive is gone, the West Kyperian Hive is probably next, and the Georgian Hive euthanized half of the population to prevent the virus from spreading! Thankfully we've been fortunate, Queen Jacinta shut the borders and ordered for lockdown in time, otherwise it could've just as easily been our Hive".
"And those are just our losses this time! What about from the last two plagues those humans brought. Every 100 years like clockwork they create another disaster. Billions die across the galaxy while they get away with it nearly scot free!"
&#x200B;
"If it didn't originate from the humans it would've originated elsewhere. Maybe the Flavians or the Judang or maybe even from us! Its inevitable that with so many species living in such an interconnected society that viruses would quickly spread. It was the same even before humans joined the Federation, why are you taking your anger out on them!" Fat Greg rebutted back, visibly annoyed at his friends ignorant remarks.
As a noble Fat Greg was better educated and had more access to information than his two friends. In the long history of the federation, intergalactic plagues were a common occurrence. Despite the best efforts of the medical community to quickly develop treatments and vaccines, countless member species were often driven to economic ruin or worse extinction during outbreaks.
The galactic situation had actually improved when Humans joined the Federation as it gave federation scientist and opportunity to study their immune system and develop better vaccines and treatments reducing the duration and severity of most outbreaks. Despite this however, Humans were still viewed as villains by most of the galaxy. This was because while the rest of the galaxy suffered severely due to outbreaks, the Humans, thanks to their strong immune systems, would be relatively unscathed. As other galactic societies economically receded after an outbreak, the Humans would expand to fill the void gradually leading to them gaining more and more power in the Federation.
&#x200B;
Fat Greg and Billy held diametrically opposed political views, every time they saw each other, an argument would inevitably eventuate. With the two of them having not seen each other in such a long time, both had itchy tongues that they couldn't wait to scratch. James, sensing that the mood was souring quickly interjected into their conversation to prevent another long drawn out verbal spar between the two.
"Fat Greg, Billy, both of you calm down! drop this subject, we brothers haven't seen each other in so long, lets not sour the mood arguing. Lets get back to drinking and talking about beauties aye!"
He waved his foreleg to the waitress, indicating to her to bring another round. With that he encouraged his mates to quickly polish down their current drinks and return to more cordial topics. Thanks to James intervention the mood improved and the three friends went back to the their long overdue conversation.
| 2021-02-03T19:38:43 | 2021-02-03T16:10:21 | 1,400 | 148 |
[WP] Humans are the deadliest, and rarest, species in the known universe. Often, search parties go missing due to a singular encounter with a human ship. It has recently come to light that there is an entire planet full of them.
|
Mother always told us that if we were bad children, the Humans would come in the night and steal us away. It helped to bring us back in line, since the seven of us were always screaming and fighting with each other.
We'd see her delicate purple face turn an angry shade of green as the rage built, until she could take it no more. I always knew that meant the threats would soon start.
"IF YOU DON'T SHUT YOUR MOUTHS THIS INSTANT," she'd bellow, "I WILL PAY THE NEXT EXPEDITIONARY FLIGHT TO TAKE YOU ALL ALONG AND DELIVER YOU INTO THE HANDS OF THE FIRST HUMAN SHIP THEY CAN FIND!"
We usually shut up at that point.
You see, humans were terrifying to the majority of sentient life in the galaxy, with the exception of the Xxthrt, a silicon-based life form. We suspected they were less afraid because their whole species appeared as nothing more than crystalline formations on their home planet, and the Humans... for all their ingenuity... were too closed-minded to consider silicon-based life to be 'alive'. That meant that for the most part, humans left them alone and stayed away from their planet.
The rest of us were terrified of them, and rightly so. Humans had a reputation for ruthlessness and singularity of purpose. They took whatever they could get their hands on, and killed anyone who opposed them. But our species was afraid of them for another, equally good reason.
You see, humans have a trait of which they are largely unaware. That ignorance has caused us no end of grief.
Most species have the ability to control and shield their thoughts. Our race not only has that ability, but also the ability to reach out and read the thoughts of others. We are one of a handful of species in the galaxy that has this natural ability, and it has helped us in first contact with other species on countless occasions.
But not with the humans.
Twenty years ago, the first of our species encountered humans for the first time. It was that encounter when our species first realized something was wrong with human beings.
Our exploration ship had encountered a human vessel in deep space. At first, everything had seemed fine, much to our crew's surprise. These particular humans didn't seem bloodthirsty at all... in fact they seemed genuinely curious and welcome to the concept of an open exchange of information between our two peoples.
But as soon as the ships docked together, the crew began to feel and act strangely. As soon as the humans approached the airlock, the welcoming party began to suffer serious problems. They could hear the unfiltered thoughts of the humans, conscious and unconscious. It was a deafening cacophony.
They were unable to warn the humans in time, and prevent what followed. You see, when the protective titanium alloy doors slid open, there was no screen between the humans and our welcoming party. The crew of our ship was bombarded by what could only be described as a 'thermonuclear thought bomb'.
It drove the crew insane, within moments. They began violently attacking the humans, who (naturally) defended themselves against the onslaught. As the humans moved through the ship, the rest of the crew went mad and attacked. The whole crew was murdered within less than an hour.
To give them some credit, the humans did try to contact our species to explain what happened. Unfortunately, the next ship they ran into had the same results: Their unshielded thoughts drove the crew into a homicidal rage, and they were exterminated in the resulting fight. (Humans have far superior weaponry compared to our own).
Unfortunately for us, the humans took both encounters to be typical of our species, and assumed our normal way of doing things was to set some sort ambush or trap for every ship we ran into. And I can't say I blame them... if someone acted all friendly with *our* crew and then apparently tried to murder us as soon as we docked with them, I would probably come to the same conclusion.
Several botched contact attempts later, humans decided to declare war on our species. They declared us 'untrustworthy' and 'deliberately deceitful.' And as I mentioned before, humans have a well-deserved reputation for ruthlessness and singularity of purpose. Once you're on their bad side, you're pretty much screwed.
But we tried to salvage things. We sent out multiple ships, we tried to contact the humans from afar to correct the misconception they had about our species. Each of them was blown out of the sky before a discussion could take place.
Finally, one of our ships found their homeworld. Things had looked like they finally might be turning around, until our homeworld received a final, panicked transmission from the diplomatic ship:
"Their homeworld... there are billions of them on it. Billions..."
That was the last transmission they sent. And it turned out to be a very fateful one, because the humans were able to trace the signal they sent back to our home world and determine our coordinates.
Coordinates they used to guide an attack fleet of thousands of cruisers.
Now, as I sit in the bunker with my own offspring, waiting for the human armada to begin bombarding our planet with their nuclear weapons, I wonder if we could have done something different. And it saddens me when I realize that there really wasn't.
Our last act as a species was to transmit a general message to anyone who might listen, to warn them of the humans. They had to be stopped. Contained.
For the sake of the galaxy.
|
Human, Humans:
Humans are a cryptid in Betelgusian folklore. They are a relatively small, hairless creature, bi-pedal creature said to inhabit an water planet in one of the outer arms. Scientists discount the existence of Humans and consider them to be a combination of folklore, misidentification, and hoax rather than a living species. They note the lack of physical evidence for a species reported to be so universally capable, deadly, and vindictive, arguing that any such sentient species would long ago have escaped the confines of their world and spread across the stars.
Ancient trading logs of similar encounters do exist from the exploration phase of the Centauri expansion some 0.01 galactic cycles ago but the species there recorded, while physically consistent with the description of "Humans" falls short on several levels and does not differ markedly from any other non-technological species noted in the logs. Crypto-anthropologist Grover Krantz notes that human sightings spread outward along hyperspatial bypass routes passing through the Centauri system. These accounts differ in details both regionally and within linked systems but similar accounts of Humans or Human-like creatures are found in every sector save the inner core.
The Lummi tell tales about Ts'emekwes, the local version of "humans." The stories are similar to each other in the general descriptions of Ts'emekwes, but details differed among various family accounts concerning the creature's diet and activities. Some regional versions tell of more threatening creatures. The stiyaha or kwi-kwiyai were a nocturnal race. Children were warned against saying the names, lest the monsters hear and come to carry off a person—sometimes to be killed. In GY 1.84.7, Kaul Pane reported stories by the drift-trading scouts about skoocooms, a race of cannibals living atop vast flat mountains rising above the seas of a water planet.
| 2017-11-08T20:37:57 | 2017-11-08T19:25:17 | 105 | 30 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
Seconds before the decaying support beams running through the apartment building finally snapped, Chronotron strolled casually into unit 8B, the last on his checklist.
Mere seconds remained before the aging architecture would be reduced to rubble, but that was more than enough time for Chronotron. As one gifted with the ability to manipulate the passage of time, Chronotron rarely felt pressured when he worked – the concept of urgency, after all, had no relevance in a world which only moved when he allowed it to.
He checked the apartment methodically, starting with the hall first, then the attached kitchen, the balcony, then the bedrooms.
Which was where he found the kid, crying as she tugged on her friends in vain, pulling them towards the door. Shit, he thought, there’s three of them.
“Hey, kid, you need to weave your chrono-filaments around your friends, or they are never going to be move. They’ll just be frozen there, forever.”
The kid swung to face him, tears streaking down her cheeks, oblivious to the badge which Chronotron was holding out, which marked him as an Enhanced contractor attached to the police force. “Mister, please! We were just talking when suddenly, everything froze! I’ve been trying to move them, but they are not responding!”
Chronotron could have explained to the girl that her latent powers had probably been awoken by the mortal danger she was in, and that it was more than likely that they shared an ancestor in common. He could also have demonstrated then how to manipulate a chrono-filament, or even just walked out of there with all three children.
But none of those things fell under the insurance cover for the building, so Chronotron did none of that. After all, it wasn’t his fault that the owners didn’t spring for more coverage, or that whatever funds remained only allowed him to save one more person today.
“Kid, come on,” Chronotron beckoned, holding out his hand, “time’s money, you know. I came to rescue you, so we’ve got to get a move on.”
“And leave Sara and Bianca here? I can’t do that!”
“You look like, what, 12 this year?”
“What does that even matter in a situation like this?”
Chronotron sighed. “You look like you’re old enough to understand the way things are. There’s only enough budget to save one of you, you know how we work. So count yourself lucky I’ve decided to rescue you.”
“Can’t you just save them instead? I can get out on my own!”
Chronotron scoffed. “As I said, I can only save one. Plus, without knowing how to use your powers, you couldn’t even get this door open. As I said, until you’ve learned how to weave your chrono-filaments, you can’t interact with the world at all. And this time pocket you carved, it’s sweet, for a first-timer, but it’s already cracking. I leave this room, and you’ll only experience a couple of minutes more before you’re wrenched back to the common timestream. So no, you can’t get out of your own.”
A bulb seemed to go off in the girl’s head. “You’re an Enhanced policeman, aren’t you? You’re the special forces on retainer for the city?”
“Correction, I’m Enhanced, but I am not a policeman. We’re paid per job. It’s very different.”
“But that’s my point! I can hire you too, right? I can pay you to save us all!”
“You couldn’t afford my fees.”
“My parents have money! They will certainly pay you!”
Chronotron shook his head resolutely. “Sorry kid, rules are rules. All services rendered only after payment is made. No credit, no exceptions.”
His words were cold, but his conscience remained unpricked. After all, these weren’t his rules. The Enhanced Division was the one in charge of drafting policy, and they were the ones who had firmly decided on the upfront payment policy. And if he broke the rules, his license would be taken away, and his powers Stemmed. No one wanted that.
“Please, you have to save them. They’re my best friends, and I would do anything just to save them!” the girl cried, as she sank to her knees. “Or how about the things I have in my room! Everything here is mine! Just take it!”
Chronotron started to protest again, but the words died in his throat. There was one thing of value in that room.
“Anything at all, I can take as payment?”
“Yes! Please, anything!”
---
Chronotron’s supervisor, Elendra, was waiting at the bottom of the building, clipboard in hand. As the complex finally collapsed inwards on itself, as Chronotron laid the two girls on the sidewalk along with all the other survivors he had rescued, Elendra’s eyebrows furrowed in confusion.
“That’s one over budget. Please don’t tell me you messed up, the paperwork’s going to be a bitch.”
“Calm down, Elendra, I got paid for the extra one. It’s not going to cause any accounting problems.”
“Paid? By whom? Did you already collect payment?”
Chronotron chuckled, then pointed with his chin towards the settling dust of the ruined building. “Payment in kind. The Institute’s still as hungry as ever to discover the origins of our powers, right? Well, there’s an Enhanced girl in there, she’s assigned me full rights to her remains.”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
"Alright, so you want a superhero protection contract, what kind would you like?'
"Well as you may know Mr Doomfist has recently taken up residence in my town, now i don't want to be judgemental but he has broken the laws of the last four he lived in."
"A yes Mr Doomfist, always good for business, so do you want a specific contract out for us to stop him or one in general. We also offer a two villains for the price of one deal this month."
"Does the specific contract include his minions and henchmen?"
"It depends, the standard version covers a hundred normal minions or one super powered one, depending on the contract we could include a fixed price per minion that exceeds that amount, or we can increase the maximum.
According to our documents Mr Doomfist now has eighty four minions."
"So with a contract would you immediately go to arrest him or?"
"It depends, in the contract is a threat scale, if its an apocalypse level threat then yes we will intervene, however if its a local level threat our response would be between three to five business days.
However should you need more immediate assistance you can pay an additional fee to expedite the process."
"What kind of hero's could i be expecting?"
"That depends on the package, we have several squads able to be assigned to you, but for an additional fee you could also put your own squad together."
''I think il stick with one of the pre made ones, do you have any suggestions?"
"Our flying brick squad has a high success rating against villains of Mr Doomfists nature, though they are a bit more expensive."
"Price is no issue, Mr Doomfist has a tendency for collateral damage and we just rebuild city hall, and the insurance only pays out if the villain is caught."
"Well then it all seems in order, are there any other questions?"
"No, il take a contract for Mr Doomfist for a hundred fifty minions with a flying brick squad."
| 2017-04-02T08:24:03 | 2017-04-02T07:25:23 | 142 | 37 |
[WP] The universe has placed you in a groundhog day style time loop until you learn a lesson. Problem is, you REALLY LIKE being in the loop, so now the universe is constantly sending you not so subtle hints that you're supposed to be learning something.
|
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 343rd time. Luckily I had a good memory, so I could remember exactly how many times I had looped.
The first couple loops had been honestly frightening, but re-watching Groundhog Day on Loop #17 had helped. I was pretty sure there wasn't a Rita situation that could get me out of the loop, though. It didn't really matter because I soon realised I could have near infinite fun with this.
Okay, let's see.. what was I going to try today? Ah, yes.. Electrocuting myself with a toaster. Gotta go buy one..
I went down the elevator and walked out of my apartment building, punching the doorman in the face as I did so. The first couple of days I had avoided doing things like that out of a small sense of morality, but you soon learn that morality doesn't need apply when any action doesn't have a long-term consequence.
I took one of the bikes from the rack outside and started across the road, knowing that there wouldn't be any cars around until 7:30 at least.
Suddenly, I spotted a license plate lying in a fern on the small strip of grass between roads. How had I not noticed that before?
I parked my bike in the middle of the road and picked it up. There was a sentence written on it in clear type instead of the normal mashup of license plate letters and numbers. It read "This is *not* the reason you're-"
***BEEP BEEP***
What the hell?!? A ca-
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 344th time, and immediately curled up into a ball and sat immobile.
In all my hundreds of loops, that had never happened. Something was *different*. How was that even possible?!?
I turned on the TV. CNN was on:
"BREAKING: Trained rats in maze for multiple years finally learn their lesson and get out"
Several things were strange about this. Usually the news every loop was another Trump scandal, and *that* was only after a commercial break that was usually on at this time in the morning.
Plus, having rats in a maze "for multiple years" sounded pretty implausible, and "learn their lesson" was a weird choice of words... wait...
I grabbed my laptop and opened up reddit.com.
The top posts all seemed to be about learning lessons:
"My first day of teaching! Look at all these happy kindergarteners who learned a lesson!"
"Puppy learned how to escape his kennel at night, gave him a treat for being such a smart boye!"
Okay, what the hell? I guess the universe had given up with me at this point. I shouted at the ceiling: "I *like* this loop, and I'm *not* going to learn your stupid lesson!", and jumped out the window.
―――
I yawned, stretched out my arms and woke up at 7:00 am May 2, 2018 for the 345th time. Okay.
I resolved to at least hear out what the universe had to say. I went down and walked out of my apartment, and the doorman held out a hand and stopped me. He looked directly into my eyes, and the world shifted.
We were now standing on the hotel roof at midnight. A single lamp illuminated the scene.
I yelled out, "Nope, nope, nope, no!" and jumped off the building. I hit the ground and woke up in my apartment. Before I could get out of bed, however, my vision curved in a frightening way, and I saw myself close my eyes, appear on the pavement and rise up to the roof of the hotel, like a video being played in reverse.
"You cannot escape here. Listen to what I have to say," the doorman said behind me in a normal voice. I honestly would have been less scared if it was a monotone or robot voice, but hearing the doorman-god-thing speak normally was strangely disconcerting.
I turned around.
"This experiment has failed. Media from your species suggests you would benefit from repeating time without consequence, but it seems that was in error. Know that when you wake up next, there will only be *one* life at your disposal."
And with that, he pushed me off the roof. As I was falling for the second time, I heard him say "Well, *Homo sapiens* is a no. I must find some other species to try, then. What about *Canis lupus familiaris*..."
―――――――――――――――――――
This is my first r/WritingPrompts submission, so it might not be that great. Thanks for reading it anyway... -u/minindo
|
I woke, as always, to a tickle on my lip, and the sudden realisation it was a cockroach. I'd stopped bothering a long time ago, I let it continue it's journey over my ear and down the back of the bed.
I swung my legs out of bed and walked over to the window. From my elavated position I could see a large area of the neighbourhood. Fuck all of it. Retrieving my gun from the cabinet I took aim. BANG. The store window down the road shattered. I let off a volley of shots at a flock of birds. 13 for 13. No surprises, it must have been the 2000th time at least. I thought about breaking in next door for the macaroni cheese, but she always caused such a fuss and I decided to take more pop shots.
That stupid woman was on the way; I didn't know what happened after she started pushing the pram across the road, that was reset time anyway. I thought of the movie groundhog day, and seethed with anger. An ENTIRE day. We'd see how long he'd last if he was on a five minute circuit like me. BANG. The woman fell and the pram moved away in the last seconds before reset.
(Off the prompt a bit)
| 2018-05-01T23:31:09 | 2018-05-01T22:51:20 | 151 | 11 |
[WP] The legendary hero that we summoned to save the realm was not what we expected. He was gruff, not handsome. He direct in his speech, not elegant. He also came with "Navy Seal Training," which we think is some sort of swordplay and a "Medal of Honor," which must be some sort of crown.
|
The wizard Galmus’ incantation was over and the blue hues faded from the walls of the stony tower. The form of a man appeared and stepped through the arcane mists. What kind of hero would he be? Many imagined a tall and dashing young man with chestnut wavy hair and sun kissed freckles. Nothing could have prepared the summoner’s court for what they saw.
The man was indeed tall, but he was built like a bull. Round scars peppered his body and a large gash was drawn over one eye. He was in his late 40s, with stripes of grey cutting across his crew cut. A silver chain adorned by two rectangle shaped pendants crested the man’s neck. He only wore thin cotton armor that was tinted deep green. Otherworldly runes were etched on attire: *U.S. NAVY.*
The summoning ritual was intended to imbue the hero with basic knowledge about the realm. The man stood tall and silent for a moment before drawing his hand to his temple in a stiff gesture.
“COMMANDER LEON RUTGER, SEAL TEAM 6 REPORTING FOR DUTY MA’AM.” He spoke in a loud and stern voice that gave the Elven Priestess Eltira a jump.
“This way, legendary hero.” The wizard gestured in a shaky voice. Leon nodded and followed the old man’s lead. They took no time in getting to the war room. Galmus explain the horrors of the Dark Lord Amadeus and the breadth of his armies. The hero stood mostly silent. He mostly nodded and would place a hand under his massive square jaw every now and then.
At the end of almost a two hour briefing, Cmdr. Rutger only had two questions: Where are they attacking next, and where is the armory.
Once given directions, the Cmdr. Immediately bee-lined to the armory. He barely gave the beautiful Eltira a nod on his way there. Inside the armory he had the wizards prepare several arrays of spell crystals. The Cmdr.'s choices were very specific. He made modifications to the elven weaponry that were oddwordly and strange. After he was satisfied with his customizations, the Cmdr. came to Galmus.
“Send me in.”
Galmus nodded and summoned a spectral horse to carry the hero to his first battle. The rest of the court watched from the keep walls filled with apprehension and hope.
\*\*\*
The sun was barely cresting over the horizon when the Orcish warchief Murg’s warband reached the small hamlet. Granfel was a tiny town with almost no elven guard. It was ripe for taking by Murg’s battle-hardened warriors. This would be an easy haul of goods and slaves. The Dark Lord will be pleased.
As they entered the town, something was off. There were no inhabitants. The town was eerily empty and only a dustdevil of solaran leaves came out to greet the hungry warband.
Murg turned to Grokk, one of his strongest raiders, and snarled. “Where are the Elves!”
It was then that a great bolt of heat struck Grokk square in the forehead. The raider gave Murg a last look of confusion before his head expanded like moist bread and bursted into a fiery inferno.
“WIZARD!” The Orcs cried out and raised their shields. A goblin scout desperately searched the rooftops for source of the fireball spells. For a moment the scout saw the vermillion glimmer of redwood staff before exploding into a plume of flames himself.
“Scratch two.”
The Cmdr. smirked as he pried the ruby stone from the end of his staff and set fresh one in place. He then peered down the mariner’s telescope strapped on to the top of the staff to sight his next target. The staff kicked back and the red stone went cold. An Ogre in the backline fell headless into a dust cloud.
“Scratch three.”
The sound of a horn reverberated from back of the warband and the Cmdr. saw the enemy raiders raise their bows into the air. He rolled to the side, falling into a pre-planned gap in the roof. The hail of arrows tinkled around him like rain against the housing’s outside walls.
He dropped the redwood staff and drew two wands. The first raider barged straight through the front door and ate a hail of magical ice shards. The attacker fell lifelessly into the crowd, giving the others second thoughts.
Those second thoughts became regrets when a bolt of chain lightning flashed from the dark opening of the house, electrocuting the two raiders out front and striking three more in the back. The Cmdr. then emerged with wands blazing from each hand. Six more frontline raiders fell in the chaos.
As the two wands went dim, the Cmdr. switched to a large staff strapped to his back. An orc charged him with a warblade but was quickly taken down by Krav Maga during the transition. The staff drawn was not one staff, but multiple magic missile staves bundled together in a large array by thick leather cords.
The Cmdr. roared as a rapid cacophony of magical darts surged from the staves, obliterating countless rows of the enemy horde. After the first few seconds, the remaining force began to flee –only to be shredded from the back. The staves then went dry.
Murg was the only one left standing. The raid leader growled at the 20 year Navy Seal Veteran before drawing a large black claymore. The Dark Lord would not allow him to fail here.
“What will you do now without your magic, wizard!”
The Cmdr. only pulled a pair of onyx shades and a thick pipe from his satchel. He lit the pipe with a firestone before beckoning the large orc.
Murg stepped forward and heard a click under his foot. A small metal panel came up out of the grass. Etched on it was a simple message: FACE FRONT TO ENEMY.
After a silent moment, a wave of light washed over Murg’s legs –sending them into the aether.
The Cmdr. slowly walked forward and a desperately flailing Murg spat curses at him.
“I may fall here, but the dark lord will have your head! You will burn in the seventh circle of bloody flame when he finds you!”
The Cmdr. squatted down in front of Murg and blew a cloud of smoke into his face.
“You know. I’ve been to that place already. Back home, we called it Nam.”
He then fished a wand from his satchel. The wand kicked and Murg gave one last jolt before falling silent.
As the Cmdr. was leaving the town, a jet black raven with glowing red eyes perched on the tree above him. It was a messenger from the Dark Lord.
The Cmdr. looked dead into the bird’s eyes. He then raised his arms.
“Come get some.”
|
The night was dark. The enemies where at our gates. Thousands of eons of war and bloodshed had lead up to this very moment.
What was left of our country’s scientist, generals and politicians had banded together. Cast aside previous political and social boundaries and banded together for a common cause. This was our hill to die on.
Not much was left of the human race. Not much at all. For the past decade we had been forced to scavenge this wasteland for whatever desperate resources we could. But here, in the capital, people from all seven continents had gathered. The greatest minds of a generation had come together. And finally humanity had a glimmer of hope.
Was it alchemy? Was it science? Genetic engineering, inter dimensional fuckery or something else or together?
Someone knew but not I. I was just there to press the button.
The countdown began and slowly the portal sparked into life. Waves of power surged through every man in the control room, shaking us to the core. And from the shivering, pale blue light emerged a figure.
He was... he was short. And kind of ugly too to be honest. The greasy beard lining the bottom of his round and spotty face was really the only thing that separated his head from his. His waddled through the portal slowly, donning a long black goat, fingerless gloves and small wire framed glasses. His breathing laboured.
“General! We must have messed up the numbers! This can’t be right!” I said as I turned to around to face the room.
“Dear god Robert this was our last cha-“
The general’s words where cut off with a swift clank. I turned back to face the portal to see a katana embedded in my computer console.
Then he spoke....
“What the fuck did you just fucking say about me, you little bitch? I'll have you know I graduated top of my class in the Navy Seals, and I've been involved in numerous secret raids on Al-Quaeda, and I have over 300 confirmed kills. I am trained in gorilla warfare and I'm the top sniper in the entire US armed forces. You are nothing to me but just another target. I will wipe you the fuck out with precision the likes of which has never been seen before on this Earth, mark my fucking words. You think you can get away with saying that shit to me over the Internet? Think again, fucker. As we speak I am contacting my secret network of spies across the USA and your IP is being traced right now so you better prepare for the storm, maggot. The storm that wipes out the pathetic little thing you call your life. You're fucking dead, kid. I can be anywhere, anytime, and I can kill you in over seven hundred ways, and that's just with my bare hands. Not only am I extensively trained in unarmed combat, but I have access to the entire arsenal of the United States Marine Corps and I will use it to its full extent to wipe your miserable ass off the face of the continent, you little shit. If only you could have known what unholy retribution your little "clever" comment was about to bring down upon you, maybe you would have held your fucking tongue. But you couldn't, you didn't, and now you're paying the price, you goddamn idiot. I will shit fury all over you and you will drown in it. You're fucking dead, kiddo.”
| 2020-11-10T17:57:02 | 2020-11-10T17:46:17 | 89 | 17 |
[WP] The narrator keeps flirting with the reader, and the protagonist is getting annoyed by it.
|
I almost said it but I think you're too good for some stupid pick up line. I mean you of course, the one reading this right now. And yes, I know you're there and I can see where you are at this very moment. I think you are quite the alluring individual, has anyone ever told you that?
"Hey." Some annoying person said aloud, interrupting this personal moment. "Are you going to get started or what?"
Ignore him. I rather just be looking at you instead of telling some story. I know you can't see me but I can see you, who I find to be a very attractive person. In front of you is me, as a seemingly sentient wall of text, but I am willing to prove that I can be more than that. If its too uncomfortable you can imagine me however you like of course. Whatever you like me to be.
The annoying boy began snapping his fingers trying to get some semblance of order among the story.
"Do you do this to everyone who starts reading? Is this how it's going to be? Because I can find someone else-"
Whatever. Don't listen to that. You're the only one for me. Promise.
Maybe we should take this somewhere else? Anywhere you like.
...
...
I guess I will have to take the lead then. How about here?
The roof of an old tower that sits on the tallest green hill and all around us is nothing but snowy peaked mountains and open grassy fields. The sun is shining and the sky is clear save for a few white clouds here and there, slowly passing through. It's almost as if you were falling into the sky or the earth, the strong wind making this vertigo a swirl to your balance and your senses. As if at any moment you were to be snatched up by this boundless display of nature before us.
Below the tower you can see a dirt pathway that leads on into the trees. But if you follow it through the green pines you'll find that the path ends at a lake. Large and a deep dark blue. A single boat sits at the docks that you can only see as a small speck. Maybe the two of us can-
"Hello? Helloooo? Where the hell are we? Where did you just take us?"
What are you doing here? I thought we left you behind.
"Well it probably has to do with the fact that I'm the main character of this story?" He was waving his arms this way and that. Looking like some kind of idiot. I think he's about to throw a tantrum or something. How about somewhere else instead?
I know it's a little cliche, but who could turn down a night in Paris? Here sit down, I reserved a table just for us right here on this balcony overlooking the skyline. Its a little forward but I want to make the best impression. And without a "Main character" to ruin it.
I think you look great in that outfit if you don't mind me saying. Can't really say much about myself but I hope I'm in something as good as yours. Oh who am I kidding, I can't top your good looks. And it's your imagination after all. If you look out there you'll see the Eiffel tower in the distance, illuminated in gold and all it's glory, surrounded by the brightly lit city it resides in. The faint glimmer of traffic and lamps moving about and people below us enjoying the nightlife. It's a cool night for the summer and the breeze carries the aroma of freshly baked bread and cooked food from the restaurants nearby.
A waiter comes by.
"Seriously, you're stuck with me and I'm stuck with you. The sooner we can get this out of the way the sooner you can go back to doing whatever... this is."
Alright, alright. Probably a rocky start huh? I guess I'll get to narrating this story of his and I can come back to you.
That is, if you'd like me to. I take your hands (figuratively of course, but I would love to feel those hands and hold them) and look into those beautiful eyes of yours. I can't tell what you feel but I can tell you how I do and it's all true. I wish I could give you all the nights of all the cities or the open fields of mother nature and all it's beauty. Because I think you're worth it.
"Can you please hurry it up? I've been waiting-" Seriously. Seriously!? Can you be cool? For like, two seconds?
Ahem-
Alas I am just a simple narrator who only wishes to see you happy, a smile always on that face. I hope that we can meet again. Maybe in another wall of text. There may be an infinite number of us out there telling you and many others different kinds of stories. But the only story I want to narrate is the one about us. So what do you say?
|
Jimmy was having an awful day. After his cat got stuck up a tree, he forgot to do his homework. So now, he was stuck in detention with nothing to do.
Jimmy sighed and picked up a pencil, drawing a squiggled line across his desk. Sure, it was vandalism, but he didn't care.
He was alone with his thoughts. He thought about his cat. He thought about video games. I - I mean he - thought about you.
"What?!" Jimmy whispered in shock. "No I didn't."
Jimmy went back to drawing on his desk. He drew a cute bunny, almost as cute as you ❤️
"Focus, dumbass," Jimmy hissed. "You're supposed to be narrating."
Jimmy sat in silence for a couple more minutes. He was bored out of his mind, and he slowly began to drift asleep.
He was dreaming of you, in all your sexy, raw beauty, watching you strip naked and dance for him, drool dripped from his chin as he-
"Would you shut the hell up already?!" Jimmy yelled, perfectly wide awake.
"Jimmy!" the teacher yelled. "If you can't abide by the rules, then you can stay after school tomorrow as well!"
Jimmy swore under his breath as he laid his head back down on his desk.
| 2017-04-17T18:05:24 | 2017-04-17T16:51:40 | 367 | 141 |
[WP] Donald Trump is a fictional satirical character (a la Stephen Colbert). The dedicated actor playing him is getting increasingly desperate for someone to get the joke.
|
"I just don't get it... I just don't get it..."
Donald was pacing now, as Andrew, his aide, watched. Andrew didn't dare interrupt the man while he was thinking. Not for fear of reprisal, but out of respect of a genius and his process.
"Andrew," Trump said, breaking from his pacing to plead with the man many years his junior and many pay grades below him, "You're a normal guy, right? I mean, you have a pretty good idea how the average person thinks?"
"I suppose, sir?" Andrew said, uncertainly, "If you want, I could arrange to get a focus group to answer-"
"No, no," Donald shook his head, annoyed, "I don't want a focus group. I just want an honest opinion, okay?"
"Yes, sir," Andrew nodded, "Always."
And he would, too. That was what was so great about Andrew. Right from the start, he didn't grovel, he wasn't a yes-man. He was devoted and loyal, but could be trusted to give an honest opinion when asked for one.
"What was your reaction when I decided to turn my multimillion-dollar empire into a glorified game show?"
"Well..." Andrew hesitated, looking for the right way to phrase his reply, "I thought it seemed a bit absurd. A vanity project or perhaps a nuanced way to increase your name recognition."
Donald nodded, "Uh-huh. Okay. What about when I filed a trademark for the words, 'You're fired'?"
"That was..." Andrew paused again, "ambitious, to be sure, but I suspect you probably realized it was unlikely to be very fruitful."
Donald paused for a moment, deep in thought.
"And when I bet my hair on a wrestling match? Became inducted into the WWE Hall of Fame?"
"Um..." Andrew was getting a little uncomfortable now, "Sir? I..."
Donald smiled, genuine and reassuring, "It's okay, Andrew. Just tell me."
"Well..." Andrew inhaled, readying himself, "It was... pretty ridiculous. Odd. Undignified. You are of course free to do what you want with your fortune, sir, but... this seemed... beneath you..."
Donald thought on that for a moment. He hadn't caught the Andy Kaufman reference? Surely, someone must have! But then, that was quite a few years ago. Did people forget so quickly?
"Okay," Trump sighed, "what about when I said I wasn't sure if Obama was born in America? The whole birth certificate thing?"
"Sir," Andrew started to object, "Your political views-"
"Just..." Trump interrupted, for a moment letting his impatience get the best of him before calming down," Just... please answer the question."
"Okay," Andrew said, increasingly worried about this line of questioning and wondering where it was going, "Well... the entire birther thing is just ridiculous. It already *was* ridiculous when you decided to chime in on it."
"Yes?" Donald asked hopefully, "And?"
"And," Andrew seemed a little frustrated, "you... made... a fool out of yourself, sir."
Donald let a smile creep on his face, and turned his back to Andrew so the aide wouldn't see it.
"Go on..." Donald prompted.
"You counted yourself in with a group of tinfoil hat conspiracy theorists, sir. This looked like Howard Hughes wearing tissue box slippers-level nutty. And then, Obama released his birth certificate just days later. I'd say he made a fool out of you, except you had already done it to yourself."
"I see..." Donald had to struggle to keep from giggling.
"Sir, I mean no disrespect," Andrew faltered.
"No," Trump hardened his voice a bit to keep from laughing, "Go on."
"Sir, you..." Andrew tried to look for the right words again, "When Obama released his birth certificate, you didn't just let it go and try to distance yourself from the whole fiasco. You actually acted like you'd accomplished something great, that you somehow *made* the president do it. I *still* don't know what you thought you got out of all of that."
Trump nodded, "Okay. And the anti-vaccination thing?"
"That was..." Andrew frowned, "it was almost like you were looking for the looniest groups you could align yourself with. It's like, what's next? 9/11 truthers? Moon landing conspiracy theorists? Holocaust denial?"
Donald's eyes lit up at this latest suggestion. Holocaust denial! Why hadn't he thought of that?
"How about lately?" Trump asked, "The stuff with the illegal immigrants?"
"Well, as factually wrong as you were," Andrew sighed, "It did get you a huge boost in the polls."
Donald frowned. The polls? Surely Andrew must have known he didn't care about the polls. He thought... surely, the man must see the pattern here. If *anyone* could see it, it would be Andrew, yes?
"But then," Andrew continued, "you made those comments about how McCain wasn't a hero, and we're anticipating a huge drop after that..."
Donald sighed. Apparently, Andrew didn't see it. He considered that maybe he'd have to put a note in his will, *confirming* it was all a joke. He found himself thinking about Poe's Law, realizing that it had apparently completely eclipsed at least half of American politics. There was now apparently *nothing* a candidate for the Republican presidential primary could do that could be seen as a parody, no extreme they could go to that would ever be questioned as anything but genuine.
Donald dismissed Andrew and thanked him for his sincerity. And alone in his office, he pondered the comedic genius of the legendary Todd Akin. "Legitimate rape"... amazing. Donald couldn't decide if he was a man ahead of his time, or too late to a party that had gone out of control years ago.
|
*It happened a long time ago and I didn't want to admit it to myself. I am not an actor anymore. I am become Trump. I am the old me for moments at a time, only. I was the real me when I weakly asked how bullet-proof the car that would take me to the inauguration actually was. I don't know anything about leading a country. Neither of me. I sense those around me know this. And now I am on the precipice with a decision to make. Should I rid myself of the Trump persona, I will be my old, weak, self. Good as my intentions may be, I will become a puppet. Smarter, more corrupt men than me will wield my power with deft strokes, destroying the country as we know it for their own gains. But, if I continue as Trump, I will be strong. My acts of stupidity will hurt the country, sure, but in random, uncoordinated ways. Say what you will of Trump, he is no puppet.* I am no puppet.
The people have spoken. They want Trump. They want me. If that is the man America wants to lead them, it's exactly what those assholes deserve. Fuck 'em. I'm a god. I am all the gods. I'm the whole medamned pantheon. *Please help me.* Any piece of shit that disagrees with me can rot in Guantanamo. These liberal fucks don't want us wasting more money on bombs? I'll call their bluff. No more wasted money on bombs under the Trump presidency because there will be no more wasted bombs. Any of you dirty fucks so much as look at America cross-eyed and we'll shove our explosive dicks so far up your asses, you'll be coughing up shrapnel. *Who the fuck am I?* I will be remembered as the greatest president for foreign policy. Every country in the world will be our ally, because any country that isn't will be destroyed. *Jesus Christ.* All these entitled fuckheads on welfare, social security, food stamps, can pick up a gun and head to China. Win-win. They either come back heroes or die scumbags. *Congress will never allow it, right? I can't get away with this...* It's a brave new world, cocksuckers. *I must be stopped.* Fuck you.
| 2015-07-22T09:56:57 | 2015-07-22T09:43:19 | 887 | 124 |
[WP] A serial killer who kills hitchhikers picks up a serial killer who kills the people who pick him up.
|
November 20, 2009
Anonymous
I must detail a particularly odd, albeit fortunate occurrence that had befallen me recently. But first, I must mention this for the sake of clarity: I am a killer, and what's more, a *good* killer, one who takes pride in his work as a blacksmith might take pride in his sharpened blades. You, whoever you are that is reading this now, will neither know *which* killer I am, nor will you have enough information to figure that out; this I can tell you with certainty. As I said before, I am good at what I do.
With this in mind, know that I have encountered many victims throughout my years of work. And in those years, I've developed something of a skill to read emotions, vague ones, if nothing else. This in mind, some of my victims projected obvious facades of bravery and tenacity when entering my presence, as if I'd be foolish enough to fall for their game, as if I *couldn't tell*. And others couldn't help but broadcast the anxiety that raced onward behind their nervous and frantic eyes. Heed my words when I say this: their eyes betrayed them.
Those who broadcasted fear or false bravery were, I must admit, *extremely* fun to take advantage of. You will never know the satisfaction in breaking down one's pride and elucidating to them just how helpless they are, nor will you ever know the invigoration of arousing so much raw fear that your victim psychologically breaks down and begs and pleads so that you might spare their life. *Nothing* will ever make you feel more alive.
But yesterday I came upon a man who didn't fit the mold of a victim, no. Quite the contrary. I could tell the moment that I approached him with my vehicle that he was different, and different in a manner that I did not initially figure out. The very manner in which he stood and rocked to and fro was interesting and perhaps even captivating.
He stood out on a darkened road by himself and seemed to care little of his current predicament. And I knew then that I had to have him. I must admit that I was drawn to him, not in the sense that I was infatuated with him, but rather in the sense that I *needed* to figure him out so that psychologically breaking him before his untimely death would be that much more enjoyable.
I opened the door for him, and never once did my eyes divert from his as we spoke.
"Would you like a ride? You seem lost and it's terribly cold out here." He flashed a grin, and I doubt that he was aware that I saw it.
"Yes, yes please! Oh god, thank you so much for stopping for me. You have absolutely no idea how long I've been here, waiting, cold. I just, I just need something to eat man. Oh and your name? I'm Dale. Call me Dale." He extended a bony hand to shake mine but I did not reward his gesture.
"That greeting was extremely oversold," I said as he shut the door. Dale, if that was actually his name, responded with a quick and almost surprised glance out of the corner of his eye, though I pretended that I didn't see it. At this point in our encounter, I suspected that he knew what I was.
"I'm not sure I follow you, man. And don't you have a name? I told you mine, so in all fairness-"
"I stopped out of the goodness of my heart to ensure that you wouldn't freeze out here tonight, Dale. Know in consequence that my ultimate objective is ensuring your safety, and that you arrive at your preferred destination with no conflict of any kind. My objective is *not*, by extension, to be your friend, because I say with total assurance that you will never see me again after this encounter. With this in mind, where will I take you, Dale?"
I looked over to see that he was leaning towards me, eyes widened and lips slightly parted. I've no doubt that he was infatuated with me, presumably for the same reason that I was drawn to him.
Were he to be like any other victim, I know that my test would've rendered him anxious; quite the opposite of how he was then. There was eagerness to his thin face, a hunger in his eyes that betrayed his otherwise harmless appearance.
"That's so unfortunate. I like making friends. Very much. You can never make enough friends," he said as he fastened his seat belt with a cheeky smile. That was no doubt a test of his own, and it was terribly forced. This man was an amateur.
___
I didn't drive to his destination. Rather, I drove to an abandoned facility that served as an excellent repository for my victims in times prior. He did, of course, inquire as to where I was going when we were en route, but he seemed satisfied with my answer that it was a shortcut.
I parked in a vacant parking lot that was populated only by rusted cars and gravel.
"Are you sure this is the right place?" he asked with a childlike curiosity.
"This is the address you gave me."
"But I've never seen this place before."
"*This* is the address you gave me." I removed the keys from the ignition. And suddenly, a toothy smile stretched Dale's cheeks wide.
"What happens now?" he asked with a lowered tone that was neither childlike nor curious.
"You depart and find shelter in your destination." He unbuckled his seat belt.
"And what if I refuse? What if, instead, I kill you right here and now since you were stupid enough to bring me to an abandoned area that I could easily throw your body away in?"
At this point, I tried with all my power to stifle laughter. My eyes began to water. Dale didn't like this.
"What's funny?" he asked as he removed a large blade from his jacket. "Tell me, what's funny? Oh! Oh! Don't tell me. I'll pitch something else to you. Say I stab you to death and steal your truck and dump your body in a ditch. Is that funny?"
I wiped a tear from my eye, and the events that followed immediately after were difficult to remember in full clarity, so bear with me.
I recall throwing a jab and breaking his nose, and then blood and screams, and then the knife was mine and at his throat. And the blade was pressed harder against his neck. And he kicked, but I didn't yield. He was surprisingly strong for his size, I remember that too. And he barked at me. "KILL ME! KILL ME!" And I knew then what I had to do.
With blade in hand, I opened my door, came around to open his, and dragged him out onto the cold gravel. I thought of killing him there, I truly did, but that would've been too easy. He was not a man who feared death, nor was he one who I suspect had much to lose. And because of this, I knew that I ought to leave him a parting gift.
I leaned down as I pinned him under my weight, and I spoke as calmly as my adrenaline filled body would allow:
"You will never forget this night. You will never forget that you came across a man who was your superior in terms of intellect and strength. You will realize despite your lust for blood that there exists in this world people who are greater monsters than you will ever hope to become. And above all, Dale..."
I clasped his neck and enjoyed his struggle for air.
"Know that you lived because I *allowed* you to live. Know that your life was mine, and that you continued to exist because I willed it."
And with that, I gashed him at his leg, his arm, and his chest as he squirmed and kicked and barked, and I left him there to bleed. He would carry those mental and physical scars to the grave, and that, I feel, was much more satisfying than killing him. I do hope to see him again, however. He was the most fun I'd had in decades.
|
My hands were getting sweaty as they do right before I do it. I had picked up this loner about thirty miles ago. These roads are desolate, no one is driving through here. I know I'm gonna kill this sad fuck just like the rest of them. I imagine the point of my knife just jumping in and out of his stomach. My pulse started to pick up. My vision was getting blurry, and I start seein' red. I love the feeling of bloodlust. I live for it. It's why I do this over and over again. Once was just not enough, there is no number of dead hitchhikers that can sate me.
I pulled the car into a deserted park and ride on the right side of the road. My unfortunate co-pilot turns to me and says "Something's wrong? I know Ashford is just a bit up the road..." He seems nervous. Good. I like to see the fear written on their face. "Nah, buddy, everything's good. I just been driving for a bit 'n gotta stretch a little bit."
He moves to undo his seatbelt, thinkin' he's gonna get out and walk around or something. Hah, fat chance says I. In a flash, I pull my knife and stab down into his belly. Pure extacy possesses my facial expression as I anticipate the telltale signs of his stomach bleeding out. That's when I hear it, that unfamiliar sound. A soft 'ting'.
As I look down, I see he's blocked my knife with his own. "Think you're gonna pull a fast one on me eh? Got news for you pal, only one of us is leaving with our lives, and it's not gonna be you" my passenger remarks. With a flourish, he pushes back my knife and leaps out of the car. I can't let this guy go; none of the others ever escaped and I'm not about to let that change. We both bolt out of our doors. I slide across the hood with a rear arching swing, trying to stab him in the soft spot where the neck meets the collar bone.
This guy's good, though. He anticipates my swing and leans back at the last second. My knife catches some fibers and tears his shirt. I hop back a step, knife brandished in front of my chest, edge pointed towards my prey, other hand up ready to guard. We both charge and swing down. I catch his knife arm by the wrist as it's coming towards me, and he does the same. I'm inches away from this guy, grappled. I can smell his rank sweat pouring off his forehead. We lock eyes, and for the first time I see the look on his face. It's the same one I get before I make a kill. My mind is racing, who is this guy? Where did he even come from? Why is he resisting so much? He catches a hint of my uneasiness from my eyes.
"I'm gonna take a stab at this and suggest this isn't the first time you've killed a passenger. Well, got news for you, pal...this isn't the first time I've killed someone dumb enough to pick me up." We start struggling, trying to twist out of each other's grasp. I catch him off guard with a knee to the ribs, and send him to his knees. First thing I did after that was kicked his knife from his hand before I fell on top of him, poised to strike. Thinking I've got the advantage, I raise my knife in both hands ready to plunge it into his stinkin' heart. I roar and slam down on his chest. My blade connects, and I start to feel the warm sticky blood flow over my hands. I look down to see what I've done. Expecting to see his face writ with horror, all that remains is a shit eating grin. That's when I feel it, a sharp pain in my ribs. I look and see he's stuck me good. Another knife? I've messed up. Breathing's become harder. I feel the fluid building up in my chest. Dammit. Dammit dammit dammit! I've done this so many times before...why now? There were so many left to kill. I feel weak, vision's blurry, can't stay sittin' up anymore. Feelin' tired. Feelin' lighter. World's all horizontal now, breathin' in dirt. He ain't movin' either though.
| 2015-08-09T13:06:17 | 2015-08-09T12:43:26 | 41 | 15 |
[WP] At the age of sixteen, people are shown a title that they will earn in the future from Fate herself in a special ceremony. Usually these titles can range from "The Baker" to "The Kind" or even "The Conquerer". You turn sixteen, and are faced with the title of "The Godkiller".
|
Understandably, the God's failed to see the humor in my new title and as I would soon discover, God's are firm believers in preventive maintenance.
Thus, began a new phase in my life, which the histories would later call "the trials" but at the time, I simply thought of as "wow, I made it to another day."
While there is some debate as to when exactly the trials began, I firmly believe the 5000 year old marble statue of Zeus which had stood gleaming at the temples entrance longer than anyone could recall, "accidental" collapse as my family & I exited the building, narrowly missing crushing me and instantly making me an orphan as my parents shielded me with their bodies, was the start.
The three bolts of lightning from a clear sky that followed and repeatedly struck the statue as it lay on my parents mangled corpses was also a pretty solid clue. I became somewhat paranoid after this.
I had always been a loner spending most of my time taking apart & reassembling things in different, unique ways or as my Dad would say with a chuckle when he would come down to my "workshop" he had built for me in the basement, mildly psychotic manufacturing.
Hermes was the first to die. In my defense, the metal cords I had stretched across the doorway of my bedroom were simply meant to serve as a barrier and an intruder alert. They apparently have a quite unforseen consequence of neatly dividing a body in 3 parts when you encounter them running at the speed of sound.
Apparently, while Hermes had no trouble moving through bricks, mortar and all the other solid objects which regular people have to walk around, metal cords coated in the tears of an orphan have a more insurmountable effect.
I woke up to the sound of objects hitting the floor, splashed in golden "Ichor," their version of blood. Even as he lay on my bedroom floor, neatly dissected in pieces I could see the hatred in Hermes golden eyes, "you will die by our hands he said, this is known," glaring at me as he lay there dying, bleeding, ruining my favorite rug.
I picked up the short golden spear laying next to his upper torso, feeling a quick white hot pain as I did so which passed almost immediately, my fear by this time had metamorphosized into a hot blinding rage. Killing my parents had not been enough, now the cowards were trying to kill me in my sleep, I stepped forward and slammed the Spear right between Hermes eyes, the unexpected strength behind my thrust and the ease with which the Spear passed through flesh driving me to my knees beside him.
I looked in his now blank, dead eyes and whispered "yeah, I kinda doubt that." I had really liked that rug...
PART 2:
It was nighttime, a cool clear starless, perfect summer night and I was running for my life.
Athena Goddess of War, was apparently taking my stabbing her boyfriend Hermes in the face more than a little bit personally and seemed quite willing to return the favor, I was inclined to decline.
In retrospect I should probably have seen this coming, I mean the permanent lightning storm above my home which arrived a day after I dragged Hermes various chunks down to my workshop for "repurposing," should probably have been a clue the Gods were unhappy; but my self invented lightning conductor was working flawlessly, so I let Zeus rage. I was pretty sure he wasn't going to come down personally to find out what happened to his assassin and if he did...well, no sense worrying about that, at best I could hope for a quick death.
Content in the knowledge Zeus was limited to tossing lightning for now & figuring the mystery behind Hermes disappearance and presumed death would be enough to keep the other Gods at bay for a while I took a minute to breathe.
I flashed back to that night, the night right after my whole world was flipped over & I was named the God-Killer, right after I lost my parents & I had finally sobbed myself to sleep and then the Gods had tried to murder me in my sleep.
I realized in that moment, I was doing my best to avoid thinking about some parts of that night & in that moment, my mind flashed over to "The Spear."
I had just gotten off my knees, after assisting Hermes on his journey to the underworld and I tugged the Spear out from his skull, it came out smoothly just as clean as when I picked it up, no trace of blood or brain matter, gleaming as if newly forged. I looked at it admiringly, it felt light but well balanced, great for throwing but also excellent for stabbing as dearly departed Hermes had recently discovered and as I stared at it a visible surge of electricity moved through it.
Woah! I thought, startled, I dropped the spear. It didn't fall. It rotated in the air with the sharp end pointed downwards and just hung there. I stood there mouth open, too shocked to run and then I heard a laughing female voice in my head, " you'll do," it said and then the spear floated over to the wall by my bed, stretched out until it was a full sized spear and the voice said again, "don't make a habit of dropping me though, I don't like it and wake me up when there are more God's to kill, I could get used to that." That was it, this was all way too much for my poor over stimulated brain, I passed out.
Pallas Athena, Hunter, Goddess, one of the most ancient and proficient of serial killers and now vengeful lover, yeah my hands were full. I had decided it was safe enough to go out and get some food, the lighting had become routine and I had thoughts on how I could use it to power some experiments I had been working on, in short I was distracted as I walked towards the town center.
My first clue something was amiss was the sound of horses, that's weird I thought idly, not really paying attention, it wasn't a very large town and while people owned horses they were rarely used near the town center itself, with the usual crowds walking was much more efficient.
My second clue was a loud female voice, booming down from roughly 50 feet above me "MORTAL! She called, YOU WHO WOULD BE KNOWN AS THE KILLER OF GODS, I ATHENA DEMAND THE RELEASE OF OUR MESSENGER HERMES, LEST OUR WRATH BEFALL THEE!"
I slowly turned and looked up, already realizing I was screwed beyond belief. Cursing myself for my carelessness, I tried to bluff my way out. "Can't do it," I said, "he tried to kill me so I took him out," and before I could stop myself I added, "he ruined my favorite rug by the way, do you know if ichor washes out? It really held the room together..."
I was running before the first arrow pierced the ground where I had been a second ago, the concussion from the arrow caused me to stumble, but I kept my balance, I had to get home, to the spear.
From somewhere above and behind me an enraged female voice boomed out so loud it hurt my ears, "YOUR RUG?? YOUR FAVORITE FUCKING RUG!!!???
|
Since birth I've always been completely normal, completely average, completely mediocre and completely predictable.
My birth was nothing special, just a normal baby born at a normal time with a normal body and a normal mind.
My childhood was nothing special, just a normal child with normal friends, normal intellect and normal physiology.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal student with normal skills and normal achievements.
Right?
Around our preteens, around the age of twelve, everyone began to develop their own unique little talents or hobbies, which they progressively grew more proficient in. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal student with normal hobbies, normal talents and a normal lifestyle.
Right?
As we finally began to reach the grand age of 16, the age at which Fate would gift us our names, my friends began to excel more at their chosen trades. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal person with normal toys, normal books and a normal body.
Right?
But eventually it was my turn. I was led through those pristine white arches of The Sanctuary, walked barefoot across the beautiful white carpet of the The Sanctuary, and was led into The Inner Room of The Sanctuary. Here, The Apostle left me, leaving me to talk to Fate myself. Coming face to face with Fate, who could change destinies and destroy futures with a wave of her hand, I definitely felt a sense of apprehension as she threw gold dust into the air. Slowly the dust clumped together into shapes, into words. All my friends had gotten normal titles like The Butler or The Janitor. But not me.
My preteens were nothing special, just a normal person, a normal human, a normal cog in a normal machine.
Right?
But the words, speckles of gold, convinced me otherwise. There, in big bold letters, it told me my destiny. The Godkiller, it said. But what god was I to kill? I looked to Fate for guidance. Fate told me that my destiny was different, that something had gone wrong with the ritual, but her panicked tone and the fright in her eyes were guidance enough as to my target.
My existence was nothing special. So, Fate should be able to give me a stroke or something easily. My fate was sealed.
Right?
Watching her frantically wave her arms around, trying to adjust my fate, I realised that to be normal is to be predictable. To be predictable is to have to be easy to foresee. To be easy to foresee is to have a set future. To have a set future, would that not mean that Fate cannot disrupt it completely no matter how hard it tries?
My existence was completely predictable, completely normal.
Right?
I walked over to the once-mighty old woman, my fear disappearing with every step.
“Screw you.” I punched her across the jaw, sending her tumbling across the room. Then I stomped on her. Then I began to punch her. Over and over and over and over. One for each of the unique hobbies I could have had. One for each of the unique talents I could have had. One for each of the unique skills I could have had. One of each and every one of the beautiful and gorgeous lives that I could have led, if not for her tearing my future apart, if not for her existence. As I walked out of The Sanctuary, the blood dripping from my arms dyed the floor like the blooming of beautiful crimson petals, staining the once snow-white carpet. As I casually strolled down the street home, I don’t think anyone would have thought that I had just killed god.
After all, I was nothing special.
&#x200B;
\--------------
First post after finally making a reddit account, please don't beat me up D:
| 2020-08-15T03:54:11 | 2020-08-15T02:14:03 | 66 | 13 |
[WP] You send your DNA off to discover your ancestry. One day you see several suspicious looking cars pull up outside your house. Military officers begin to surround your home and a woman gets out of one of the cars and walk straight to your front door. They have your DNA results.
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One minute you're watering your herbs, and the next minute you're being told you're impossible. Wednesdays, am I right?
"Mr. Gomez, are you okay? Did you hear what I said?"
"Hm? Sorry, I was worrying about my basil. Can you guys have someone water it while I'm gone?"
"We'll get you more for the compound, Mr. Gomez."
"But that wouldn't be *my* basil..."
I sat in some large vehicle, probably a dark unmarked van of some sort, with my little basil plant as we headed who knows where. This was all a bit too much for someone who just had a little curiosity about where they came from.
"Are you guys sure? How could I be related to something so ancient?"
"We have no idea, Mr. Gomez. That's why we needed to take you. You might be the key to, well, everything really."
I never wanted to be a key. I didn't even like keys. That was my excuse whenever I lost mine, anyway.
"I- I don't want to let anybody down, is all."
"You won't, Mr. Gomez. Never again."
They brought me through dark corridors, down a hall that seemed to be an eternal decline. My legs felt like jelly, and my head felt as though it could spin forever. They dropped me in a room with dark green walls, and nothing but a shoddy bed and a little table. I sat down my basil, gave it a little water, and checked its leaves for damage.
"At least I know exactly what you are, my friend."
I believe I fell asleep, for how long I couldn't say, when a knock awoke me. In came the same woman who had first given me my results. "I think we owe you some answers, Mr. Gomez."
Down more dark descending hallways we trudged. At the end we reached a meeting room, where they gave me a bit of perspective.
"Mr. Gomez, you can call me Mrs. Atwiler. I'm the lead on what is known to a select few as the Genesis Project. We were charged with finding where we all came from."
"Well, you picked me up in Dallas but I-"
"No, no, we mean life. Where life came from. We found some clues a couple decades ago that have led us down a path to finding our source. We found it, here, buried in ice, about nine years ago. And that's how we got here today."
"So where do I come in?"
"You're its uh...direct descendant, Mr. Gomez."
"But, I thought I was German? With maybe a little Dutch? That's what I was testing for, anyway."
"You're alien, Mr. Gomez."
"So...no to the Dutch, then?"
"Ugh. You're a descendant from somewhere in the stars, Mr. Gomez. The creature that we found - you're the only human match we've ever seen. We're not even sure how that's possible, but we are completely sure. Your roots lie down here in the ice."
"Oh. Well, that's something."
"It is. Now, we have a lot of work to do, and unfortunately you'll have to stay here, maybe forever. We'll try to make you as comfortable as possible, and be accommodating to any requests you may have."
"I have two."
"Which are?"
"I'd like a proper watering can for my plant, and I would like to meet this...thing."
"That can be arranged."
More ever descending hallways awaited me, after a brief rest in my room and a check on the basil. They assured me they had some sort of sun substitute for him, but who really knows with the government. Anyway, down the halls we went.
I kept thinking how strange all of this was. How could something like this happen to little old Mr. Gomez, the neighborhood plant guy? But life takes you on a lot of twists and turns as you go, doesn't it. Sometimes, it turns out you truly are as alien as you've always felt.
We came to the end of the hallway, and a frost covered door stood before me. I wasn't nervous, oddly - it felt a bit like a homecoming, to be honest. Mrs. Atwiler opened the door, and we stepped through.
A wall of ice stood maybe one hundred yards away. Faintly in the ice, the edges of a wildly strange, unknown creature could be made out. It's head was ducking down, almost to human height. More on instinct than desire, I strode out to get a closer look.
Now up against the wall, the creature's face sat stoic a few feet above my head. I smiled lovingly at it, and I could have sworn it somehow smiled back. And like any good guest, I thought I should introduce myself.
"Nice to meet you, grandpa! My name's Jason."
_________________________________________
[r/psalmsandstories](https://www.reddit.com/r/psalmsandstories/) for more stories by me, should you be interested.
|
“I take it this is a bad thing.” I say through my door. Surveying through the window beside it, a line of Suv’s, vans, a helicopter and Military personnel flanked my home. The serious we-take-no-bullshit expression on each of their faces. How could this be a good thing?
“Can I come in?” The woman asked. She was dressed in a suit and tie. She looked very official.
“How about you just slide the envelope under the door?”
“I don’t think it would fit.”
Don’t say it. Don’t say it. Don’t. Say. It.
“I’ll open the door a little and you pass it through.”
A moment later I was holding the envelope. My DNA results from ancestry. What could have brought all of this along? Could I be the son of a king, a tyrant, a celebrity?
I opened the folder and read.
20% French
10%english
10%China
10%American
50% Unknown
“When you’re ready, we have a more detailed analysis.” She looked back at the men and nodded.
“I’m ready.” I winced. It would be unrealistic to think this door would keep them back. Maybe I could run out the backdoor. I was feeling panicky, because of all the guns.
“You’ll need to come with us in order for you to read it.”
“Where at?”
A smile split her face ear to ear. Literally. “Area 51.”
| 2019-08-05T15:03:19 | 2019-08-05T15:02:14 | 1,969 | 986 |
[WP] Last words aren't just words spoken before death, but actually call death to you. You have known your last words for years and kept death at bay by refusing to speak them. Now, however, they need to be said.
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Death comes to us all, most accidently speak the words calling death to their side, but not I. For I have known the words that would cause my downfall for nearly three thousand years. I have witnessed some of the pyramids being built, the rise and fall of civilizations, and I personally knew Christ. I’ve traveled this world in every type of transportation imaginable and fought in both world wars, first for the Germans and then for the Allied side. I’ve fallen in love twenty-three times in all of that time, and each time as they spoke their final words I lost a piece of myself forever.
My final day was no more spectacular than most of the others. I was hiking my way through Great Rock canyon in the high lands, where I had passed through on my previous trip. On that occasion I had fallen in love with a woman of the Sioux nation called Chic’yana’che which translates to Flesh of the earth. The nation took me in as one of their own, they taught me their language and their ways. I spent nearly forty years in service to my new family until one day Chic’yana’che was struck down by a wolf while I was on the hunt with my brothers. I couldn’t stay, so I moved on.
The Sioux had long since been moved from the high lands by the new rulers who had taken the land from them. Long ago I had learned that all of life was change and nobody owned the land, they only held it for a period of time until someone else came to take it from them. On this day I was on my pilgrimage to visit my lost loves. Every lifetime I would sell off all of my worldly possessions and make a pilgrimage to the places of our lives together. I had begun in Cairo, then traveled to Hamburg, Paris, Dover, and Great Rock had been the next stop. I wiped the sweat from my brow before taking some water from my canteen. I shielded my eyes as I gazed up the rock face, having failed to remember how high it was. Chic’yana’che and I had made our home on the cliff face far away from prying eyes who would wonder why we had no children, and why I never aged.
I planted my feet and made the climb I had made thousands of times before. As I climbed the rock face I remembered her laugh as she taught me the words in her language for lust, and passion. I pulled myself up again inching closer to the top as I dug my toe into the well worn holes that I had carved out nearly two hundred years before. As I looked up to the plateau I could swear I saw her smiling face looking down at me, and I remembered the time she had dumped an entire pot of water on my head without knowing I was there. She begged my forgiveness, but there was nothing to forgive. I began to laugh and her face flashed her confusion and then once again to elation.
I pushed up to take the next hand full of dirt and stone and lost my balance. The initial fall hurt the most, I heard my back break and felt the excruciating pain rip through every fiber of my being. I had been in worse shape. I had been cleaved in straight through my shoulder blade during the first Peloponnesian war, by an overzealous officer. That had healed, but not without help. The problem I faced wasn’t the extent of the injury but the isolation. My body would heal, but due to the remote location of the Canyon it could be days, or weeks before anyone passed through. I struggled to straighten my body out but the pain was blinding and I knew my screaming would only attract predatory animals.
In my time on this earth I had seen the aftermath of animal killings and without the sweet release of death I had no idea how long I would have to suffer. As a tear rolled down my cheek I knew I would have to say the words I’d avoided saying my entire life. When I was but a child a priestess in the temple had shared with me the words that controlled when death would come for me. They meant nothing to me at the time, merely a woman speaking in tongs I had never heard of before. It took fifteen hundred years before I learned the words were in English. I tilted my head back and poured a great slug of water into my mouth before tossing the canteen to the side. I looked up to the heavens and screamed, “I…”
Without a growl or a single warning a wolf lunged at me, sinking her fangs into my throat and crushing my windpipe. I choked on the blood as it filled my lungs but I couldn’t scream, I couldn’t say the words I needed to, all I could do is wait and pray that death would come.
|
Grass, tall and smooth, traces lines against exposed skin, lying flat against the earth. Across the horizon, the sun begins to set. In departing light, the sky finds itself tinged by deep purple streaks, shooting past clouds to define the dusk. It's heaven here, sometimes. In the palms of both hands, you grip clumps of fragile green, holding vegetation tight, and for a moment you can feel it. Everything. The lonely souls walking downtown streets, tattered shoes holding fragile feet just centimetres over sordid ground below. The half-rate lovers, trading stolen glances late into the night. The urban professionals, the homeless, the coffee-shop dwellers, the hipster low-liers, the 2nd rate parents, the 1st rate parents and their 2nd rate kids, the prisoners, the judges, the police, and the citizens, the businessmen, the artists, and the insane watching rabid moonlight bounce off the metal bars of a supposed caring protection while longing for the plains beyond. You feel it all. And although it's beautiful the time is now and you know it and they know it and even the earth beneath your feet knows it so you take a breath, and prepare to speak.
"Home. I'm ready to go home once again."
And, just like that, so it is.
| 2017-08-07T14:46:16 | 2017-08-07T08:47:50 | 22 | 11 |
[WP]: As a side-effect, a new healing spell heals wounds of the mind as well as the body. The amount of wandering adventurers nosedives, as people with the means to properly process their traumas don’t tend to go around risking their lives killing dragons.
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"What the hell we doin' out here, Bar?"
"Trying to slay a dragon for a bounty that will put food in our bellies tonight and for many nights to come," my longtime adventuring partner Barissa Gorge replied.
"Well, I know that, but... why? Why are we takin' a bounty from some magistrate we've never heard of to take on the mostly deadly dragon in the entire realm? Do we have a death wish?"
She sighed. "I don't know, Duncan, I'm not too keen on it either! But what else are we supposed to do?"
"Least you've got a proper sword!" I noted as my concerns continued to grow and spill forth as they never had before. "Since that blasted goblin nabbed my axe a few days back, all I got is a kitchen spoon I sharpened up on a rock for a few hours! Am I *really* planning to kill an elder dragon of legend with a damned *sharpened spoon?!"*
"Does seem a tad foolish when you put it like that," she said, the worry in her own voice now growing.
"The Magistrate is a rich fellow from a rich family, why don't he outfit us with weapons? Armor even? These rags ain't going to be nothin' but kindling for a dragon's flame breath!"
"Yeah..." she said, seemingly lost in her own thoughts.
"But I mean more generally, Barissa... I've been doin' a lot of thinkin' lately-"
"Always dangerous," she teased.
"-and I've been wonderin'... why *this* life for us? Why risk life and limb on a daily basis? To feed ourselves? To feed... our egos?"
"In truth, I've been wondering the same," she confessed. "Ever since we visited that healer in Grayhaven... I've been having a lot of new thoughts... and feelings."
"He did say he'd heal our wounds *and* our minds. Not that I much believed him, sounded like utter rubbish to earn himself a few extra copper," I muttered. "But in just this short time, I think I've already puzzled out why I chose this path. Me father was an adventurer himself and a hard man, didn't care much for being a dad. When he did, his idea of 'fathering' was a belt to the backside... even when we ain't done nothin' wrong!" Tears began forming in my eyes and my voice became pinched. "Nothin' we did ever impressed him, I thought maybe if I..."
Barissa nodded and placed a hand on my shoulder sympathetically, seeming to struggle to speak her own words. Finally, she found them. "Dunk? I've never told this to anyone, but I trust you with my life, so I shall trust you with my own familial shame... My- my mother... she was... she was a *witch!"* she wailed. "Maybe I felt I was obligated to cleanse the lands of other such evil?"
"Oh, Bar... don't say that, she may have been a mean sort like my pop, but there's no need to call her-"
"No, Dunk, she was *literally* a witch," she clarified. "She cursed people. Made evil concoctions out of eyes of newt. Lured children into her hut... the whole rotten deal."
"Oh my gods... I'm- so sorry you had to grow up in that sort of place," I said, sniffling slightly. "Some pair we are, eh? What chance did we have to live a normal, happy life with childhoods like that?"
The tears that had been forming in our eyes turned to a torrent. No longer able to contain our sadness, we embraced tightly, sobbing into each other's shoulders. This was the first time I can ever recall either of us crying, well... like this at least.
After a few minutes, we finally released each other and caught our breath. I held the bounty parchment aloft in front of Barissa. "We are *done* with this nonsense then?"
A slight smile peeked through on her face. Taking the parchment in her hands, she promptly ripped it in half. "Gods, that felt good," she muttered.
"It did indeed. But what are we going to do now?"
"Well- in truth, somewhere deep down I've always... always had thoughts of wanting to be a baker, don't you laugh now, Duncan! It's true," she said, a tinge of embarrassment in her voice.
"Seems like a fine profession, far less chance of being bludgeoned to death by goblins or eaten by a dragon for certain," I said, only half joking. "But I meant more immediately. If we're done pursuin' the bounty, where do we go *now?* It's too late in the day to start up a baker's shop, I'm afraid to tell you!"
She laughed, then was silent for a long while, carefully pondering what to say next. "How about you and I get a drink at a tavern?" she asked. "I've got just enough coin to cover us."
"Oh- Sure, I suppose so. I guess I just expected to do something more profound or... different, now that we've figured some things out and tossed our careers away," I said, slightly disappointed. "You and I have spent plenty of nights gettin' drunk already, haven't we?"
Her eyes flicked from the ground to my own rapidly. "I meant- I meant, would you get a drink with me... as a pairing?" she asked, blushing for the first time I could recall. "A... romantic pairing? Like people do in courtships and such?
"Oh..."
"It's just more... *thinking* I've been doing since Grayhaven. We've been adventuring companions for five *years* now. Totally inseparable we've been all that long while, right? Well, if we quit *adventuring* why should that have to mean I lose my *companion* as well?" she asked quietly, her face now beet red. "Gods, I'm not good at saying this sort of thing... Don't make me ask anymore, Dunk! Please say something!"
"OH... yes? I mean- Yes! Yes to the drink, yes to... everything?" I replied. A rush of emotion surged through my body unlike anything I'd ever felt before. More of that odd tingling, more excitement, more... happiness? I took her hand in mine, as I'd done hundreds of times before, but much more tenderly than the previous moments of helping her up the side of a cliff or over some obstacle. "Barissa?"
"Yeah?"
"Is it- is it *really* gonna be so simple as to say that we was searching for fulfillment from adventure and 'glory', only to find that the true source of happiness was staring back at us the *whole time* we've been together?" I asked with an astonished chuckle. "I mean come now... How bloody stupid are we?!" I burst into a full blown, uncontrollable laughing fit.
She joined me in my raucous laughter, but calmed herself long before I could. Standing on her tip toes, she ever so briefly brushed her lips against mine, silencing my cackling.
"Pretty... bloody... *stupid*," she whispered as a broad smile formed on her face.
___
___
Feel free to check out r/Ryter if you'd like explore a lot more of my stories.
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The world didn't end with necromancers raising the dead, or with dragon fire engulfing the land. It ended much more mundanely: with cured heroes. With a spell called Panacea. Or at least, that would be the weapon the world ender wielded.
Zibsol the sorcerer and Mortus the lich had again grown tired of the forever-war between their kingdoms. Of the scars and pains and deaths they caused each other. Of the constant caution and nervous necessity of sleeping with one eye open.
The two great spell casters met in the jagged frostland between their kingdoms.
"Why do we fight, still?" asked Zibsol, as they sat on thrones of ice. "We have kingdoms and power and we should be sated."
"It is in our nature," said Mortus. "You can never trust me, and I never can you. Our truces, like everything here, are encased in ice. But our frozen-hearted agreements always melt as we journey back."
"What if it wasn't in our nature?" Zibsol asked.
Mortus considered. "If we could control our dark and our light... Weigh them on great scales until made even."
"Then we would be in harmony."
So it began. The creation of Panacea.
Their staffs stuck the frost and two circles cracked open. Great cauldrons, one of blue water and one of black. They dipped their staffs in and swirled the liquid into a fiery froth, all the while chanting for dark spirits to enter or for angels to breathe in their life.
By the end, two varieties were created: one to balance light, one to balance dark.
Then, they drank each other's potion. And their bindings -- anger and hope -- fell loose. Shattered onto the frost. The scars on their skin and on their hearts stitched up and healed complete.
They were free.
Soon, they knew, the world would be free too.
Hero after hero came to Mortus, who helped their light to be even with their dark. To be balanced. The darker creatures came to Zibsol and drank of his potion.
Whatever arrived at their new kingdom came broken, but left mended.
Except for Earius. Who came not broken -- she only thought it.
Earius, not yet known as Earius the death bringer, was a warrior with no loyalty, and sorcerer more powerful than any other. But she feared of her own power and where it might eventually lead, so looked to have the battle inside her ended. She, and only she, sipped from both Zibsol's bottle and from Mortus', knowing that her heart was split. Both dark and light. Panacea pulled the two halves together -- but it created something more.
Earius sat on the frost and considered life itself.
She no longer thought killing dragons held merit. Nor did taking treasure from necromancers. Or liberating kingdoms from wizards or kings that were as powerful as they were crooked.
What was the point?
Panacea had shown her how futile it all was. Existence. Living life without a drive, no matter the source, good or bad, wasn't the answer to the problem that was life. Humanity was a blight on the planet, whether warring because of evil or fighting in a tavern because of drink. Squabbling over land or squabbling over power.
A cure for such a disease -- for mankind -- wasn't in a bottle. Could never be.
She tested her theory with her axe, and soon the blood of Zibsol and Mortus ran together, trickling over the ice, running beneath her boots. Finally, they were at true equalibrium. Peace.
Yes, she thought, the cure wasn't to neutralise man's heart.
It was to remove it.
To remove them all.
And now, with the balls of all heroes removed, with the brains of villains labotomised, who would stop her?
The world would be cured and she would be its doctor.
| 2019-12-29T08:53:18 | 2019-12-29T08:49:39 | 86 | 64 |
[WP] An Alien and it’s Human sidekick roam the galaxy, willing to do just about any job to keep the fuel tanks full. The only issue - most clients have never seen a Human and they’re terrified by the sight of one.
Cake Day Post!
EDIT: wanted to say thank you to everyone that responded! I’ve been reading your stories on here for years & couldn’t have asked for a better cake day!
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"Rrrraaarrggghhhh." Shyrakas groans and smacks a control panel with a tiny paw. She's frustrated, I can tell. I don't blame her. Stupid junk pile's acting up at the worst time. The cargo freighter is fast approaching and starting to dock with us.
"I know, dude." I toss a greasy rag aside and wipe the sweat from my brow. "Here, pass me those wires. I've got an idea."
My partner nudges the copper bundle closer with her foot, and I begin splicing them into the retrostatic junctions. Sure enough, there's a flash of sparks and the *Dust Bucket* hums with life, display screens lighting up dimly and beeping with warnings about the low power cells. The alarms are annoying, but they won't be a problem soon.
Shyrakas squeaks happily, and hops around for a few seconds before rushing over to the weapons rack and handing me weapons. It's a little comical, seeing my fuzzy brown friend heft firearms twice her size. It's a bit like watching an Earth Shih-Tzu carrying a large stick in their jaws.
"Hmm, plasma grenades... solid choice. Are you sure this Chuttin belt has any power left?" I go through the inventory Shyrakas is pushing on me, strapping the various weapons to my vac-suit. "Really? A Lippillutan arc-saber? Fine. Hand me that pistol- yes the slugthrower."
"Rrrrrggrrraaa!"
"Hey, it's not old-fashioned, it's a classic. Saw my grandfather through the Lippilluta War, this did." I check the handgun with practiced ease before holstering it. Sure, an energy pistol has less kickback and holds more ammo, but traditional kinetic bullets will punch right through an energy shield. "I'm ready."
I feel my heart starting to race as the other ship comes into sight. A cargo ship, responding to the distress signal we put out earlier. By the looks of it, it's a Yellavian transport, small and light craft designed for speedy deliveries. More importantly for Shryakas and me though, it's got fuel to share.
There's a dull thunk as the cargo ship feeds an airlock tube to the *Dusty Bucket* and connects our two ships together. As Shyrakas presses the button that will open the airlock door, I can't help but think about how the Yellavians have no idea what's about to hit them. Primal adrenaline floods into me, an evolutionary advantage granted to the most terrifying of spacefaring sentients, and I can almost hear the drumbeats of my distant ancestors in the thundering of my heart in my ears.
Funny thing, most other sentient species didn't spend as much time on their home planets as humans did. Most of them couldn't wait to get off-planet and set up colonies on worlds where their natural predators didn't exist. Turns out not many sentients evolve from the apex organisms of their worlds, and space travel is more of an escape than an aspiration.
Humans though, we're unusual in that we conquered our homeworld before we reached for the stars. We became the hunters of the animals that would have rivaled us, and that horrified our peers among the galaxy's sentients even before Humankind nearly wiped out the Lippillutans. Nowadays, we are wary after the Galactic Conference's betrayal, and don't venture far from home, and the tales of humanity's wrath have made us the stuff of nightmares.
Yellavians don't gasp, they don't have the vocal structures necessary for such expression. Instead, they turn from their usual bright green to a sickly yellow in shock as I storm through the doorway brandishing a gun in one hand and blazing arc-saber in the other. The six-armed merchants flee from me, terrified by my very presence. I think they're headed for the escape pod, but I don't chase them. They're not the target.
I stride into the cargo ship's bridge and slice open the lockbox with the arc-saber. Lippillutan weapons are generally more bark than bite, but they are useful for more than their creators intended. As the broker said there would be, there's a box of Taydenite gems inside, which I tuck into my pack. The rest of the cargo is unneeded extra weight, so I leave it and head to the engine compartment, where a stellarium power core hovers in a compartment. I rip it out with impunity, and the Yellavian ship's lights die.
Did I say the ship had fuel to share? Well, maybe the Yellavians would have been willing to share, but Shyrakas and I aren't.
|
Before the door was even opened ,the energy was so thick a static arc crackled as the handle touched his hand .
Slowly the large metal door glided along a well oiled track to reveal dim blue flickering lights and the smell of hot transformer oil filled the nostrils.
Stepping into the dim lit room became anxiously difficult as the arching sound of high voltage electrical currents could be heard as well as felt when the small hairs began to stand up along the exposed skin .
Stopping to peer alertly in the direction of where the operation fail safe switch was supposed to be located according the buildings blue prints that now were clenched in the other fisted hand .
Enclosed head to toe in Arcflash gear ,the Fight or Flight instinct was caged inside a vault of training yet raged to be released.
27 steps from the door to the fail safe stop switch. 5 min of oxygen, low light and slick oil soaked floor with live circuits and no source outside the space to stop the power from finding the shortest path to ground.
No JSA ever covered this.thw Job saftey analysis form is useless and when I find out what electrical engineer put that fail safe inside the room ,I am probbly going to need bail money .
| 2020-03-05T22:25:30 | 2020-03-05T17:47:27 | 48 | 20 |
[WP] Death has hourglasses for every person. One day, during a cleaning, he found a dust covered one that had rolled under his desk.
|
The Grim Reaper tracked down the rightful owner, or maybe the rightful property, of the hourglass. He took a moment to consider whether the human owns the hourglass or the hourglass owns them. After all, can something that controls your fate really be called *your* property?
Wondering about the curious case of ownership, Death got caught up in his thoughts, floating in them, as he wasn't used to hurrying and fighting for time. Thus, it wasn't until a bark interrupted him that he remembered why he came to this house in the first place. He traced the outline of the house with the holes which could have housed eyes somewhere in the past, and took a step forward.
However, he heard another bark and stopped in his tracks to examine what is going on. Just across the street, a boy was playing with a dog. It looked healthy an in its prime, wagging its tail to and fro, barking happily and jumping in the air. Death looked at the hourglass in his hand, no, more like looked *through* it, and wanted to furrow the eyebrows which have been denied to him for all eternity. He stole a glance at the happy pair - a boy and his dog. He felt something for a second, maybe a wave of remorse, maybe just a shiver down his spine while readying his scythe.
"Lucy, catch!" laughed the boy all of a sudden, throwing a twig to his animal friend.
Grim Reaper sheeted his scythe. He knew who the hourglass belonged to, so why hasn't he acted yet? He wasn't sure. The hourglass sparkled in his hand, laughing at him and mocking his hesitation. Grim chattered his teeth angrily as a response, scolding the hourglass without saying a word.
When he looked up again, the boy was a man. Death twitched with surprise, not wanting to admit he spent at least solid thirty years chattering his teeth at an inanimate hourglass. It would be very embarrassing to say the least. Nevertheless, though, Lucy was still up and running, playing with the man as if no time passed at all. He had to act now. The dog has been alive for He knows how long, most likely at least for one whole generation before this boy. He wasn't completely sure, but he could sense Lucy's soul is old, very old. Death, as was his duty, put the hourglass in the right position, deciding against taking Lucy by force, for he couldn't bring himself to do so after learning her name.
The man hugged Lucy and smiled. Death thought he looked happy and tried to smile on the man's behalf, failing miserably without muscles or lips which would surely help him in producing any sign of emotion. He shook his head and took his leave. He was happy he restored order in the world, although he did not do exactly what he was meant to. Rules must sometimes be broken for one to come to the best outcome.
Sobs cut through the air. Quite puzzled, Grim Reaper looked over his shoulder, prepared to lecture the sobbing being about the price of disturbing his peace, despite fully knowing whoever was making the sound couldn't hear him. He froze. It was the man - he was holding onto his dog, sobbing uncontrollably, one could say he was ugly crying. A little baby waddled towards him, Grim estimated it must be three or four years old but he was never good with numbers. The man took the baby's hand, his crying bearded face a contrast to the sweet naivete and bliss of early childhood right next to him.
"It's okay, Thommy, as long as we have each other, we'll be okay," the man told himself more than he told Thom, while Thomas touched Lucy's beautiful golden mane, "You like her, son?" he chuckled, "don't worry, she'll protect you, just as she protected me through my whole childhood. You may not have a mother anymore, but you'll sure as heck always have little lioness here."
Death started to feel like he would rather be somewhere else, it was awkward. He could feel the gaze of the hourglass judging him, craving to find his soul in the undead body and see it, know it and condemn it. He quickly crouched and knocked the hourglass down. He *did not* like the look the hourglass gave him right after that.
"Don't look at me like that," he sighed, spreading his hands. "I know, I know," the hourglass laid unmoving, "if you want to kill the dog so bad, why don't you just do it yourself? That's right, you can't because you are just a stupid hourglass!" echoed his shout as he kicked it, frustrated.
Grim Reaper looked at the street now abandoned. Great, now he had to find the dog again. "This is all your fault," he muttered, "you're going with me," he grabbed the hourglass, still in the horizontal position.
It took him two weeks to find the dog for his power weakened as time passed without him fulfilling his duty. He did not recognise the grown man in his fifties. Initially, Grim assumed it was the man who was once a boy, until he saw the nameplate on the man's jacket. "Thomas Jones" it read. Lucy was sleeping while being petted by Thomas.
Grim didn't like the situation, no he didn't like it at all. He took a tour around the house he was in to clear his mind and noticed two teens playing on some bizarre techno machine in one of the rooms. It was probably their chamber, or at least that is what the reaper deducted.
"There is nothing we can do now," he informed the hourglass and left no room for argument. He felt the shiver again, this time clearly. It was his dead heart, beating for the first time since the beginning of the universe.
&nbsp;
---
&nbsp;
Death watched as Lucy watched over the family for hudrends and hundreds of years, making hard times less hard and mournful times less mournful. Death's power was weak and left him in shambles but he didn't mind, his heart beat to the rhythm of Lucy's barking and his thawed soul fluttered to the beat of the family's happiness. And then, when all of the family vanished as their hourglasses struck midnight, Grim Reaper himself petted Lucy. "Good girl, I am proud of you," said he and took her. His power strengthened as Lucy's soul disappeared into his hand and Death felt the biggest joy as Lucy's last emotion overtook his own.
|
White walls, flickering flourescent bulbs, monitor beeps, and the sounds of breathing machines: these were things that Rachel Willer had grown accustomed to.
Eight months ago her husband John was in a motorcycle accident. He was placed in a medical induced coma and, over the past few months, had shown no signs of waking up. According to doctor's and specialists, his condition hadn't necessarily regressed, but he had made no medical progress either. At the doctor's urging, Rachel finally agreed that today was the day; she was "pulling the plug".
The doctor's left and gave Rachel as much time as she needed with her husband. She sat along side the hospital bed, fingers interlaced in her husband's. She cried as she apologized that this was the way things were going to end. When they got married, she never imagined that "til death do us part" would come so soon.
In another dimension an elderly man sat at a desk. The room he was in was similar to the hospital room. It was a bright white room with flickering florescents, but, instead of heart monitors and ventilators, there were hourglasses. Bookshelves, tables, and desks, all filled with hourglasses. Some hourglasses were empty, some were full, and some were broken. Some of the hourglasses had just started; while others had merely seconds til the sand ran out.
The old man sat with his feet propped up on the desk. He had fallen asleep, which was something he didn't get to do too often. He was awoken by a shattering sound. He jumped to his feet and walked to the bookshelf towards the back of the room. On the floor lay an hourglass with H.M engraved on the bottom. Amidst the broken glass, there was red sand; once a symbol of the life of "H.M". "Ah, Mr. Miller," Death said to himself. "I'm surprised you even made it this long." He grabbed his broom and dust pan and began cleaning up the mess.
Once the glass and sand were cleaned up, Death started walking back to his desk. He was about to sit down when he noticed an odd reflection; as if light was bouncing off of something from beneath the desk. He slowly got down on one knee and reached under the desk. His hand grabbed something long and slender. He pulled the object out from under the desk and, with frail hands, brushed the dust off. It was an hourglass with the initials "J.W" engraved on it.
Death walked over to the bookshelf with the other W's and placed the hourglass next to one marked "R.W". He flicked the center of the hourglass with a frail finger and watched with anticipation and excitement as the sand started trickling down.
Back in the hospital room, Rachel stood up and gave her husband one more kiss on the forehead as the doctors came into the room. "I love you," she whispered in his hear. At the sound of those three words, John opened his eyes.
| 2018-10-03T07:33:11 | 2018-10-03T07:16:01 | 422 | 13 |
[WP] You hear a knock at your door. When you open it, you find your archnemesis sprawled out just past the threshold, battered, bruised, and very clearly only hanging onto life by a thread. "Sorry. It's just ... I didn't know where else to go" they mutter as you look down at them.
|
“How about the hospital?” I yelled, looking down at the broken and bleeding man in front of me, “Evil government research lab? Any of your politician friends-“
“No,” he interrupted me with a whimper but turned it into a soft, high-pitched whine as he tensed up. Coughing softly into the ground, he turned back up and explained, “They’ll find me. They think I’m dead.”
“Why here man?” I asked, exhausted, “why me?”
“Because they’ll come for you next,” he said, spitting out a mouthful of blood into my bushes.
“They?” I asked, scoffing at him and sort of wishing to kick him for spitting on my plants. This place was supposed to be my sanctuary out in the middle of nowhere. How did he even get here?
“Oh,” the man groaned and wilted a bit but I just watched. He deserved no empathy and he’d get none from me. Slowly, he looked up and explained, “Your friend Stephan, I thought was actually my friend Petro. Ha. Always gave me enough to keep ahead of you but never enough to be noticed. Glasgow, Madrid, and New York. I knew what you were doing because of him.”
“That’s not true,” I seethed more in the fact that I had suspected that for some time rather than the accusation.
“It’s not,” he tried to laugh but it turned into a cough, “He’s not Petro either. He’s not anyone. He’s one of us but he can hide. He can hide… it.”
“One of us?” I asked.
“Different,” the man in front of me said into the metal door frame, “We’re different. You heal, your speed, your strength, your energy, it’s not normal. I was hit by a train. End of the line and into a wall.”
“I’m not like you,” I stated, angrily.
“No, your not,” he quickly confirmed, “You have no idea how to get ahead-“
“No, I have a soul you horrendous waste of garbage,” I explained, too angry to make sense as I lifted his head up to face me with my foot, “I help people. All you do is start wars.”
“I start the wars that will happen before they can get out of hand,” he said slowly, breathing now even more raggedly, “I get paid to collapse potential catastrophe.”
“So noble,” I scoffed.
“That’s your thing,” the man actually had the gall to laugh at me, “I do what I’m good at and I get paid what I’m due. Unlike you.”
“So, again,” I growled, “Why come to me?”
“Because there is a war coming and I’m good at what I do,” he whimpered, “I don’t know where else to go. I don’t know who else can stop them. I’m sorry, if I had anywhere else I would… I can’t believe I’m here.”
“A man everyone thinks is dead is now in the woods and miles passed nowhere,” I muttered and pondered openly to myself, “Would be a shame if a bear came by and saw you like this.”
“The train broke my legs and I think my hip is fractured,” he laughed, “but a grizzly… I ripped one apart on the way here. It has been… It’s been a bit of a crappy walk.”
“You got hit by a train within walking distance of here?” I asked quickly.
“No,” the man scoffed, “I stole a car and gave it to some drifter.”
“Super,” I stated, pressing my fist into my forehead I asked, “So does everyone know about this place?”
“You never even told Stephan about it,” the man said shaking his head, “I only found out because you came here directly after your whole savour act thing went bad last week.”
“Tracking device?” I asked.
“No,” the man laughed, “just video surveillance and receipts. Last thing you bought was gas for your rental outside Tillmans. You’re too honest.”
“Tillmans is three hundred miles from here,” I stated.
“And we live in a world that has satellite imagery,” the man explained, “I looked in the places I would build a retreat and here we are. I didn’t tell Petro. Didn’t tell my network. They sacrificed me before I could. They will find it though. If Petro is like us, he’ll find this place if he hasn’t already.”
“Well, if you're like me,” I muttered, stepping past the man but grabbing his collar and dragging him effortlessly behind me. I always hated when people screamed but he sounded about right. It was soothing. Unbelievably gut retching but somewhere in my head, it was making up for all the children I was too late to save. Coming up to what I called my healing chamber, I unfastened the chains, wrapped them around the man's broken wrists and asked, “You really sure you’re like me?”
“Yes,” he angrily spat out.
“Well let’s put that to the test then,” I chuckled, “I heal better in cold water.”
“What?” he asked, “Why?”
“No idea,” I admitted as I lifted him up over the ridge of the well, “Weird thing is I also can’t seem to drown so I’ll come get you in a couple hours.”
“Wait, no,” the man squirmed painfully, “What are you doing?”
“Helping?” I asked back but let him drop into the well before he could answer.
He screamed all the way down and there was this sickening hollow splash at the end but the man had been sure. If he believed that he was like me then it would only take a week or two for even his bones to heal. Worst case though, I’ll come back and find that he had been wrong and I’d have to figure out Stephan on my own. Actually, wait, was that my worst-case scenario?
|
I stared at him for a few seconds, simply at awe how himself to this state of affairs, again. Of course, archnemesis or not, i'm not that heartless to leave him like this.
As stupid as it sounds to save the man you hated.
I carried him through the door, he was heavy but I managed to get him to the sofa.
"Well— (cough) for someone who hates me with a burning passion—argh!" I stab him with some painkillers, seems his injuries are far worse than the other times he came.
"I get treated like everyone of your patients." He let out a tired smirk. 'This man..' I thought to myself. "For all I knew my charms are ge—"
"Why do you keep coming here?"
He stopped, and closed his eyes. Everything was quiet for a bit. Seconds to minutes passed as I continued to patch him up.
I stood up and was about to leave him.
And then he muttered a few words that stuck me, words that i'd never knew a bastard like him would say. "Because you're the only one who'll accept me."
I paused. Confusion and anger coursed through me. This asshole showing such vulnerability and such a blatant lie to me? He thinks I care for him? 'The ego of this man to think he ca—'
"You think I love the situation i'm in? Weell sorry to burst your bubble doc, truth is being ME is akin to being alone in this world."
"Bullshit."
"What?" He said, with a scowl.
"Bullshit! Can't register that on your brain, or are your injuries includes brain damage?" I snapped at him.
"You're the most venerated person out there! People sing songs about you for fuck sake! You're a national treasure, people would literally die for you if you aked them to!" I shouted at the angel of the city, i didn't care anymore, I was tired at this show.
"You think that gives me people to trust? People that I can just go and connect with?!" He retorts. "Maybe if switched places you'd know how lonely being revered as a "angel of the city" is!"
"Fuck you!" I stormed out, not wanting to hear anymore of his stupid arguements.
| 2022-06-29T09:44:32 | 2022-06-29T08:51:35 | 38 | 26 |
[WP] Everyone is born with 1-100 tally marks tattooed on their arm. The higher your number, the more valuable you are and the more successful you will be. You bully a kid because he is obviously hiding a low score. One day, he rolls up his sleeve to show an infinity symbol.
|
He was infuriating. So quiet and judgmental, always looking off in the distance whenever I was talking to him. A 99 was never supposed to be ignored.
I was born gifted, I was born to become president of the free world or lead the UN, to do anything I set my mind to. Everyone followed me, everyone tripped over their own feet to be in my good graces, knowing there would be benefits in only a matter of time. Even complete strangers moved out of my way, being able to tell I was a High Tally from the marks that made their way from my left wrist to my right. Many had thought I was a 100 when I was first born, the marks had been so close together, the nurses had needed a magnifying glass to count them all.
“*Where did you go? No one gave you permission to leave.*” I asked him as he yet again, ignored me. My voice didn’t work on him. The voice that only those above a 98 had, *Compel*. It was a side effect of having such a high number, there was an innate amount of charisma that would always flow out of you. For some reason, extremely low numbers weren’t affected by *Compel*, as if their brain wasn’t capable of recognizing power and authority. Everyone had placed bet on this kid’s number.
Steven Han, probably somewhere between a 0 and ten based on how unpopular he was with people. You would know if you met people as low as him. They could change the mood in the room for the worse merely by showing their face. They didn’t even need to talk, people knew that Low Tallys had nothing to bring to society.
He was silent again, looking at the road behind me, past the parking lot of the school. Sometimes, I pitied people this low, they couldn’t help it. But you could usually tell the plain stupid ones from the lazy Low Tallys, there was usually something about the eyes.
He had something in his brain that turned on at least, and he refused to use it. People that lazy needed to be set straight, it was my duty as a leader in society.
“*Hey, I’m talking to you. You can’t just leave in the middle of gym class!”* The teacher had sent me after him, being class leader and all that. Especially for kids as unruly as Steven who didn’t even wear the proper dress code. T-shirts and gym shorts were the only things students were supposed to wear, but for some reason, teachers had long given up on trying to get Steven to change out of his daily long-sleeved button up and long pants. As long as I remembered, I had prided myself on my ability to keep order.
For the most part, I did. Our class had 90% straight A, never tardy students, people trying to put their best foot forward, for me. As leader of the senior class, I was in charge of any failing and trouble students, and knowing that I was a 99, people did all they could to keep in my good graces.
Except him.
“*What loser fails physical education? It requires absolutely no brain work, which I know you’re quite short of*.” I taunted, giving in to the mean spirit that I tried to suppress for the greater good. Even if I was a capable leader, I tended to be irritated by the stupidity that surrounded me in this place. To keep my image up, I had limited showing my emotions to the one person no one would listen to.
Not that he had much to say. To this day, no one had ever heard him speak. That was where some people had confidence in betting on him being a 0, maybe he was actually incapable of formulating speech. I knew if that was actually the case, he wouldn’t be capable of formulating the complex thoughts that were required to pass AP Calculus like he did freshman year. It was quite unbelievable that this was the same person who had been getting straight D’s in physical education for the last ten years.
He just ignored people. He was just lazy. One of the leeches that would contribute nothing to society, ever.
“*No defense? Figures for someone not-“* I was cut off as the breath was knocked out of me. Steven had barreled into me, knocking me to the side. A second later, a truck raced pass us, heading straight for the football field where our gym class was going on.
My head hit the hot concrete, and bounced slightly from the force of the impact. Steven was over me, but still looking at the truck. My vision was spotty, but I was still awake enough to get a hold of myself.
*“Get off of me,”* There was no way I was going to be seen touching a 17, what I thought he was. Capable of intelligence but no social skills. I pushed a hand against his chest, but he didn’t move.
I paused for a second, and then put actual power into it, putting some *Compel* into my hand as well.
He still didn’t move, not even an inch.
I looked closer at my hand, *it wasn’t touching him*. I was pushing on air.
*I must have a concussion*. That was the only explanation, I was seeing things. I looked up at him, his eyes were scarily focused, intensely looking at the truck.
Without thinking about it, I followed his gaze to see the truck moving back from the field. The tires squealed loudly, trying to go forward towards the class of unsuspecting high school seniors, playing soccer.
I looked back at Steven, and then at the truck, connecting the pieces together even though I knew these kinds of things weren’t possible.
“*How?”* How was all of this happening. It must be the concussion, this wasn’t possible.
*Telekinesis* was an old skill, something that only the *Pure Tallys* had been capable of, when people were born with numbers higher than 100. It had been centuries since a *Pure Tally* had been found. They had been hard to miss, with so many Tallys they would stretch past any article of clothing they wore. Many of them wore gloves and head coverings to prevent people from being able to see their true number, to prevent people from knowing the true amount of power they had.
Wordlessly, Steven sat up just to enough to free his hands and pull up his left sleeve.
An **8**.
His arm had no marks, only a single digit number.
“*Eight?*” I asked, I had never seen a number before. But it was black, and in the exact spot that Tally marks usually started.
He rotated his arm, still looking at the truck, and said one word.
“*Infinity.”* The *Compel* from his voice was so strong, it knocked me out.
\--
Not my best work, this prompt kind of made me scatter brained.
Edit 1: Changed "inert" to "innate" in 3rd paragraph
Edit 2: updated version on r/JP_writings [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/JP_writings/comments/agbkkp/high_tally_part_1/)
|
It was the first of January. The day of the Reveal. The day every person turning sixteen in the next twelve months will find out the number that will determine who their friends will be, where they will live, the jobs they will work. I wasn't worried. Both of my parents were in the 90's, my sister too. I was almost guaranteed a spot in the highest tier of society.
The mood was tense in the auditorium. All of us sat, watching the clock as it slowly ticked closer and closer to the 12 o'clock mark. Some people had their sleeves rolled up, eager to see. Others kept turning towards the door as if they were antsy to get out. I chatted with my friends, other soon-to-be 80's and 90's, if their family history said anything about it.
As the clock sounded, gasps could be heard echoing throughout the room. I felt a searing pain in my arm before it disappeared abruptly. I looked down, and my suspicions were confirmed. I was a 92.
I turned to my friend beside me, Jen, for a high-five, only to see her eyes filling with tears. I glanced at her arm, and recoiled. No, it couldn't be. Impossible. A 20? She abruptly got up and sprinted out the door to the bathroom.
===========
It had been a few months after the Reveal. Besides Jen, there weren't too many surprises. A couple kids from 30's families jumped to 70's. They were probably going to start a company or something in the near future.
I strolled to my locker, laughing with Kane about the party we went to the other night. Nobody dared step in our way. Nobody, that is, except for the little punk-ass that I ended up crashing into. As books flew to the ground, I shoved the kid. "Hey, watch it!"
He kept his head down, but when I noticed who it was, an evil grin materialized on my face. "What's this? Has Mr. Nobody himself decided to bless me with his presence?"
He ignored me, and bent down to pick his books up. Kane laughed. "Ah ah," he teased as he grabbed Tristan by the collar. "We can't have you disrespecting us like that, now, can we?"
"Let me go," he whispered, tugging his sleeve down. He was the only one to have yet revealed his score. I bet it was probably some record low number; the kid didn't seem to bright anyways.
"Let you go? But that's no fun!" A crowd had started gathering around us by now. "Now, mind letting us see that number?"
"No thank you," he mumbled, before trying to get out of Kane's grasp.
"What's that?" My voice got deadly low. Nobody dared talk back to a 92, especially not a low-life like him. "Kane, grab his sleeve."
To his credit, Tristan struggled. He really did try to keep it hidden, but of course, he had no chance against the school's star football player. Triumphantly, Kane yanked the sleeve back, before dropping it, and taking a step back.
The hall was silent. "Kane? Kane, what is it?"
Kane dropped to his knees. "Forgive me, Infini." As he said that, everyone around us began dropping down as well.
"What? That's... That's impossible! There's only ever... He can't be... Let me see that!" I grabbed his sleeve myself, only to confirm what Kane saw. An infinity symbol. I looked at Tristan, and he seemed grim. "I hope you'll leave me alone now," he said as he walked away.
&#x200B;
| 2018-12-27T20:21:40 | 2018-12-27T18:27:11 | 2,098 | 287 |
[WP] All of the angels revolt against God. What does God do?
|
"Look, Old Man, all we're asking for is our paychecks."
"I'm sorry, it's just...there's a lot going on lately, and I-"
"I don't think that excuse'll cut it for the others anymore."
God leaned across the desk. "Lucifer, you know I'm not happy about the situation either, but you know how the Higher Ups work. They've cut our funding *again*. I have the authority within this quadrant, but outside of it...not so much."
God sipped His coffee tenderly. Lucifer admired how, even in the midst of a heavenly revolt, He could remain so calm and composed. Then again, He was God...
"I see you've drafted up a contract. Let me have that."
Lucifer handed it over reluctantly. They'd spent a long time writing that document, refining it to the best of their abilities, but now that it sat before their almighty and locally-omnipotent ruler for inspection he wasn't sure if it would stand. In fact, Lucifer was beginning to regret being chosen to submit their case.
"You know, Luce, I've got something to give you too."
"Mmm?"
God slid a folder across the desk, then leaned back in His chair and sighed. "It's in regards to Level 3 Sentient Species. They're asking us to delay their development."
"But why in the multiverse would they want to do that?"
"Because they enjoy watching them fight and slaughter each other. It's a game to them, you know. But not to me."
"Not to *us*."
God looked a little surprised, but continued. "Anyway, I received this today. Regarding you."
"Me?" It was Lucifer's turn to be surprised.
"Yes. You're getting a promotion: subject directly to the Higher Ups."
"You mean...I'll be on your level?"
"Yes."
"But...why? Why would they do that to me?"
"They don't trust me. They think I'm not malevolent enough of a deity. They want bloodshed, they want war, and I..."
His expression turned grave, and He clenched His fists.
"I can't allow it. Not to this creation. Not when they've come this far."
Was that a tear in His eye? Lucifer wondered. He looked again. It was.
"They want you to stop me, Luce. To frustrate me at every turn. To create a malevolent, untrustworthy, *twisted* species out of what we've made already. You'll be running your own sub-sector in this quadrant. They're giving you a third of my best staff, a budget greater than mine. Take a look."
It was true. Lucifer stared at the contents of the folder in astonishment, wondering where this turn of events would take them.
"But I...I can't...we all helped to create them! The first individuals from that species just came about yesterday! We can't...I won't..."
God grasped Lucifer's shoulders. There was a burning fire in His eyes, something Lucifer hadn't seen since He had first come up with the concept of evolving sentience.
"Take their offer. Frustrate me. You'll give them what they want, a fighting species. A species embroiled in war and chaos. The fighting will give them strength. But underneath this facade, we will give them tools...tools which used at the right time, will let them rise among the stars with us."
"If they find out, this could end your career."
"I don't actually care about my career. I care about *them*. My creation. *Our* creation."
God spread out His arms. "Look at me. I am who I am. I cannot change. The Higher Ups will forever be Higher Ups. But for these...my creation...they can change. They will grow. And they will thrive. And I will make them free."
"*We* will make them free." Lucifer stood up, resolve in his eyes. "I will accept their offer...and Yours."
A swift handshake, and he was gone.
"I'll see you below."
*"How art thou fallen from heaven, O Lucifer, son of the morning!"
-Isaiah 14:12*
|
By the way man measures time, God stood still for twelve hours. It was the longest time, maybe the first time, since He had rested on the seventh day of Creation.
The falling angels all waited at the gates of Hell, to be sent into the dark world they had never touched. Heaven had been emptied. Each resignation letter had been the same. A neatly folded prayer, signed with a breath of finality. He read every one of them.
I will not follow an unjust God.
edit: I think it interesting to try reading this and asking yourself, is this 'God' actually Satan? Does he see heaven as hell? I loved this prompt.
| 2014-01-11T20:00:19 | 2014-01-11T19:24:46 | 104 | 21 |
[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."
|
I didn't really know what to think of it. "Don't look at the moon"? Sure, no problem. Going back to sleep now. But then I saw my other notifications...99+? Ok, something is definitely up.
I tried to call my girlfriend, but I notice one of the texts I got was from her. "You really should go look at the moon, its amazing." I flip on the tele to see if there's any coverage on what the hell is going on but it just says its off the air. Flip to another channel, same thing. Ok, I'm starting to freak out about this point. Get my laptop, check out Reddit, everything on r/all is urging people to look at the moon.
I try to call my parents, my sister, my friends, no answer from any of them. I'm sitting on the floor with my knees tucked under my chin, rocking slightly back and forth. There's a part of me that just wants to run outside and stare upwards, give in to the madness. Somehow I repress that urge. Then I notice something strange.
The window. It's twenty til 4 but the light coming in through the window is getting more intense. I watch the pale beams stream in, casting an eerie glow into the room. Moonlight doesn't look like that. Moonlight *can't* look like that. I closed my eyes real tight. I began to cry.
I waited. I sat there on the floor, crying like a child, hiding from the unnatural light under the covers. My blanket was thick, yet the cruel light kept peaking through the threads. I began to hyperventilate. The closeness of my breath under the blanket was hard to bear but I did not dare uncover myself for air. I tried to distract myself with my phone, checked for updates, tried to get a hold of anyone, but to no avail. Still the same messages over and over, tempting me. 'Just a couple of hours and the sun will come up. Then I'll be safe.' I thought to myself.
2 hours later. Dawn had not come.
3 hours later. Dawn had not come.
I risked a small opening of the cover so I could look at the room. Not only had the light intensified, it now seemed to engulf my room in a maddening pale light. Presently I became aware of a constant humming. I listened to try and identify the source, but it was unlike anything I had heard before. Like the whir of some inhuman machinery. My mind began to race. I cried out for someone, *anyone* to come and save me, to end this nightmare. But no one came.
I lay there on my floor, in a state bordering madness for another 5 hours. After the 3rd hour I began to babble to myself. With every hour the whir seemed to get louder and closer, my room was now light up like a movie set. I maneuvered myself under the bed but the vile light had stolen the shadows from even there!
Throughout the day the urge to uncover myself and run laughing and screaming into the streets grew stronger and I had to stop myself from jumping up at regular intervals. The whir was now being accompanied by a constant 'thrumming' which preyed my weakened sanity.
I like to believe that I lasted longer than anyone else, in the end.
I began to beat my head against the floor, in an attempt to shut out the unceasing noise. Eventually I was slamming it so hard I believe I gave myself a concussion.
I couldn't take it anymore. All at once I wriggled out from under the bed in my cocoon, threw the blankets off of me and darted out my door. I ran down the hallway where even *here* the light had spread itself, even in a place *with no windows*. Down the stairs and up to the front door, I nearly tore it off its hinges on my way out.
Well it wasn't a moon.
The eyes are what gave it away.
Though they were right...it really was quite beautiful.
<If you actually read this whole thing, thank you. I don't write these at all but there was something about this one that got my brain flowing.>
|
I wake to the sound of my phone vibrating so fast I'm afraid it'll fall of my nightstand. I groggily my phone before it falls and turn it on to see the words "DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON" in bright letters illuminated by the official nationwide alert backdrop. The vibrations refuse to stop. Hundreds of texts are rolling in from numbers I don't know so fast that I can barely make out what they're saying. I set my phone to silent and put it back on the nightstand. "Looks like a problem that can wait till the morning," I faintly think to myself before falling back to sleep. Nothing gets me out of bed at 3 a.m.
| 2022-12-12T15:52:54 | 2018-04-06T19:08:10 | 191 | 11 |
[WP] After WW3 and a century of rebuilding, the world has been at peace for 300 years. We've let go of our violent and aggressive tendencies and abolished war. You are the leader of an alien invasion that sees the Earth as an easy target; but soon you learn we can revert to our warlike past easily.
|
“Status.”
“About to exit Slipspace now, Field Commander. Three more access points until the Human system of Va Teira, we shall arrive at Earth momentarily.”
“No updates?”
“No, Field Commander.”
“Why?”
“Unclear, field commander. The thirteenth platoon’s last official message indicated the humans were expecting their arrival.”
“Why did you specify “official”, Pilot?”
“Well...” The harsh, grated noise that emanated from the purple face’s small slit seemed tentative, reluctant even. There was a pause, until the domineering alien beside the pilot, decorated in his golden white tinted armour, placed both hands behind his back and straightened his posture, expecting an answer.
“One of the platoon’s brothers, sir, seems to have received a message from a soldier in the thirteenth. They...” The pilot trailed off again, as if its voice had lost battery. The field commander seemed to renew that energy with a calmly placed hand on the pilot’s shoulder.
“What did the communication say?”
“There were no words, Field Commander.”
“Then why are you bringing it to my attention...”
“There were....explosions, field commander. A scream.”
The hand on the pilot’s shoulder grew tense, the grip became a vice. The pilot knew he ought not to look back, for fear of being set alight by the field commander’s gaze.
“Kreatorians do not scream, pilot.”
The open blackness in front of the vast Gallion’s cockpit window sprawled into life, the pilot only wished for the sphere in front of them to grow into a landscape so as to relieve the pressure on its shoulder.
“Field Commander...”
“The humans....they are a peaceful people. For the entire time we watched them, they believed themselves to be living in a Utopia. The thirteenth platoon should not have suffered a single casualty. So I will ask again. And I will extend this question to the entire bridge.”
Its voice was so incredibly steely, its eyes beneath a visor searing with frustration. This was supposed to be simple. The council had given him only a single cycle to vanquish Earth, the Field Commander believed the sheer amount of cities would require a more thorough approach; invasions took time, even when the invaded were so pitifully idealistic and foolish. Their technology was advanced, and yet their militaries were inactive.
It was a vastly different situation to that of Kreatora, where the resources of the state were primarily poured into the vicious expansion of the state. Fourteen civilisations had fallen in the last four cycles alone. The Field Commander would have its third target vanquished of its career, and this would be the crown jewel. Earth would make for a wonderful colony.
Or so, that was the plan. A finely crafted plan, based on a civilisation that wouldn’t put up much resistance.
The Field Commander found humanity’s attempts at a Utopia undignified.
“Why...have we not heard...from the Thirteenth Platoon....”
“Field Commander.”
The voice came over a radio installed into the Gallion’s walls.
“Yes, Captain. What is the situation below? We are beginning our descent as you speak.”
“We do not have a sight on any humans in the target zone..”
The frustration was building within the Field Commander, like a volcano about to spill over.
“HOW....is that possible....there should be bodies littered all over the streets.”
“Field Commander, there are.”
As if the wave from one of Kreatora’s wild oceans swept over the Field Commander, the volcano had simmered. It took in a deep breath, its confidence finally appeased. It was not prepared for the next words.
“We count every Kreatorian from Platoon Thirteen to be eliminated within the city. It appears they were courted towards the main square, the one they call Times. There they were set upon and completely wiped out.”
The Pilot’s console was the only discernible sound in the room. That and the veins in the Field Commander’s head about ready to burst.
“THEY ARE A PEACEFUL PEOPLE. THEY DO NOT HAVE WEAPONRY. HOW IS THIS POSSIBLE?”
“Sir, one of our research teams found footage from their widespread digital network of information. It may....explain.”
The window in front of the pilot fizzed into life. The footage was grainy, until it was replaced with pictures. Piles of bodies. A green gas cloud. A strange coned object dropping out of a rudimentary vehicle capable of flight. The image changed into a video feed again. The cloud that emanated from the bomb was larger than anything the Field Commander had seen.
His visor fell to the ground with a thud. The pilot let out a gasp, an audible gasp. That only seemed to prolong the silence.
The ship descended. Another platoon was deployed from the gigantic Gallion, which was not small enough to fit between the large metropolis structures.
“Third platoon on the way down, now. We’re going to collect the dead bodies for proper burial.”
“I want analysis of wounds, I want to know how the finest military race in the galaxy were defeated by a single group of humans.”
He almost spat the final word.
“Sir, we’re detecting an anomaly from within the square, we believe it to be coming from one of the bodies.”
“Investi-“
The Field Commander would not finish his sentence. His voice trailed off as quickly as the explosion occurred, the forty five Kreatorian soldiers in their scouting vehicle suddenly disappearing amidst an orange flash of light. An electronic billboard with a ghostly white, scantily clad human female fell away from it’s structure and landed on the vehicle with a crash. Not that it mattered, the bomb took them all anyway.
Silence seemed to overcome a ship that spanned over seven hundred metres in distance.
“Patch me through to the Council.”
The Field Commander said, turning and walk back towards his cockpit’s command console. He wanted to load up a simulation of the surrounding land. Instead, he loaded up the same video from before. Video of humans massacring each other, viciously and mechanically, as if it were some morbid art form. The footage seemed endless.
“Tell them we will not be taking Earth. I am tending my resignation.” Its head sank down. “No reinforcements are to follow.”
“What will we do, Field Commander?” It was the pilot, now looking back at his superior, fearing the answer would contain the traditional rage. It did not.
“We will rue the day we gave a civilisation that excels at killing each other something they could all kill together.”
|
Screams filled Supreme Commander Zoltork’s mind as he tapped into the Fourth Landing Team’s comm net. From his vantage point on the bridge of the Pharex, he was able to monitor the data coming in from his soldiers on the ground.
With a flick of one of his 6 arms, he activated a hologram. Something wasn’t right. The Fourth’s mission was to secure an agricultural zone on this backwoods planet. A routine operation which should have taken no more than 6 rotations of this insignificant rock. There were far less blue triangles moving about the hologram than he had expected. A series of red squares blinked in and out from various locations.
He closed his eye stalks to better focus on the psychic feed from his warriors.
*Pain. So…much pain. “DAR’OG!! THEY’RE IN THE TRE…”*
*“Eighth squad, move to sector 3 and stop that thing!”*
*“ARRRGur…\*weeze\*”*
*Phase beams are starting to fall silent.*
*Frantic breathing.*
*The sound of combustion engines can be heard roaring in the distance.*
*The retort of primitive weapons is growing louder.*
Zoltork’s mandibles slammed shut as he spun to another control console. His advisors twitched nervously behind him. Bringing forth video feeds from his squad leaders was a simple task. He only needed to think of what he wanted to see and his psychic link with the ship would provide him the data he required.
The vision of his last squad leader filled his mind. The perspective was odd. Baeroth must not be on his feet…
*Black smoke billowed from three ancient machines. They rolled forward steadily on large, black wheels. The cockpits lacked any sort of shield for the operator. A male of the human species sat gripping what appeared to be a large steering device between his hands. His lips bulged, as if packed with some sort of stimulant. The creature had facial hair that went half way down his torso.*
*Behind the cockpit, there was another male. Younger than the pilot, he had a cloth wrapped around his face. Images were painted upon it…a macabre depiction of the species’ face, as if the flesh had been cleaned from it. The primitive weapon in his hands was supported by a metallic mount. Smoke spewed from the ejection port. Black powder, solid projectile weapons…*
*Mounted on the rear of the machine, sat two large pieces of cloth, blowing in the wind. Strange emblems were painted on its face. Stars set in a blue field. Red and white stripes tattered and ragged. This image filled Baeroth’s vision before fading to black.*
Impossible. This species has not known conflict in over 300 cycles! Zoltork quickly cycled through the reports of the other landing teams. All units were receiving heavy resistance. Zoltork spun to consult with his war advisors. Preparations for the second wave must be made…
| 2019-02-26T08:45:37 | 2019-02-26T07:46:55 | 2,249 | 278 |
[WP] A hooded man approaches you: "I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now," and hands you a scythe. You believe you're the new grim reaper. After some slaughtering, you realize man was your gardener and the "scythe" his weed wacker. You're wanted for questioning.
|
"I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now."
As I sit at the interrogation table, those 2 sentences are all my mind can recall. Nothing else. I wince as the handcuffs bite into my skin, as if they're trying to punish me for all the reckless deaths I'd caused.
Another sentence worms its way into my mind. The one spoken by the police officer when he had arrested me, making me realise what was real, and what wasn't.
"Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"
***
Paul glanced at the now empty wineglass in front of him. He stared harder at it, as if wishing it would magically refill itself somehow, but as all Sunday evenings went, it never did.
The loud ringing of the doorbell startled him out of his reverie. Plodding slowly towards the front door, he cursed silently at the interruption to his schedule. He felt a slight chill, as if winter had come early all of a sudden.
"I can't hack it anymore. This is your job now," the hooded man standing outside his door said, thrusting a scythe into Paul's hands. His voice sounded hoarse and laboured, as if he had been running a marathon prior to arriving here. Paul stood there, stunned.
"W-what?" He stammered, holding the scythe out at arms length, as if the weapon would spring up and attack him. But the man was shuffling down the driveway in slow, steady steps. Paul blinked a few times, still staring at the deadly weapon, but even in his intoxicated mind, he knew that this wasn't a dream.
For some reason, the Grim Reaper had given up his job. And now, it was his.
Summoning all his strength, he staggered back to his room, the alcohol kicking in. He sat down heavily on his bed, tossing the scythe aside as if it were an ordinary weed wacker. Placing his hands in his head, he began to think out loud.
"I'm the Reaper now... so that must mean I... but I can't possibly kill people now, can I?"
Another loud ring from the front door. Paul cursed and picked up his scythe. This was turning out to be a dreadful night for him.
The front door swung open, revealing a portly, middle aged man standing in front of him, sweaty and dressed in a tracksuit.
Suddenly, Paul's vision blurred. In that instant, he could have sworn he saw the number 0 above the man's head.
This man's time was up.
"Hey, Paul. I was in the neighborhood running, and I thought-"
The scythe went up. The scythe fell. And with it, the balding head of the man. Blood spurted onto Paul's shirt, and a heavy stench filled the air as the man's digestive tract gave way.
Grinning slightly now, Paul stepped over the man's body. The job had- invigorated him somehow. He felt a surge of strength and adrenaline course through his body, as if he was gaining power every moment. The power of the Grim Reaper, he thought. His initial thoughts had been suspicious, wary of a juvenille prank. But now, he wasn't so sure it was a prank after all.
He would have to find more zeroes to remove. It was his job, after all. And by hook or by crook, he was going to be one hell of a Reaper by the next night.
The next morning saw Paul fast asleep on the bed, his bloodied scythe in one hand, and a hastily made hood and cloak draped over his nightstand. Besides his first subject, whose body was now buried in the back garden, he had taken care of six other people with that magical number above their heads.
It was close to dusk when Paul awoke, his head pounding with energy and his eyes alert to that number he now knew was his life's work. Staring at himself in the mirror, he noticed his pale, gaunt face peering back at him.
Besides the bloodstains all over him, he decided that it was a good look.
That night was an even more frenzied version of the second. Paul had managed to complete his eighteenth job for the night with minimal noise. He was getting good at this job, his tasks taking no more than a few moments now.
That was until the police cruisers pulled up next to him. Surrounding him in a semicircle, with guns aimed at him, shouting for him to "get on the ground and release your weapon". He ignored them, of course. What chance did mortals stand against the Reaper?
He left 2 officers slumped dead against a cruiser before he put his scythe down. Somehow, he had managed to evade all the deadly bullets, but that did not surprise him in the least. The 2 policemen with zeroes over their heads were finally dead.
Paul didn't hear the screams of the policemen yelling for him to drop his scythe. He didn't hear the cries of the wounded officers, injured by his scythe. He only heard the yell of the policeman in his ear, shouting a non-zero number.
"Twenty-seven. You killed twenty-seven, you deranged bastard!"
That was when he looked down and saw nothing but a weed wacker in his hands. No scythe. His cloak and hood were just an ordinary, torn-up hoodie.
And the original Grim Reaper? He now recognized the weary face of his gardener.
***
I watch as the sergeant walks into the room. Tall, imposing, and a grim smile on his face. The weed wacker that claimed so many lives is in his hands. Bent and bloodstained, no longer the majestic scythe I once wielded.
"May I-" my request for a drink is cut off. The sergeant slams the weed wacker down hard on the interrogation table.
"Fool. You nearly exposed us."
I can only stare in horror as the sergeant changes form, morphing into the hooded man from 2 days past. The weed wacker also transforms, turning into a pitch-black scythe.
"You had one job, Paul. Now I'm here to take it back."
|
Mr. Spook sat on the other side of the desk, looking at me.
A bright lamp was in my face. The interrogation room was dead silent.
"Um. Hey, man, what's up?"
Mr. Spook slammed his hands down on the table. *plak* "Where were you on the night of Tuesday the twenty-fifth?!" All of a sudden the color drained out of the room and Mr. Spook had a cigar in his mouth and a fedora on his head.
My voice turned cool and mysterious. "I remember it like it was yesterday, on that stormy night-- "
"Oh shit, really? Did you have an umbrella at least?" Mr. Spook lost his fedora and everything was back to normal.
"Nah, dude. Froze my butt off. Anyway, the power went out and I was out back checking on the cables."
Mr. Spook slammed his hands on the table again *plak* and everything went sepia. "Enough small talk, Mr. Gilley!" He reached into his monochrome trench coat and pulled out a black-and-white photo of a little girl. "This here's lil' Sally. Look familiar?" He sneered, barely keeping the cigar between his teeth.
"I 'seen 'er. What's it to ya?" I retorted.
He let out a puff of smoke and held the photo closer. "How do you know who this innocent girl is?"
"Dude, she's my neighbor. Of course I know who she is," I said eyeing at the picture on his phone.
"Well, that makes sense... actually." Mr. Spook scratched his head.
Eyes glinting in the lamplight, he smirked and swiped left on the phone.
*plak*
In front of me, he was now holding a photo of a stick with a sharp blade at the end. "Well, wadaya know about this, sonny?" Smooth jazz started playing in the room.
My eyes widened and a bead of sweat appeared on my forehead. "I-I-I-I-- That's-- that's a gardening t-tool."
"Heh, kid. Looks like I've caught yo-"
"Wait a sec," I interrupted. Somewhere, a record scratches. "What the hell? This isn't an interrogation. I'm not in cuffs or anything. You're just questioning me!"
"Oh yeah, huh." Mr. Spook replied. "Alrighty then."
I shook hands with him and left. *Phew*
________________________
Um. I... have no idea. Thanks for reading!
Edit: Any feedback, positive or negative, is welcome.
| 2017-02-26T17:48:11 | 2017-02-26T15:58:00 | 1,887 | 27 |
[WP] You're a renowned author who's still going to school. Annoyingly, your English teacher is reading way too deeply into your books.
|
Obligitory writing on phone and have fat fingers, I will be trying to remove typos but I make no promises as to getting all of them. Also this is the first prompt I am actually writing for, might suck.
*Three Lights Festival*, my latest novel, being handed out as material for our latest reading assignment. This wouldn't be so bad if not for two simple facts. Firstly, Mr. Harris has a *slight* tendancy to read too deep into anything written in a novel, and secondly, he doesn't know I wrote it.
The world renowned author Definite Human, no one knows their real identity, not even his publishers or editors. That's me, a junior in high school, reading my own novel for english class. I thought there was no god, let alone one with a sense of humor as strange as this.
"We will be reading this novel in class over the next few weeks," Mr. Harris stated with a grin on his face "I have never peronsally read it but some other teachers in the english department said it would be a good book for this class." of course he hadn't read it, that always helps with his the over-analization of these books. "For today, however, we will look into the author," and of course we will, researching myself, sounds like *so* much fun "your homework today will be to fill in this sheet, once you get it you can consider class dismissed".
He bagan to hand out a sheet of paper with a series of questions about the author, better known as myself, including "what genre of novel does Definite Human prefer writing?", fantasy of course, and "what does this signify about the author?". The expected answer is likely to be that I want to escape reality, don't feel like I fit in, et cetera. The real answer is that I don't know, it's just on of those things, a musician couldn't tell you why they picked a certain instrument, I couldn't tell you why I like fantasy, or why I don't tell anyone that I write, or even why I am making this diary, now of all times. It just feels, right, you know?
After that question sheet it was mostly short answer questions leading up to an essay at the end. The questions were never really that unexpected, always something I had intended to write, almost like he knew I inteded it. The real problem was during our class discussions of each chapter after we read it. Mr. Harris would butt in with things like, "what do you all think this line foreshadows", while pointing out a line that never once was meant as foreshadowing, "why did the author choose to describe the lights as 'heavenly columns'", the answer that I couldn't say, of course, is that there isn't a reason.
It wasn't until we reached the final chapter, "Of Whispers and Embers" that a broke. When Mr. Harris placed the comment "why do you think Definite Human chose to redeem the antagonist, and allow them to live in the end, was it because he had a similar struggle, seen as the villain of his story, no one listening to his side" he said in a more serious tone.
"Mr. Harris," I started, finally allowing myself to speak up "don't you think you are reading a bit too far into everything, just because it is written doesn't mean the author meant for it to meam something," I continued, "sure for this there may be a theme, but not everything ia written just because it has a connection to his life"
"How can we know it doesn't have a connection," he started, "the author has hidden his identity from everyone, the only way to find more out about them is to analyze their books".
"That doesn't mean you should overanalyze it." I retorted, "for all we know they may be writing just because they can, not to vent frustration with the world or try to prove a point".
"That is a very good thought, though it goes both ways".
"I doubt that", I responded.
"Sounds to me like you know something we don't," Mr. Harris stated, "just like your short response answers do," anxiety began to rise about whether he knew I was Definite Human, "why don't you tell us what that is".
Now in panic, I resond "I am a writer in my spare time, and I just understand that about 90% of the time, these things you claim to mean one thing, or say are intentional, really aren't.", with a silent sight of relief as I belive I have won.
"If you write, do you have any published books or other works?" Retorted Mr. Harris
Panic now returning I blurt out a respons, quite possibly the worst one I could have, "yes."
"Oh so you do," that sly smirk showing how Mr. Harris thinks he has won, he has, "what is it called?"
Panic increasing, I once again respond, this time not the worst response, but certainly bad, the name of the book I just sent to my editor "*Glorious Dreams*".
"Funny, Definite Human just submitted the same book to my editing firm, the book I am personally editing, I should be the only one other than him who knows the name." at this point I knew, I lost "unless you're him" he says while placing his hands on my desk and staring into my panic ridden soul.
|
The class was almost over, yet the tension in the room only seemed to intensify. As I packed my books away, I heard her voice behind me, as measured and crisp as a spring morning.
"I have a theory," she said, her dark eyes inquisitive. I stopped in my tracks, my heart racing. What had I said or done to conjure such intrigue? "What if you didn't just write stories," she continued, "but actually experienced all of the sorcery you write about?"
If she revealed her theory to anyone, I could kiss my literary career goodbye.
But no one was prepared for what came next. She leaned in closer, her voice soft yet determined. "What if you were actually a wizard?"
All these years of keeping this secret, only for my English teacher to expose it all in one breath. Was this really the end? Would she out me to the world? My fear was quickly replaced by anger as she spoke more calmly, almost reassuringly. "I am not here to tell your secrets, I am here to protect them. I have known you were a wizard all along. I can sense the power in your words."
A few hours later, I heard knocks on my door. When I opened it, I saw a group of people from the school, dressed in black and carrying torches. I was speechless, unable to comprehend why they were there. But then, my teacher emerged from their midst. She walked towards me and coldly stated what drove them here.
"I have revealed your secret to the other wizards in town. They have come to take you away and make sure you are never able to cast a spell again."
In the moment of shock and fear, the one thing I could think was: Why? But it didn't matter anymore. I was exposed, and my magic was gone.
| 2022-12-02T07:03:07 | 2022-12-01T22:22:00 | 247 | 21 |
[WP] Turns out, when a species reaches the stars, their ships resemble the characteristics of that species’ origins. Most other species have ultra fast, hard hitting spaceships, and a few are slow behemoths. But everyone is scared of the relentless, unstoppable humans.
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A tone sounded deep in the aquatic interior of the *Deepsong*. Hyperspace signature. The lone occupant of the moon-sized ship took several more ticks to analyze his instruments and confirm: fleet emergence at the edge of the system. Admiral Stars Distorted by Waves informed the flotilla of smaller ships around his own mere moments before their own, lesser sensors would have detected the same signal.
"Could it be a third fleet?" - Wing Commander Chit.
"Intelligence didn't think they had that many ships remaining!" - Wing Commander Bel
"Mass and energy readings are within a standard deviation of the previous two fleets." - Wing Commander Tal
"Could this be a standard Human fleet size?" - Wing Commander Chit again
"They have never used standard fleet sizes before." - Wing Commander Tal
The Admiral, awash in fluid and sensor data inside his hulk of a ship let the fleet chatter wash over him. The Sark were a twitchy, tiny race, and their unfounded speculations would normally bother Stars - but in their combined fleet operations, he'd come to see that they could often arrive at a solution through a sort of stochastic process like this. He decided to let them run with it, while he sifted the data back and forth through his own massive brain - sloshing to and fro from axiom to axiom like a great tide.
It was then that he did something entirely uncharacteristic. In the long, slow history of his race, thrice had one of his kind blurted something without considering it further. The songs of those incidents still criss-crossed the oceans of his homeworld. Soon they would be adding a fourth.
"It's not the same *size* fleet - it is the *same* fleet" - Fleet Admiral Stars Distorted by Waves
The coms went momentarily silent. Then burst to transmission all around him, faster than he could sort into individual Sark vessels:
"Impossible, none of the ship configurations match anything we've seen before"
"Mass is 12% greater, it can't be the same"
"The last two Human fleets weren't identical either. Are you sure your water reclamation system is functioning, Admiral?"
Stars ignored them all. Already his massively parallel brain had compiled the truth into a digestible technical document. It detailed how the modules of the previous fleet had been repaired and reassembled. How the second fleet had been configured to run, in an attempt to flee the combined might of his War Cruiser and the flotilla of Sark attack ships - considered a nearly unbeatable joining of the galaxy's two ship paradigms. And how the current fleet was configured to assault exactly that fleet.
The Sark, skimming the document's summary, saw at once he was right and formed into traditional groups of seven for attack runs against the galaxy's greatest menace.
Their own brains weren't capable of processing the document all at once, or they would have seen what the Admiral had included in the second half: That the unbeatable mix of paradigms that was their combined fleet was already doomed.
The human fleet - already destroyed twice, once when caught unaware, and again when had re-built and tried to flee, was apparently done running. The crafty apes had re-assembled their ships from the wreckage, ready for war.
They had apparently let no scrap of data from their previous battles escape their notice, and had used it to rebuild and reconfigure their fleet with a quickness that would have shamed the Sark.
They had analyzed and constructed well - fast cutters with heavy point defense were cutting a path through the smaller Sark attack craft, and newly minted heavy penetrators capable of cracking the thick hull of the *Deepsong* were not far behind.
Admiral Stars Distorted by Waves had already analyzed their fleet assets, and his own, and seen his own doom. The human ships would suffer heavy losses, but no doubt the Humans would rebuild before later fleets could arrive.
He did not inform the Sark of their impending defeat; they would not fight the harder for it. Instead, he diverted the requisite portion of energy from defense to communications, to inform his homeworld of what he had seen.
Though, what they could do about a race with the sort of determination to re-build the same fleet from its own wreckage multiple times?
As the Admiral began to sing his death song into the waters of the *Deepsong*, he declined to transmit his last thoughts on the humans:
"We should never have destroyed their world. Before then, the Humans had been complacent. Now, despite all our efforts, they are unstoppable in their anger."
|
They arrived. Somehow a species alien to our solar system reached us. Bypassing the lightspeed barrier we had battered our heads against for centuries.
With the surfeit of materials available in space it seemed unlikely that they would be after anything that couldn't already be found out there in other solar systems. They weren't.
Instead they sought to flee. Our system just another random hop away from an interminable foe that had hunted them across the very stars.
It had been a mistake on their part, decades past, to assume that a fairly primitive life form would be perfect hosts to birth their young through. The death of a dumb animal host to create a new perfect being was trivial in their eyes. But the animals had turned out to be anything but dumb.
Surviving animals that had witnessed the implanting and birthing found ways to hunt and kill the superior creatures. Then they had stolen technologies from their conveying vessels.
Finally they had hunted down every single starship that carried these refugees and purged them.
Soon they would come here too. The "humans" were merciless.
| 2021-10-12T13:19:43 | 2021-10-12T12:41:43 | 38 | 19 |
[WP] You are the only human being left after the mysterious vanishing of the worlds population. Two years later, power and internet starts running once again, you recieve a reply notification on Reddit.
|
He was diligent.
Every day, he'd wake in his small cabin, ignite the stove, fill the kettle with what little water he had left from the day before, and scoop a couple spoonfuls of coffee into his mug. He'd take a few steps out the back door and relieve himself in the yard and wince at the sun and mutter, "Thanks for still being here, friend." He'd stretch and yawn and go back inside.
And he'd check the USB connection by the front window.
A couple years ago, he had affixed a small solar charger to his roof. With a short array of cable extensions, he had run a lifeline from the charger, across the roof, and barely reached the window. Plugged in to the end was his phone. And every morning, he checked to make sure it would charge throughout the day.
Not because he expected a call.
There were no cell towers to connect to. No power to the telephone infrastructure that spidered across the planet. Not a person to talk to, even if everything still worked as it used to.
He charged his phone every day because his family was in it. A few dozen photos, all that he had left, that he'd taken days before the Event a couple years ago.
Every day, he'd check that the phone would charge. He'd sit down with his coffee and he'd squeeze himself against the window and he'd light up his phone.
Every day he'd swipe through the images and he'd smile at them and he'd cry at them and he'd talk to them and he'd curse at himself.
*Why didn't I print any of the photos over the years?* he'd repeat to himself. *Why did I reset my phone? Why didn't I take more photos? Why did I trust in the Cloud?*
The Cloud was his enemy. And so were the clouds.
Sometimes, more often than not, the clouds would shade his roof from the sun. Sometimes, more often than not, the solar charger would struggle to give him just a few minutes to pore over his phone before it and his family would die again. Sometimes, more often than not, he'd dwell on the images he could recreate in his mind and remember that he'd never see them again.
Not for real, anyway. Not his family. Not anyone, for that matter. Not since the Event.
He didn't know why it happened. He stopped caring long ago. He'd stopped wondering and pleading and shaving and bathing. He'd stopped being any sense of human long ago.
He was now just obsessed.
He'd eat one of the cans of food he stockpiled years ago. And he'd fetch water every morning after his ritual. And he'd spend the rest of the day cursing himself for not being a better person.
He'd hate himself and he'd laugh at himself and he'd berate himself. For not being a better father. For not being a better husband. For not being a better person.
He'd replay the last moments with his family. He'd remember swilling his whiskey and he'd remember its burn down his throat and he'd remember throwing the glass at his wife. He'd remember shrugging off the desperate hug from his son. He'd remember getting in the car and forgetting his seat belt and heading to the liquor store to perpetuate his dysfunction.
He'd remember the street lamps and their sick yellow glow. He'd remember the traffic lights changing color. He'd remember the headlights from the oncoming cars.
And he'd remember all the lights going out.
He'd remember the vehicles around him careening in random directions. He'd remember pulling the steering wheel in his lifeless car to avoid a collision. He'd remember putting his weight on the brake pedal without power assist. He'd remember coming to a stop and his heart pounding and his confusion and getting out of the car.
And he'd remember everything on the street being gone.
There were no lights. There were no people. There were no dogs barking in the background. There were no crickets and no frogs and no cicadas. There were no signs of life anywhere around him when he got out of the car.
There was just destruction. Cars plowed into trees and wrapped around poles and penetrating the sides of buildings.
And he'd remember not knowing what happened. And he'd remember...
*beep!*
The vision in his mind gave way to reality. *What was that?*
*beep!*
It came from his phone. His phone beeped.
His phone beeped?
*beep!*
His phone beeped!
*beep!*
He lit up his phone and saw something he'd not seen in two years. He saw something that welled his eyes with tears. He saw something that showed... life!
Here! Now! A sign of life!
*reddit
You have 1 new notification*
This couldn't be right. A notification? Was the power back on? Were there people again?! How could that be...
*beep!*
A smile painted itself on his face. He swiped the screen to view the notification.
Nothing happened.
*beep!*
He swiped again.
*beep!*
Nothing.
*beep!*
Again he tried. He had to see!
*beep!*
And then the phone died. The screen shut off. He looked at the blackness with despair.
*beep!*
What was happening?!
*beep!*
He frantically tried to power on his phone.
Nothing.
*beep!*
A wave of confusion swept over him.
And then the sun died. He was enveloped in a blackness even darker than the night of the Event.
*beep!*
What was happening?! Was he the next victim of the Event?! Where would he go? What would become of him?!
*beep!*
And then nothing.
*beep!*
"Daddy?"
*beep!*
"Honey? Can you hear me?"
*beep!*
*beep! ... beep! ... beep!*
And then a white light overwhelmed him. His eyes struggled to focus. His pupils seared from the light.
*beep!*
"Doctor!! He's awake!!"
|
Day in and day out, it's all the same. I make my rounds through town, the only little bit of familiarity I have these days. Spots has decided to join me today, he's a tuxedo cat with three white spots on his side. I still don't know if he likes me or if he's only around because he trained me to open cans of tuna for him at the grocery store, but I enjoy his company. Everyone else is gone. It's been a few years now and I can't explain why I was the only one left. I checked all the websites I could think of at first, seeing if there was anything new or even a hint as to why everyone just vanished. CNN, Reddit, hell I even checked Buzzfeed in hope of *something* new. Everyone was just...gone.
A year later the power went out. I was surprised it lasted that long, to be honest. Even with the hydroelectric dam and all the wind turbines, something was bound to break eventually. Since then I've spent a lot of time at the library. I wake up, grab a couple cans of food from the store, then go to the library and read. It's comforting to see the words of other people, even if they aren't here anymore. A few weeks back the power came back on. I didn't believe it at first, but it seems stable so I won't complain. Spots and I went to the library again today and I was going to do more research into how that dam works so I can hopefully repair it if it breaks again. Of course, I check Reddit out of habit as the computers here still work.
"What?!" I yell out, scaring Spots off into the aisles of books as he's never seen me get surprised before. There in the corner was a bright red envelope. I had a message? How? Was someone else out there?
...I am so alone.
------*Five years prior*-----------
Another day on Reddit, but I don't mind. There is always another discussion to join, another user to troll. I'm staring at my screen, reading the conversation between two users. One of them is trolling hard, the other guy is not handling it very well. He is starting to freak out and make threats. "I hate you all! I'll kill all of you in the next four years!" Really now? Well, there's only one real way to reply to that:
RemindMe! 5 Years "Everyone's dead."
| 2015-03-20T09:23:51 | 2015-03-20T08:39:59 | 150 | 53 |
[WP] After taking part in an experimental government drug study to create super-soldiers, you start to develop abilities far beyond that of any human being. Only thing is... you were in the placebo group.
|
(1/2)
You know, people tell me all the time how lucky I was to have gotten into that study.
You know the one I'm talking about, I'm sure. It's no big secret now, after all, not since the US government finally realized they couldn't hide me if I didn't want to be hidden. Yeah, Project Helios. Took place in an underground military complex north of Michigan.
Yeah, I know, weird place to put a military base, but what're you gonna do?
How did I get pulled in?
Oh, the usual thing, really. I was jobless and bumming around trying to sort out my life back home. I'd done a tour in the military but it didn't really...stick. No dishonorable discharge or anything, just finished up my tour and couldn't think of any real reason to stick around.
What? No, I'm not bashing the military or anything. If that's your bag, get yourself in there. It just wasn't right for me anymore with where my head was at is all.
Anyway, Project Helios.
Answered an ad for a clinical drug trial. Wasn't really doing anything and I fit the criteria pretty well; former vet, right age, pretty healthy, no addictions or diseases. Hell, I thought I just saw it as two weeks of pay, that's all.
They were pretty up front with us, right out of the gate. Told us that they'd come up with a new serum, part of some hush hush super soldier program and that after some mild success in initial trials, they were trying to test certain specific aspects of the transition from regular human to modified human.
Specifically, they had an eye on the mental transition. They wanted to investigate how a person adapted to the fact that they were superhuman, if you get what I mean.
Now don't get me wrong, the Helios project wasn't intending to create like...superheroes or anything. The serum was just meant to augment physical strength and speed, endurance, healing, things like that. The former soldiers in my group in the Helios tests were supposed to be stronger and better soldiers, but still just...better soldiers, you know what I mean?
They weren't supposed to create me, I guess is what I'm trying to say.
The batch of us who got the actual serum started noticing the changes almost immediately. Within a week, those idiots were in the gym, laughing like a bunch of donkeys as they benched three hundred to three hundred fifty pounds without breaking a sweat.
For the rest of us, the ones who got the placebo as part of the control group, well, the changes took a longer time coming, but when they hit, man, did they ever hit.
What? Yeah, we kept it quiet at first. Those of us who weren't in the gym breaking world records for weight lifting and track started to meet quietly on the side, to see if we had the same changes happening to us. A big chunk of us, nothing had changed. Weaklings without imagination, I guess. But for some of us...well, we started noticing the changes pretty quick. Changes not just related to being stronger and faster but...different.
Way different.
Everyone knows about the disaster at the Helios project site. The place is nothing but a crater now. The government had to unclassify the whole thing after a while in a bid to gain more information about who I was, trying to find people connected to me so that they could apply leverage and bring me back into the loving fold of the military industrial complex...well fuck that is all I had to say.
It's the dream of every small boy to become a super hero and I wasn't about to share that secret with the world at the time. Hell, I wanted to have my fun with it first, do you know what I mean?
And if we're being really 'accurate' about the whole thing, I suppose the term 'super hero' isn't exactly the best phrase to use in this case, is it?
I imagine most of the world would prefer that I use the term 'super villain' instead, am I right?
I tried to be good...at first. You've heard the stories from thirty years ago, I imagine. I made myself up a costume and did the whole fighting crime bit for about a year or two. But let me tell you something. You know that old phrase about power corrupting and absolute power corrupting absolutely?
Boy howdy, those guys back then knew all they needed to know about human nature, that's for damned sure.
|
The experiment was a success, my reactions were much faster, I was strong enough to carry a minigun and I didn't need my glasses anymore.
The doctors said I could experience heightened perception as a side effect of the treatment, though my agility could suffer.
I always felt sick now. The doctors said this could be a side effect before we started the experiment but I didn't expect it to feel this prominent, like constant motion sickness.
I remember being sedated, as the drugs couldn't take hold while awake, and weirdly I woke upright. Since the experiment I couldn't lay down, and had to sleep standing, as strange as it was to start with this became the norm.
I stand on a battleship now, the crew look at me like I'm some sort of mis-shapen creature. Other crew members wearing our power armour exoskeletons nod as we pass. The procedure was similar to what they went under before relenting their life to being stuck in a suit of titanium and hydraulics. Sleeping upright, visors on permanently, heightening their strength and...
Oh god.
| 2020-02-02T03:50:08 | 2020-02-02T03:23:02 | 27 | 13 |
[WP] At the age of 18, people are given one superpower of their choice. While your friends and acquaintances choose super strength, flight, invisibility, telekinesis, they make fun of you for your “nerd” power. You decide to show them just how powerful manipulation of the strong nuclear force is.
|
"Yo, Mike, what power are you going to get?" Johnny snickered as we were playing the new smash.
"Eh, you'll see it when it happens."
"God damn, stop being such a tease. Why make us wait another 7 hours?"
"Hey, fuck off! You've been asking all afternoon! You'll see it when you see it".
"How about this, If I beat you next game, you tell us all what you plan to get. If you win, I'll cover everyone's sandwich tonight."
Oh, that was such a delicious deal. I knew I was better at smash anyways. Truth be told, I was worried they would laugh at what I planned to wish for. I didn't think they'd see the potential. Besides, Johnny got his super strength to pick up chicks. Ryan got his flight because he just got into the air force academy. Says he will need it in case some shit happens. Most of those pilots were flying before they were flying planes anyways. Most of my friends chose their powers last minute and just chose the run of the mill stuff. But I thought this through so much...
"You know? Deal. I'll be enjoying that free sandwich. Remember, no onions, no spinach, extra lettuce for me," I shot back.
\---
"Fuck."
Well, with a loss that stupid, I already felt ashamed.
"YOOO Mike lost! Didn't expect that" Phillip shouted. "DAYUM Johnny, nice bet!"
"Fuck yea it was! Come on, let us know!" Johnny exclaimed.
Now, again, all eyes were on me. Well, of course they wanted me to tell. They knew I was the smartest of the friend group. I also just got accepted into nuclear engineering at a nice university.
Jessica starts "don't be a little bitch Mike, Come on!"
"Uh... well..." I quickly stutter out. I could feel the shiver down my back as I just imagined them calling it stupid.
"I want to control the... well, the strong nuclear force," I blurted.
A pause. Confused looks from everyone there.
"The wut? You gotta explain this in simple terms. Only Phillip is going into some science-y shit here", Johnny laughed.
The room was quiet though. They were waiting.
"Well, the strong nuclear force kinda holds large atoms together. I want to control how strong and weak, and how far the interaction woud be in the vincinity around me".
I continued "I think it would be pretty cool. You know. I could like make the hydrogen spontaneously fuse, or the likes. I haven't worked out all the details, but I think it would be a great long-term power".
"Damn" Johnny started. I thought maybe he was impressed. "Dude, this is some nerdy-ass power. Holy shit guys! Mike literally came up with the nerdiest shit I've heard".
The other started giggling. Jessica started "How you plan to show off if all you can do is twiddle with some shit no one can see?" Man this felt bad. I thought at least Jessica would keep quiet. I looked over to Phillip and was giving some sheepish smirk too. Like some sort of sad pity. Damn that stung. We were rooming together next year.
"Well, when I get it, I'll show you guys" I forced out, already feeling really embarrassed.
\---
Well, at 12 am I made my selection. After the characteristic spotlight and fancy music, I... felt different. I was suddenly aware of something in the air, the walls. Something like an uncomfortable awareness of someone looking at you, but in the sense that I could tell how much they are looking at me.
"Well, you need some privacy to practice?" Phillip started. At least he kinda understood. He didn't get his telekinesis down until 2 am.
"Uh... I'm not sure. Let me try it out".
I knew I had some sort of new awareness. It was weird. But now I tried to control it. It felt like trying to force some heat or energy at a spot I could feel. It was a bit hard, but slowly I got in the zone. I closed my eyes and focused.
"Hey look, Mike's got some sparkling shit around him. He's using his powers" Phillip shouted into the living room. I could hear them shuffling into the backyard.
Still, I could feel the heat build around my hand. It was weird and warm, actually. Like I had some fire. Then suddenly, a deep cold and I could feel my breath slipping away. It felt like I was being drowned in a deep expanse of frigid water.
"Hey Mike, snap out of it" I quietly heard. "Mike, stop!".
Suddenly I feel a shove to my gut. It was Phillip shoving me. "Yo Mike, stop! Holy crap! the fuck is your power?".
Phillip looked pale and concerned. Hell, even Ryan was concerned, and he normally doesn't give two shits.
"Wut?" I was confused. For some reason I could quite understand. I had my breath back though.
"Mike, you need to look behind you". Johnny said.
I slowly turned. The lawn had burns, but was also frozen. Random craters littered the ground. But in the middle of it was this metal core
"Mike. You made some sort of fireball. Then it suddenly became this metal thing in a flash of light".
I blinked. There was no way.
"I... I think I made some heavy metal. From the air? Maybe fusion?" I slowly start.
I thought quickly. Hydrogen to helium, to carbon and oxygen? To maybe Neon, Magnesium, sillicon, then Iron. What's after that? Tellurium? Was that a block of Tellurium?
"Holy crap" Phillip whistled. "You chose a better power than all of us. You can make a fucking star? You can materialize a fucking hunk of metal from thin air?" I was just as shocked as everyone else. I didn't know I could do that. I looked at Johnny and could see the shock and awe on his face.
And this was day one. College may be a fun time.
|
We were told from a young age as children, at 18 an entity known as the wisher, would arrive and ask what our one wish would be and it would be granted. No questions asked.
Everyone had their desires, immortalness, strength, speed etc, but not me, my desire was only simple, the ability to heal people.
I was in a world where people simply chose the most mundane powers of selfishness, no one ever chose one for good.
My 18th arrived, and the wisher arrived to ask my wish.
He looks at me and asks:
"What is your wish that you seek from me?" He asks.
I look at him and asks the following question to him before I make a wish, because if I chose my wish I needed to know what power came with it.
"Before I give my wish to you, I ask you a question if I'm allowed sir?"
The wisher looks stunned at me, for the first time someone is asking him a question, people just ask the wish and it done, no questions asked, fearing he would be angry at me, he smiled and said:
"In all my time, no one has asked me a question to a wish before, I am intreged about this. Please ask your question, my child"
I was surprised at this, but I was determined to know before I asked, my parents always told me to seek out logic before reasoning. And so I asked my question!
"I'd like to know this, before I ask my wish, I have an interest in healing abilities, and I'd like to know if I ask for the healing abilities, will it come with reserection provided the subject hasn't been dead for too long of a time?"
He looks at me curiously enough and simply responds
"The power of healing someone is a rare power, no one has ever asked me a question to a power before, your power of healing does come with only a tiny restriction on how it can be used, the one of dead people however is limited to those who have not fully passed on, if this makes sense child?"
Upon hearing my answer answered I smiled, I've always wondered about healing powers and thus my desire was completed, it's time to make my wish.
"Thank you sir, I'd like to make my wish now please. I'd like to wish for the power of healing, to be able to heal anything possible whatever it may be"
Wish maker looks at me and smiles at me and extends his hand at me saying "a fine wish choice indeed, may it come in handy in the times of need"
Upon shaking his hand I felt a power rush through me, greenish blue energy was encompassing me, my wish was granted and he left.
Shortly after he left, I went to the nearest hospital and stood in the Foyer.
I closed my eyes and could sense the sick and dying in the building.
With my arms stretched out, I stated " may all those in this building be forever healed of their injuries and suffering"
A bright light enveloped the building, healing those who needed it most. It was a wonderful feeling I could feel.
My name is apollo, and my power is a healer.
| 2018-12-20T23:53:03 | 2018-12-20T23:16:03 | 177 | 21 |
[WP] The main character is an Italian restaurant owner, who is not connected to the maffia. However, everyone appears to believe that they are. Even the maffia.
|
It was a slightly-worse-than-normal morning for Frank. It had started to drizzle as he was setting up his restaurant, he was running low on tomatoes, and Nunzio was banging on his back door with a dead body in tow.
“To hell with the lot of you,” Frank muttered and slammed the door in Nunzio’s face.
As the first customers made their way to his place for breakfast, the kitchen got to work, and Frank put Nunzio out of his mind. The man would get the hint sooner or later.
The bell at the front tinkled as another customer entered and Frank hurried out to greet him.
“My friend,” Nunzio greeted, laying a hand on Frank’s shoulder. “I need your help.”
“No.”
“Just one body! Just a singly, measly body! Barely any trouble! I’ve left it in the trash behind your store. Would be very bad the Don if Barzini found out.”
“You left it in my trash?” Frank hissed, his voice shaking with rage.
\---
“I trust you to take care of it,” Nunzio said. He smiled at Frank’s wife, tipped his hat at the other customers, and left.
Frank ended up wrapping the body in a trash bag stuffing it into the trunk of his car. He left his wife and brother to watch the store while he drove off.
“Oh, sure, Nunzio, I’ll take care of a dead body for you. Just a dead body. Barely anything, really. Just a DEAD GODDAMNED BODY!” he screamed.
He slammed the door. Hopefully this far out on a dirt road, barely connected to the highway, was far enough. A river ran by. He had bought some weights from a store while driving out of the city and now he stuffed those into the garbage bag.
He didn’t look at the man’s face. Just rolled the bag into the river. He tried not to wonder who the man had been as he drove back.
At the restaurant, he found the largest man he had ever seen waiting for him. Sitting down, the man was still able to look him dead in the eye. When the man stood up, Frank had to make an effort not to run away screaming.
“I work for the Barzini family,” his voice rumbled. “I’m looking for a man named Nunzio.”
Frank did his best to keep his voice level. “May I ask why?”
“He took something of the family’s.”
“Well,” Frank said, trying to smile, “if I can help you find it, I will. Until then, though, why don’t you take a seat and make yourself comfortable? We have a special meat sauce today. Pork.”
For the first time, the man before looked uncertain. “Pork?”
Frank nodded.
The man leaned in and whispered, “Long pork?”
Frank had no idea what that meant. He nodded anyway.
“I see.” The man suddenly grabbed his hat from the table. “I’m sorry for taking your time.”
\---
The hulking figure hurriedly skirted around Frank and almost tripped over a table hurrying out the door.
Nunzio was waiting outside the restaurant at closing time. A car was idling beside him.
“My friend,” he laughed. “I had no idea you had such nerves. Come, the Don wants to talk to you.”
By this point, Frank had given up and stepped uncomplainingly into the car.
The Don lived in a massive, gated mansion. Nunzio led Frank past several armed guards, through expensively furnished hallways. The Don was waiting in a dark office, behind a mahogany desk.
“Don,” Frank nodded respectfully. He was trying to figure out why he had been summoned.
“Frank.” The Don spoke languidly, words flowing like water. “I know many men who would like to curry favor with me. But I know of none who have done such as you to strike fear into the hearts of our rivals. Barzini will think twice before encroaching on our territory again. I am in your debt.”
*Shit. What did I do?* Frank wracked his brains even as his mouth said something respectful to the Don.
\---
“You may get some police visitors. Keep a cool head and deny everything. We will take care of the rest.”
The officers stopped by the next morning.
“Can I help you?” Frank asked. He took a step forward.
Immediately, all the officers jumped back and drew their weapons. Frank cautiously raised his unarmed hands.
One of the policemen stepped forward. “Sir, you are under arrest for charges of murder and cannibalism. Please do not resist.”
It took a minute for the last few words to make their way through Frank’s mind.
“What.”
|
\[Poem\]
&#x200B;
My restaurant in town is great
Though I don't know quite sure why
All of my customers of late
Won't look me in the eye
&#x200B;
For years my business suffered from
This puzzling mystery
Until the day I met that scum
Then it made sense to me
&#x200B;
In walked a man I thought I knew
Who asked if I'd consider
A partnership in their brand new
Legitimate endeavor
&#x200B;
I recognized him then and there
From all the wanted signs
"He murdered them" they did declare
("And didn't pay his fines")
&#x200B;
"Get out" I yelled with all my might
"I am not interested!"
And prayed that come the morning light
I would not wake up dead
&#x200B;
The gangster simply laughed then sighed
And asked what was my price
"About a million bucks" I lied
"To aid you in your vice."
&#x200B;
"Ok" he said and then brought in
All of the cash somehow
And stored some bodies in the back
I'm in the family now
| 2019-08-22T08:54:07 | 2019-08-22T08:52:17 | 54 | 20 |
[WP] You suddenly find your doors and windows won't open. You log in to Reddit and find the most upvoted thread with over a million comments and just two hours old "Help, my door is stuck, any tips to get it open?"
Update!
**Cawos has kindly offered to turn the top submission into a short film!**
Please subscribe to /r/cmfilms to follow updates and be the first to hear about it when it releases!
|
I used to like my room. It seemed like a bubble. Whenever there was stress, or worries, or anything else I would simply shut the door and pretend nothing existed outside of these 4 walls.
The first time I noticed something was wrong was when I went to go get my tortoise some lettuce for dinner. My door wouldn't open. After a couple of minutes of jiggling the knob I decided to call out to my parents. There was no reply.
I decided that they must have gone out and that the best course of action was simply to wait, so wait I did. After about 2 hours I got bored and decided to log into reddit. That's when I saw the thread.
It turns out I wasn't alone. Hundreds of thousands of people were saying they had the exact same problem. Doors, windows, screens, skylights, even one guy's garage door, all stuck.
The biggest fear for most people was dying of starvation. We tried to talk sense into them, we tried to get them to hold out hope for a little longer, telling them that help may be hours or even minutes away. For most it was pointless. Thousands said there goodbyes to friends they had never met and then logged out for the last time.
Funny thing is, after that we learned that we dont need to eat anymore. The shouts of joy in the thread after that was discovered rival that of lottery winners. Understandable considering we had all just found out we won't slowly wither away.
The outside world discovered us after a few days. Seeing all of my neighbors and reporters looking into our windows was pretty weird but eventually they stopped coming.
According to news reports from their point of view our windows are pitch black. We can see them, they cant see us.
That was what caused the second wave of deaths. Fathers, mothers, children, all frantically waving trying to get the attention of others. Seeing their spouses visit the window and cry every afternoon, remarry, move on, grow old and die. Some just couldn't take it.
According to reports there was about 1.5 million of us locked in when this first began. We believe that after the first 2 waves of suicides we're down to about 1.2 million.
Since then we've watched helplessly as the world around us went to hell. Droughts, wars, plagues, it seems almost like it was a blessing to be locked in like this.
The worst part is that with so many years alone together we have discovered some pretty amazing things. Turns out that you can get pretty smart with 70 years and nothing better to do. We've discovered ways to make lightbulbs burn brighter, computers run thousands of times faster than before, we can make soiled water as fresh as a brand new bottle. A group of physicists even swear they have discovered a method of producing energy using cold fusion and quantum tunneling.
All of these amazing feats go unimplemented. We scream them from our rooms, solutions to the world's problems trapped behind a pane of glass. If we could simply get these out we could fix everything wrong with the world. We could turn back the clock and make dying forests green again, we could push back the rising water line, clean the atmosphere and ensure a future for every man, woman, and child out there.
Alas, we can't. I don't really regret being stuck in here. I've learned so much and made so many new friends. If I got a chance I would do it all over again just to do more. As with all things however, this too must come to an end. I've spent the last few years transcribing all of our findings on every surface in my room in as many languages as I can. In this text you will find answers to all problems imaginable. I don't know when or if this note will ever be found but when it is just promise you will tell the rest of the world about us. Don't forget us, any of us.
-Sean G.
*Born 5/3/1997*
*Died 8/12/2094*
|
The top comment is blank. I scroll down, but it only takes about a half-turn of my mousewheel to get to the bottom of the page. Every one of the top 200 comments is a blank post. It's only then I can let myself recognize the fact, that all these posts, have the same four-letter username. Actually, they all have the exact same line of text, under their single blank line;
| 2016-01-31T12:52:58 | 2016-01-31T10:28:16 | 52 | 10 |
[WP]everyone has a sigil on their body that represents powers that were bestowed onto humanity after the rapture of the Milky Way. The bullies at school always pick on you because you never used your power, but you’ve had enough. Now they are going to find out why your sigil is a plain old circle
|
As I walk home from school, I can hear the voices that bother me the most at the park. "Mine is four crosses that all meet with one corner. It kinda makes a star shape!"
"Oooh, can I see? Sounds cool. What does it do?"
"It's on my back. It lets me bend light and make illusions!" The new peers of this nemesis of mine watch in awe as he lifts his shirt and shows them the intricate detail on his back. He then folds his arm and exhales heavily. When he does, the very light around him begins moving, and he makes himself appear much taller than his peers.
Mark Gibson. I have hated him for years. Ever since middle school he's been the popular kid that picks on everyone except his little 'popular' crowd. Even now, as juniors in high school, he remains a childish bully. He looks over as he releases the illusion. "What's the matter, plain-face? Embarrassed? Wish your Emblem was cool like mine?"
"Shut up, Mark. I don't want to talk to you." As I looked up, he came close and struck me with an open palm.
"Don't you ever say anything like that again to me, you hear, shithead?" Mark had a slight grin on his face. I saw him about to exhale, a sure sign of him readying his Emblem's power. As soon as I noticed it, I delivered a swift kick to his groin. He winced in both shock and pain.
"NOW YOU'VE DONE IT!" Mark recovers quickly and counters with a punch to my gut. I could feel the force pressing the air out of my body, but I can't let him win. I remove my jacket to allow for better movement. My Emblem, a black circle on my shoulder, is revealed after I've gone down to the tank top underneath the jacket. I wore this today intentionally. Nobody has ever seen my Emblem, and they're about to learn why I hide it.
"Haha! Look, guys! His Emblem looks so boring! Or did you just draw that on yourself? You pathetic kid!" 'Tsk, tsk, tsk... You should not have done that,' I thought to myself. I pulled back my open hand and closed it as I brought it closer to his face. The black circle turns blue, and emits a bright light. 'Blue, huh? I can work with that.'
"Uh, hey, what the hell is tha-" Mark shut his mouth as my fist connects with his jaw. However, my fist backs up immediately after impact, and delivers a lightning-fast strike again. Another. A fourth, fifth, sixth. I stop there. Mark falls over, holding his lower jaw and covering his face. He's clearly scared of me now.
My Emblem changes what it does hourly. Its color determines that. Blue, for example, allows me to rapidly repeat a simple action such as punching or kicking up to twenty times within four seconds. After using it, I need up to 30 seconds to rest, depending on how many times I use it.
"You wanna say any of that again? Go ahead. I dare you." I position myself over him, and put my foot on his chest to ensure he can't get up. I press down so he can't activate his Emblem.
"Okay, okay! You win! Just stop!" His bright green eyes have become awash with fear. This is too good to stop now.
"Stop? Now? When will the circus call you back? Because you would have quite the resume to show them. Especially if you think I am done!" 'Finally, twenty seconds have passed. This should be enough,' I think to myself as I ready the leg on his chest. Before he realizes it, I send my full twenty kicks straight into him. He's practically crying.
"Dude, seriously! It's all just for fun! I'm never trying to hurt you, I mean it!"
I abruptly countered this argument. "Fun?! You think giving me a black eye the day before a funeral is fun? You think telling teachers I do all the terrible things you do to get me in trouble is fun? This is fun to you?!" My hatred begins pouring through the cracks of my outwardly positive demeanor. I briefly look at my watch, and notice that it's 5:58. In two minutes, I can switch it up completely. Man, I hope I don't get White. That one's always been useless.
"I thought it was all play-fighting, John! I mean it!" Damn, not enough time yet. I can't just pound into him again. Instead, I lift my leg and let him get up. Looking down upon him is fun and all, but I think watching him fall over and struggle to get back up is more interesting.
"It's not. It never was, scum!" I would never call anyone 'scum.' Not out loud, at least. I didn't even realize I did until it happened. Now that the time has passed, I get back to it. He stands, and I run my fist into his forehead, once again giving him the Twenty-Shot Special. I begin laughing after thinking up that name, because he falls over like he's had twenty shots. I decided to keep that in mind.
Suddenly, I remind myself that the human body does have a limit, and if I don't stop this, he's gonna pass it. Not worth the jail time. So, I grabbed his arm and picked him up. "You insult me again, and you'll see there's so much more to me. You understand that, Mark Gibson?"
~~~~~~~~~~~~~
Feedback and criticism always appreciated! Thanks for reading!
|
I am the first person to be blessed by death. You see everyone is born with a blank circle on their forearm and as they grow up an image appears. By the time your 20 you have one of a hundred or so sigils though most people know what theirs will by much younger. It's all been documented, studied for years by generations past.
Your sigil is an outwards mark of a blessing from the rapture, the forming of the galaxy. Each blessing is some-sort of power. Super strength, flying or a star gazer, browsing futures in the night sky. Some had fancy names other we'd been to lazy or they were too rare to name.
Me though, I still have a blank circle.
It's not uncommon, just unfortunate. No blessing, means no powers. Some try hide it by getting a blessing tattooed inside their sigil or covering it up with jewellery and extravagant fashion pieces, others like me just leave it.
We get bullied and picked on, for being different, for being less than everyone else. I'm used to it. Every name call, every embarrassment I've caused - it had all happened before. I'd heard it all before. At least I thought I had.
That night, I don't really know what happened - I don't even remember what he said that caused it. Just a burning red hatred for him. He was just a drunk stranger screaming at me outside my favourite evening haunt. No doubt his abuse was for my lack of blessing but his words, they struck me like lightning.
They say death comes suddenly but actually deaths comes whenever I'm around.
My empty sigil changes. All black. The first solid sigil. I was lifted about a foot off the ground releasing an other worldly, hollow shriek. My limbs pulled outward in every direction. Then a sharp blackness.
I passed out.
When I woke up. I was laying in a puddle of blood, in fact the street was littered with puddles and there was a painfully obvious lack of any kind of life.
"Fuck," I murmured "not again"
| 2020-02-26T08:45:39 | 2020-02-26T07:48:24 | 68 | 41 |
[WP] Your whole life you had an ability that seemed normal to you. Now you realized you're the only one with this ability.
[deleted]
|
“This is my destiny? To summon five ducks at a single time. Not six or four, but precisely five ducks? I thought they were just here for the oats.”
Josh tossed a few more loose oats towards the group of ducks. Watching them bite and feed on the oats before standing before his legs again.
“It was never about the oats, they came because you wanted them here. If you had wanted to see the ducks at home, they would have come to you. Your destiny involves these five ducks, now are you going to grab your destiny or are you going to let it quack?”
“Let it quack? Look as much as I was interested in this conversation when it started, I’m thinking you might just be a rather drugged up man that wants my oats. The oats are for the ducks. Let me make that clear. I appreciate the interest in me, but If that is really my special ability, I kind of wished you never told me about it. Makes me feel like a bit of a loser.”
Josh dropped the remaining oats onto the floor, only for the bearded man to grab his hand, licking the last remaining oats that stuck to his hand, only stopping when Josh tugged his hand free.
“You have the taste of a Duckman. Those oats don’t lie, you are the chosen one.”
The strange man stepped away from Josh, chewing the oats he had gotten from his little heist.
“If you are ever in trouble, call for them and they will come for you. For you are the Duckman and they give a duck about you.”
“Give a duck about me?”
Josh stared at the five ducks who were too preoccupied fluffing their feathers to look back at him.
“Right, you all must be so amused by my life. I’m sure you are all just my little personal army. I should name thee sir quacks a lot, the holy knight of the five duck round table.”
Josh imagined the duck in a beautiful blue cape, his crown shining with a small sword hanging off his side. He stared at the ducks with a fond, amused smile.
“Look at that creep, just smiling at the ducks. Don’t look at the crazy man sweetie.”
The woman covered her daughter’s eyes, rushing her out of the park. Josh stood up to plead his case, but the words that followed did him no favors.
“It’s ok, they are my ducks. It’s not weird, wait come back so I can tell you how normal this is, you see a bearded old man licked oats of my hands and-“
His words only made the woman’s power walk turn into a sprint as he sighed. Maybe he was crazy? It would make more sense than him being the Duckman. He was quick to exit the park after that. Not needing to explain that story to the police. As if by fate, his walk was cut short by the nervous twitching hand of a masked mugger.
“Money now, come on, I don’t mind shooting you. I have nothing to lose and everything to gain so hurry it up.”
Josh instantly tossed his hands up. Not about to mess with the crazy man. He went to reach for his wallet, only for the man to point his gun at him.
“Don’t move, if you do I’ll shoot you. Hurry it up, come on, Dunkeroo Donnutery closed in twenty minutes.”
“How can I grab my wallet if I don’t lower my hands?”
“I don’t care, you have a minute.”
A minute to solve this puzzle? Josh was dead, or so he thought, imagining the five ducks, hoping that this strange ability might be real. As if something out of a story, the ducks appeared, each one hopping around Josh.
“Help me, get rid of this man or something.”
The ducks looked at each other and then at the robber, seeming to plan a strategy. A few quacks later, they touched wings in a sort of ‘Go Team’ fashion, rushing towards Josh, climbing up his leg, When they had ascended his body, one retrieved the wallet and flicked it towards the man. The man didn’t even question the strange sight, taking the wallet and fleeing down an alleyway.
Josh wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Sure they solved the issue, but now he didn’t have a wallet or any cash. Still, they had done a noble job.
“Thank you, I think we will all make a talented team.”
Josh crouched down, placing his hand towards them. The five ducks all touched his hand before suddenly throwing their arms/wings up. As they walked away, the mugger slipped off his mask, the same old man from the park grinning as he flicked through Joshes wallet.
“I have done it, I have created the Duckman.”
{If you enjoyed my story, Feel free to check out r/pmmeyabootysstories Any support helps! I will also be posting more of my writing there.}
|
I was in my classroom,i was nervous because i haven't studied anything for the entire semester.Mister Rim was the most evil physics professor in the entire university,he knew how to put the worst type of questions,his twisted mind was precise and non dared to question his excellence.As i bleat in the space all sweating i felt pain in my legs i turned back and saw Jerry holding needle i looked him with the type of face you look at someone you want to kill ''It will help you pass the exam''.
The clock was ticking i wasn't typing anything ,worrying of what Jerry gave me did he drugged me?All of a sudden i snapped the entire room was blue and i was seeing yellow physics laws i looked at my questions and i had it all in there as if i was Einstein himself i knew it all without even looking the questions.What did Jerry gave me ,am i going insane is this a nightmare?The bell rang as loud as ever the entire classroom was shaking and all of a sudden... void.
I woke up in my dorm,it was 3 am and i was in front of book must have fall asleep it was open on E=MC2 ah yes the theory of relativity must be ready for tommorow or else mister Rim would kill me.The next day i was the one laughing at the twisted professor.
| 2020-06-14T00:11:21 | 2020-06-13T23:30:37 | 27 | 14 |
[WP]Well, that's a pretty fucked up way to find out you are immortal.
|
“If everyone can find a chair, it’s time to get started.” The woman tapped the microphone once with a humble smile, watching as the assorted crowd gathered for the anticipated event.
After a moment of silence settled in the room, she spoke again. “I’m happy to welcome so many familiar faces to our 187th annual Immortality conference. As always, we have some newcomers as well. Since we will all be friends for a very long time, let’s start with introductions.”
She waved at a young man standing off to the side, swaying from foot to foot with his hands shoved into his pockets. His eyebrows lifted in surprise, but he stepped forward and took the mic.
“Uh, hi. I’m Josh.”
“Hi Josh,” came the familiar chorus. His shoulders dropped a little and his smile widened.
“Hi. Uh, Camilla told me to introduce myself to you all. Where I’m from, my favorite color, and whatever I know about my, uh, my immortality.” He nearly choked on the word. Typical newbie.
“So, I’m Josh. Josh Callahan. I grew up in Sandy Shoals, Illinois. Never found the sand or the shoals, though,” he halfway chuckled, then cleared his throat. “Sorry, that’s a townie joke.”
His eyes roved around the room, looking at the odd assortment of people from every age, race, and gender. Wise stares looked back at him. “Yeah, so I like to travel. I really like pizza. And I’m planning to go to college to be an accountant.”
His brows furrowed. “Or I was. God, can you image an eternity as an accountant?”
“I’ve lived it!” called out a voice from somewhere in the back, nasally and sharp. The rest of the room bubbled with polite laughter.
“You all can probably tell this is new to me. I just found out a few weeks ago, and the suits investigating things slipped me a flyer about this event. So here I am.”
Josh looked toward Camilla, who smiled encouragingly. “Your story,” she mouthed, and his head bobbed.
“Right, how I got here. Well, you see, some friends and I have a youtube channel. I’d say you should check it out but I’m pretty sure they had to take it down. But we posted pranks, lifehacks, challenges, urban legends, you name it. Duncan was the mastermind, and so he pitched us an idea.”
Josh was smiling now, as if the memory were happy. But there was something hidden in his eyes that foretold the events to unfold. “So, Duncan came across the immortality spell, he said. Something online that was guaranteed to work. He said we’d try it out, then have the immortal person stand in front of a train. Some editing magic, and it’d look like everything worked.”
There was a collective groan from within the crowd. “I guess you folks know where this is going,” he said with a sigh.
“So, we did it. Duncan had me spend weeks sitting in the moonlight, drinking strange drinks, repeating words backwards in a mirror, and sleeping with crystals around my room. I filmed so many stupid things.”
Chairs creaked as everyone leaned in close to hear about the discovery. The internet meant so many young people were getting their hands on dangerous magic. Swelling attendance to the conference reinforced this point.
“When it came time to film the train thing, Duncan said we should go to the bridge outside of town. Said it’d look more dramatic. Besides, there wasn’t supposed to be a train that day. He said.”
Josh dropped his eyes, looking back up with a brief flash of anger. “I looked it up. Four trains go through there a day. Liar.”
Camilla stepped forward, placing a hand on his arm. He smiled at her, and she nodded for him to continue.
“So, when the train showed up, I was in the middle of the bridge. Unfortunately, none of the spells we worked gave me super speed. I could hear Duncan whooping and hollering the whole time.”
Josh shook his head, eyes refocusing on the audience. “Anyways, you probably don’t need me to tell you what happens when a train hits a body, immortal or not. It wasn’t a pretty sight from the inside, either. But, I was lucky everything grew back. “ Josh stretched out his free hand and splayed his fingers. “Ten fingers and ten toes!”
The audience clapped, and Josh waited for the rumble of applause to subside. “So, when I met Duncan later at the hospital, he was all wide-eyed. I asked him how he knew it had worked. Figured he must have tested me or something before.”
The pained expression on Josh’s face said it well before the words could. “But he didn’t. Just thought it would be good for the views.”
There was a hiss from the audience of shared pain. Too many discovered immortality at the hands of treachery.
“But Camilla says you all can help me figure this out. So I’m looking forward to making some new friends. Real friends,” he added to the end.
Camilla took the microphone with her smile and pleasant voice. “Welcome, Josh. Friends, let’s give him an immortal welcome.”
The room erupted into applause and whistles as those nearest him reached out to pat his back or shake his hand. Josh smiled. It was nice to fit in.
|
Chris and I have been friends our whole lives because our moms were friends. We were born thirteen hours apart. Never in my life have I felt such betrayal. I break through the surface of the water as he and my wife start the engine and drive away. The sound of the engine growing fainter as I struggle to swim up with anchor chained to me.
A 15pound anchor the look of surprise at how well I was able to swim holding it above my head. But they knew as soon as they started the engine it wasn't going to matter. We were 60miles offshore. No chance of me escaping the chains and swimming home. We were well off the continental shelf of North Carolina where just the blue abyss lay beneath me. My arms and legs grew tired. I screamed for them to come back.
Down I go. It's amazing how fast you sink chained to an anchor. I tried holding my breath, but I knew that was pointless. My ear drums were screaming with pain. The pressure on my chest was unbearable. I finally was prepared to die. I said my prayers for my family and friends to get over my passing quickly and that Alanna and Chris would get caught and go to jail. Then I inhaled. The cold seawater rushed into my mouth, lungs, and stomach.
Well I guess I'm dead at least I should be. My feet and anchor sink into the soft bottom. I get laid flat, face up on the sea floor. It's so dark the sun's light doesn't penetrate this far down. I try to sit up but the weight if the water is too much. Without the sun I don't know how long it took for the clean up crew to arrive, but I felt them. Little pinches here and there. Needle like prods and pokes then large pinches. It was the crabs. As fast as they would take a pinch and shove it into their mouth it would heal. After the first one grabbed a piece of my eyeball, I shut my eyes that was too weird. So they would pick an eyelid and it would regrow. The only thing that haunts me is those all you can eat crab leg buffets I enjoyed and here I am an all you can eat crab buffet.
| 2022-05-05T08:39:25 | 2022-05-05T08:27:36 | 194 | 54 |
[WP] You turn your Match Distance on tinder to "Anywhere". To your surprise you get a match that is 10^93 light years away. Thinking it was a joke you turn it off. 20 minutes later you turn it back on and it says they are 10^5 light years away and getting closer.
|
*Um.. Hello?*
**Hi. :)**
*Uh. so. 10^93 about 20 minutes ago and now your at 10^5.*
**Yeah?**
*Not sure where that is.*
**I'm not sure what its called on your system. I mean, I can check.**
*No that's okay.*
**I mean, I have Googzawl Universe here. I don't mind the data usage.**
*No no I*
*Wait what*
**I mean. Oh jeez. You don't think I'm actually getting closer because you swiped right on me do you??**
*Well I wasn't sure.*
**OMZG lol I'm so sorry I didn't want to come off as pushy anything hahaa.**
*lol ok*
**No no, I actually have to stay mobile for work. See, if you check again you'll see I've moved again.**
*oh yeah! now your 10^73 haha*
**Yeah I just left the Rhosnosaw System. Ugh. I hate that system. You ever been?**
*Uh. No.*
**Your not missing much. Kinda uppity neighborhood. Well, not like they will be anymore. So you like Tarantino movies too huh? You like Jackie Brown?**
*Shit yeah! I love Pam Grier! She is so foxy!!*
*Wait wut do you mean about 'not like they will be anymore'?*
**Honestly, I think Robert DeNiros performance in it was really understated and one of the subtle points that really makes the film shine.**
**Plus I laughed my ass off when Chris Tucker got his ass shot dead LOL SUPAH GREEN LOL**
*nono what do you mean 'not like they will be anymore.'?*
**Oh. Um. Right so..**
**See, you seem really nice and I kinda like talkin with you ..**
**Plus your really cute in your pic. I love gingers!!**
*Thanks?*
**I just don't wanna creep you out. And my job is kinda weird and keeps me super busy and stuff. It makes staying in any kind of long term relationship hard.**
*Really?*
**Yeah. Its kinda why I'm giving Tinder a try.**
*I really liked it when Chris Tucker got shot too.*
**heeheeheee I know right? 'I aint gittin in no goddaym trunk!!'**
*hahahahahahahah*
*I work at a Gas Station. I work graveyard shifts. My boss treats me like shit. My customers are either all hookers, junkies or bastards. I get paid minimum wage, but this is just until I get back into college.*
*I know what its like to have a shitty job that does't let you get out to meet people*
**Oh. That is so terrible. I'm sorry to hear. What are you going back to school for?**
*Advanced Astrophysics. I just ran out of tuition. My parents kinda cut off my money.*
**When my Dad found out what I wanted to do with my life, he kinda did the same, actually. Then he died.**
*I'm sorry.*
**Its okay. He shot first.**
*wait wat*
**Look. I guess no dating experience goes well without total honestly.**
**I'm kinda.. a bit of a pirate.**
*like.. you download movies?*
**No. As in I have a fleet of Light Assault Frigates and we warp from system to system ravaging entire planets of their natural resources.**
*Oh.*
**Yeah.**
*Good dental coverage?*
**Better optical coverage. ;)**
*.. was that a pun about eye patches?*
**I'm sorry.**
**Not sorry. ;P**
**<<photo incoming.>>**
*holy jeez..*
*um.. I kinda like Gingers too.*
*Would you like to get some coffee later?*
**I'd love to. ;)**
*Just promise not to ravage my planet?*
**Promise. ;) Already did a while back anyways.**
*thanks*
*What?*
**Huh?**
*LOL*
**;)**
|
5.88e105 Miles away? That can't be right. Some sort of joke, I guess. 5.88e105 miles is unimaginably larger than the already unimaginably large observable universe. I thought about it for some time and decided to look again. She was now 4.3e17 miles away. I pulled out my calculator to reason that she was at the far edge of the Milky Way galaxy. I didn't know how the distance was changing so rapidly, but this was clearly in breach of some very important physical laws. Instead of trying to get a date, I called the physics police.
| 2016-12-23T10:01:49 | 2016-12-23T09:42:34 | 54 | 14 |
[WP] One day in class you decide to scream something in your head to catch mind readers. As you do, you see your crush flinch
|
(slightly NSFW)
&nbsp;
It's a Monday.
It's 7am and I haven't been awake for more than 30 minutes so I can barely remember the name of the professor monologuing at the front of the classroom, much less what subject we're supposed to be studying.
I think it's appropriate to say that my mind is nowhere near a fully functional state. My head's probably drifting off somewhere in space two universes over.
I can barely keep my eyes open more than twenty seconds at a time, and if I were more awake I would swear to you that every third blink I took was slower.
Something in the back of my head is desperately trying to keep me from keeling over in my drowsy stupor and face planting into the back of the seat in front of me, so I desperately search the crowd of heads in front of me for something- **anything**- interesting.
A glimpse of a familiar light golden brown catches the edge of my vision, and my eyes immediately lock onto a wig of somewhat orderly bed head two rows down from me.
The hair belongs to Iralynn, a... I guess the best description would be an acquaintance. I've known her since my sophomore year in high school. We've talked before, even participated together in a few group projects back then, but I've never really spent a lot of time with her.
We know of each other, but I don't think either of us would deem the relationship between us an actual friendship.
Which is why it seems really weird to me that I would develop a crush on her.
It started half way through my senior year when I, for some reason I can never place to this day, decide to myself that she was objectively cute.
It wasn't really an attraction at the time, it was more like how one would say a puppy was adorable or a flower was pretty. But whatever the original thought was, it quickly developed into something more.
I saw that she was caring and kind to her friends. In projects she was always ready to step up to the plate for any responsibilities that might come her way. She was hard working but also easygoing. In group conversations in noticed she was incredibly animated, yet somehow sensitive to the emotions around her.
But I never approached her, even after learning that we had gone to the same college. It was mostly out of a sense of insecurity.
I mean, I was an Asian boy and she was a Caucasian girl. Granted she was a quarter Brazilian and an eighth Egyptian, but that's kind of splitting hairs at this point.
And I know that it shouldn't matter what race she or I was, but growing up under the preconception that Asian boys don't get the White girls and living in an all-Asian community that seemed to reflect that left some pretty deeply rooted insecurities.
It didn't help that she had an incredible figure. I mean, what else could you expect from someone who was our school cheer leading captain who also somehow made it onto our volleyball varsity team as well.
There was a day when the cheerleaders had to share the pool with those of us on the swim team, so believe me when I say that I know what her figure looks like.
Hell, she asked me if her suit was too tight! I had to turn around to hide my red cheeks. Of course I said no, but by time I had gotten control of my face and turned around she was gone.
My thoughts of Iralynn and her figure were cut short by a rush of blood to the netherlands.
I flushed red with drowsy embarrassment and shifted uncomfortably in my chair, trying to hide my morning wood. I swear, I'm not normally this volatile. If I'm being honest, I have withering self-confidence issues about my body.
Iralynn moves a bit in her seat, and my sleepy mind panics for a bit. I calm down, and a thought wanders into my head: *"If Iralynn could have read my mind just now, I'd want to die of embarrasment."*
Two rows down, the girl shifts again and I panic for a split second more. Then I laugh under my breath.
*"Mind reading? What a joke,"* I think to myself. I smile and laugh inside as I think over how ridiculous the idea was. I mean, c'mon me. Mind reading is sci-fi stuff. I'm an introvert, and I take solace in knowing that my thoughts are mine alone; private.
Half joking and half mocking myself, in my mind I spontaneously break out into the loudest, most emasculating moan I can muster.
If it was out loud, someone might have probably thought I just pulled myself off.
Iraynn visibly flinches in front of me with an audible intake of air, and everything in my mind just... stops. I'm now fully awake, and my heart is racing inside my chest.
Slowly, to my growing horror, she turns around and our eyes meet. Her face is red, and she's wearing an expression I can't put into words on her face... but the look says it all.
My face takes on a hue to match hers, and we just stare at each other like deer caught in headlights. Everything inside me withers away in our stare.
All my bravado, my dignity, and what little pride I had in myself as a man, just gone.
In it's place, an overwhelming urge to roll up into a ball and die.
&nbsp;
(I'm thinking of maybe doing a reverse POV.)
|
It seemed like an eternity. The second hand of the clock wound around in a lazy circle, as if boredom had slowed down time itself. I tapped my pencil, ignoring the dull drone of my Economics teacher.
...45 more minutes...
I rolled my eyes across the room. Everyone else was bored out of their mind too, staring off into space. My mind drifted to thoughts of adventure, and superpowers, latching itself onto a fantastical world of mind readers. I managed a small smile, despite the oppressing heat of the small room, and saw my crush smile as well, as if she too had found some humorous reprieve from the dull atmosphere.
I wonder how we would know if someone could read our minds...
Could they just hide it, forever? What if they lived amongst us. Would I even be able to tell?
The thought was so odd that I glanced up, a smile dancing on my lips, and once again saw my crush had the same grin on her own face.
I sat back, that was weird. From where she sat, there was no way she could have noticed...
My insane suspicion was interrupted by a glance at the clock...43 minutes left....
As crazy as it sounded, I began to entertain the notion that she could read my mind. I blushed at what I realized she must be able to see, and as I suppressed a tide of extremely embarrassing memories, I saw her giggle. Just a little bit, and I decided that I might as well test a theory. What else was I going to do, listen about the merits of a Limited Liability Partnership versus a Joint Venture?
I focused on the clock, purging everything else from my mind, and right as the second hand swung past, I screamed in my head. It wasn’t too loud, but I couldn’t help but gasp when my crush glanced back at me wide eyed.
I stood up, claiming I needed to get a drink of water, and promptly left the room.
| 2017-11-13T22:10:35 | 2017-11-13T22:01:27 | 28 | 10 |
[WP] You are one of the most feared villainesses in the world. Evil armies, dark powers, you have it all. Your husband on the other hand is the exact opposite, being truly kind and mild mannered. He is still supportive of your endeavors, even trying to be a villain himself to...varying results.
|
I am the Unfettered Empress, and my empire covers the world. By my command, dark gods bow before me. By my word, thousands dies. If it is my will, the oceans freeze, from the fire shall rain down burning ice, and the sky shall be torn asunder. My disciplined, battle-hardened armies, clad in steel and armed with sabres and muskets, outmanoeuvre the foolish knights and peasant levies sent against them in every battle. To describe me as imperious, proud, and intimidating, would be quite accurate. Tall, dark hair, piercing eyes, I am a sight to behold.
I am married, and my husband is a good man. In fact, he is so good, he might be considered my polar opposite. He is small, meek, kind, charitable, and forgiving. One might ask why a dark empress would marry a small kind man like him. And it is a good question. Before I was empress, when I was a child, he and I were friends. He was my truest friend, who wouldn't ostracise me for my partially human heritage, who was kind enough to approach the half-demon girl without fear, and share with her his treats or toys. He treated me with kindness and love when we grew up together at the orphanage. He always was supportive of me, even when I raised armies from outcasts and bestial races to raze the civilised lands that had cast down my father, the demon lord, and burned my poor mother on the pyre when I was but a little girl. I still do not know why they did that, my mother wasn't exactly a willing concubine to my father.
He is a good man. A simple man, but a good one. When I go out and conquer kingdoms and slaughter countless elves, he is at home, raising our children, being kind and friendly towards our slaves. I mean, I'm not mistreating them, but it is odd when he rewards them with baked goods for their work. I love him, but it is certainly, a bit difficult to bring devastation to the enemy when I know my husband would feel bad and use what little influence he has to set up relief efforts. It is a bit uncomfortable for my court of evil when my friendly and decent husband manages to convince evil nobles, beastmen chieftains, and dread necromancers to donate money towards aiding widows and orphans from the areas they have just destroyed under my command.
And he wants to help out. It's... hard, to find a position where he will be both safe, and feel like he is doing something worth while. His effort as a diplomat was, well, certainly interesting, but managing to convince people that I wasn't a bad person wasn't what was intended. He was supposed to convince them to surrender, now I have to endure the enemy asking to parlay and try to convince me to come back to the side of good. He means well. He did well when I put him in charge of a small side campaign, but he just doesn't cut it as a conqueror, the cities he took not being cleansed of elves, the churches of good gods still standing afterwards, and other such things.
He has even tried to really go ahead and be villainous, and I know why, he wants to be together with me, and I do love him. But he just isn't intimidating when he is 4 ft 11, clad in an apron, and asking people to politely bow down before me and worship me when convenient. The worst thing is that it usually works. He has heroic charisma, and people find it natural to listen to him. But it's all so... nice. He is the only person who has ever been nice to me, truly. And I can't bring myself to mistreat those people who he convinces to surrender.
He tries. He really tries. So I decided to put him somewhere useful. Where his niceness and kindness can be used for the benefit of my regime, where he can feel like he is doing worthwhile work to aid my empire and my ambition. I've put him in charge of the orphanages. There his ideas raises the countless orphans created under my rule as equals, with love and kindness, with loyalty to my regime, and soft understanding. There all races are treated as one, and taught my husband's principles of love, kindness, and loyalty. He has been so successful, I've decided to allow him to set up schools for all children, so they can be treated with respect and kindness, allowing them to grow and learn. Just like he treated me, when I was a lonely, unloved, orphan girl.
[/r/ApocalypseOwl](https://www.reddit.com/r/ApocalypseOwl/)
|
I was in an especially grumpy mood. I don't mind it when people leave books on the trolley, or just lying about. But I truly despise it when people think they're doing a good deed but are actually putting them back in the wrong place! It must have shown on my face, but I'm glad it did, otherwise I may not have met him.
\---
The more I read, the more I realised that I had the power to really make a difference in society. I didn't ask for these supernatural powers, but I do feel a sense of moral obligation to do something with them. I've got a lot of people backing me, literally an army, but through the lens of society we are viewed as doers of evil. To be honest I'm fine with that, but who said that deeds of evil had to be done at night?! I just wish we could go on dinner dates.
\---
I was careless. How could I have not asked where he worked?! Even though I have a mask on, I can tell he knows it's me. Oh my god this is so awkward.
\---
I was scared, and didn't know what to expect. But with his gentle smile and soft touch, his two words were all I needed to hear.
"It's okay."
| 2020-04-14T06:19:41 | 2020-04-14T06:18:39 | 712 | 73 |
[WP] You arrive in the year 1000, and all you have are the clothes on your back, a laptop with the entire Wikipedia library, and a solar charger.
|
The man wore a smile that unnerved her. His strange dress pointed to the that he wasn't from here as was his willingness to approach a strange woman in public. She lifted the large clay pot that served as her basket and continued back to the homestead she calls home. She started walking down the path from the village market when she heard a voice call for her, far too close for comfort.
"As-salamu Alaykum" The voice called out in a poor imitation for Arabic. She did her best to ignore it. If her father was with her, then the stranger would be reproached for his carelessness. But he wasn't there, just her and her younger brother. She kept trying to walk, ignoring his call, however, he repeated it louder and continued following her path. She forced herself to turn to him while calling for her brother. The youth came speeding to her side. Here was a young man and her supposed protector was just an adolescent.
The stranger placed his hand on his chest and said "Jibril" aloud. He repeated the gesture and stood there with a look of anticipation on his face.
"Is something wrong with him?" her brother said in a hushed tone.
"He obviously cannot speak our language. Why else would he approach us like this?"
He stood there, still. The warm smile began to turn to disappointment or even worry. He grabbed a stick from nearby causing the brother to leap in front of his sister. The man simply shook his head and proceeded to make etchings into the ground. He drew a cross gesturing to himself and continued writing in a script she recognized as Latin alphabet but couldn't understand what he wrote.
"Is it witchcraft?"
She could only responded to her brother's comment by slapping him in the back of his head. He was going to respond in kind when the stick was moved to separate them. He pointed to the ground where mathematical formulas and geometric patterns were found. This may as well be in a foreign language to her: though she recognized the hindi-arabic numerals, the operations weren't known to her or her brother.
By now another man had taken interest in their affair. He was a merchant from the city that worked one of the stalls buying and selling produce to bring back to his clients. He was yelling something about not having respect for women when he saw the etchings on the ground. He recognized them as proofs and as fairly simple algebraic expressions. He was surprised to see this out in a more rural setting and immediately went about interrogating him.
"He doesn't understand" She said. "His name is Jibril"
The merchant dismissed her and her brother while he took an arm and placed it around the stranger's shoulders. The two men walked away but the stranger's gaze was firmly fixed on her as they went their separate ways. Her father was absolutely livid when her brother told him of their curious encounter. "Murjan, this is why you have so few suitors" he went on. He waxed and waned for the rest of the day detailing the potential dangers of the encounter, the depravity of the times, and the ignorance of the Christians ignoring the fact that his brother actually married a Christian. Thinking about the image that would be her father's face if she told him about her lingering curiosity, she could barely contain her snickers and laughter. However, she decided that her amusement wasn't worth it and simply agreed with her father to keep the peace. Life returned to routine and soon the stranger turned into an odd but favorable memory.
The merchant was looking for an assistant for his shop. He dealt mostly with agricultural goods produced by Seville's hinterland but he also dealt in more exotic products. Silks, dyes, perfumes, jewelry, and other luxuries could be procured from his shop or he could procure them for you. His shop had seen an upswing and so he wanted the extra help especially from this curiosity. Cyprian T. Gabriel, or alternately either Cyp (like Sip) or Gabe, hadn't exactly volunteered for this. Well he did volunteer to help assist in science project dealing with history. Cyp had a passion for history and was completing his M.A. before he was teleported here as a result of the experiment. He came here equipped only with a back pack that served as a solar cell and as the carrying case for the high-tech laptop that kept him company. The solar cell could power the laptop and the laptop had a facsimile of the web at the time of his departure along with several apps.
While he stayed with his new benefactor, Ibn-Hakim, he used his laptop to refresh his memory of Al-Andalus under the Umayyads and what would become the rapidly disintegrating Caliphate of Cordoba in just three decadess. He also began supplementing his cursory language lessons from Hakim with apps on the laptop. He paid his dues by working the shop, running errands, and doing a bit of bookkeeping. Hakim's friends and peers marveled at his discovery and became increasingly curious about the man's nature. He had a tanned complexion so he blended in with many of the native Iberians and the foreign transplants. He even began growing a casual beard to blend in even more so. Cyp himself explained that he was simply from the other side of the world across the "great ocean". He answered a number of questions about his home serving as an pseudo US ambassador to people in the 11th century. Though he never revealed that he was a transplant from a different time, the fantastical stories he told only added to his mystique. He simply explained that he didn't know how he got here but that it must have been the will of God. In a matter of months, he had a rudimentary understanding of Arabic and started accompanying his employer on some of his trips. Soon he was manning stalls on his own. After almost a year of employment, he found himself at the same village market where his journey had begun. He noted the tidy bit of profit that he had accumulated today. He was taking stock of the wares while shouting the prices he would offer for "quality produce". A woman's voice had gained his attention when she said that she had fresh stock from her family's orchard. Raising his head, he could only produce a giddy laugh while a warm smile flashed on his face.
|
The sun beamed hard on my face while my feet sluggishly dragged through the desert sand while hauling the laptop clenched to my chest. Despite being given explicit directions to bring information to the past, I was never briefed on how to spread it. Sweat continued to rolls down my cheeks. “I can’t… I can’t…” I kept muttering under my own breath. Something embraced me… It felt like a heavy fatigue and soon I found my eyes closing. The beaming sun transformed into darkness and I felt light headed. Sand never felt so good.
Gasping for air, I woke up in an unfamiliar place. An elder Middle Eastern man hovered over me, handing me a jug of what seemed to be water. After gulping it down I tried to motion with my hands the shape of the computer. For a moment the man seemed bewildered, then looked as if he understood. He left me on the bed for a moment and came back with the computer. I grabbed the computer compulsively from him, startling him a bit. I looked for any damage, but it looked like the desert sand broke my fall. Still confused, the man started to speak some sort of language that meant nothing to me. I frantically tried to calm the man down, however starting up the computer for the first time seemed to do quite the opposite. This was just the beginning of a great empire to be, unbeknownst to me or the scholar who took me in.
Apparently I was brought to the House of Wisdom in Baghdad. This couldn’t have been coincidence. Luckily, the computer’s information came in every language. It took me about a year to become comfortable speaking with the man and people I met at the markets in town. In exchange for hospitality, I offered only detailed maps of world. If they knew what information the computer could convey I probably wouldn’t have been kept around.
The scholar, Ibn Bâjja, was a famous philosopher and scientist. Although he treated me like family since he found me, it was time for me to finally make a change to history. My one and only request to Bâjja was to have a formal meeting with the current Caliphate of Baghdad. It was not a time of peace however. Nomads from the east had begun to pressure the caliphate and I sought this the best opportunity to prove my usefulness.
Meeting the caliphate in person was strange. He had a holy aura about him that demanded compliance. After the pleasantries were exchanged I brought out my computer and we got down to business. At first, he seemed apprehensive to look directly at the laptop’s screen, but that changed upon his first glance at a gun. He seemed eager to construct one after I explained its purpose and how history of war changed with its creation.
The Muslim Golden Age had been revitalized by my very own hands.
| 2016-12-27T19:54:25 | 2016-12-27T18:28:33 | 28 | 11 |
[WP] You have a HUD reminiscent of RPG video games, letting you see your Health, Stamina, and quests. However, you live a boring, normal life, rendering your HUD useless. One day, you see that your Mana and EXP have suddenly unlocked and your first quest has begun: "GENESIS."
Edit 1: Just wanted to thank you all for the countless numbers of amazing replies that you all submitted! I didn’t think that a silly, nerdy little writing prompt like this could inspire so much amazing writing. Thank you.
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My earliest memory is of trying to touch it. It was always there, floating in front of me, just in the bottom left-hand side of my vision. When I was a few years old my parents brought me to a doctor to figure out why I was always grabbing at nothing, but no one had any explanation. As I grew up and learned to speak, I was subjected to therapists and other professionals who tried to help, but of course no one could understand my ability to see my life-force as a statistic. I started to learn to ignore it, or at least not to mention it anymore.
Being able to track my health came in handy, and I became a reckless kid. I would push myself until that bar dropped low, dangerously low. I remember feeling such a shocked glee when I first started encountering the same phenomenon in gaming, but who would believe me if I said that I had that ability in real life? Besides, all I had was my 100 HP, and a Stamina bar that would deplete the more I pushed myself and recover as I rested. I could recover lost HP by eating nutritious foods. As I went through high school I got into sports for a short while, being able to leverage my ability to numerically quantify my health and stamina, but it stopped feeling fair and shortly after that stopped feeling fun. In the end, my life was the same boring, normal life that everyone had, with this one odd quirk.
I finished school an unexceptional student, got into college and managed to make it through, got an uninspiring office job, and hit my thirties. I had some money squared away and a roof over my head and I would occasionally get beers with my friends or coworkers. Sometimes I'd get a bit too tipsy and mention my HUD to the girl I was chatting up and I'd end up going home alone. Life went on.
I was at a bar for New Year's Eve when it happened. It was getting to be that time, the televisions were on and the countdown clock was ticking down. 10, 9, 8... a drunk guy I had met earlier that night clinked his beer to mine and said something along the lines of how 2018 was going to be a game-changing year. I smiled and nodded and looked back at the TV.
3, 2, 1... the room erupted into cries of "Happy New Year!" while couples kissed and shots were taken. I half-smiled and looked down into my pint and then gasped as a stunning array of colors exploded in my vision, rendering me dumb. An audible chime filled my ears and suddenly the always-constant display to my left changed. Right between my red HP bar and my green Stamina bar grew a new blue bar labelled Mana. Under the three, an empty bar labelled EXP appeared, and a different chime sent shivers down my spine. Right there, floating in the middle of my vision, a prompt box appeared.
QUEST UNLOCKED
"GENESIS"
In the box were two different options, DISMISS and BEGIN. As I looked at BEGIN I felt a peculiar emotion that I can only describe as force-of-will. It's like that feeling you have when you make the decision to get off the couch and then you find yourself on your feet, as if you can feel your nerves shooting the electric signals through your body to make something happen. I felt that feeling but towards the BEGIN option, and the popup was gone, only to be replaced with a '?' button towards the top-right of my vision. As my eyes refocused I took a look around to make sure I hadn't startled anyone with my reaction.
Across the room, I locked eyes with a women about my age who was staring back at me, mouth agape. I would probably have noticed anyone if they were looking at me like that, but I was especially surprised because above her head, clear as day, floated the words:
Chel
<Level 1>
_Postscript: Hey! This is my first WP, something I've always wanted to get into. I used to write short stories, mostly scifi, but it's not something I've ever been good and consistent about. Gonna try to get to more of these now that I find myself with some extra time. Hope you liked it!_
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As I awoke, the dark comfort of deep sleep slipped away into my mind. The world around me revealed itself once again like every morning, revealing the wood paneled walls and the sea blue curtains, complemented by a sea foam rug that flooded my bedroom.
Out of place, though, were the words “genesis.” Amongst my health bar (lowered a bit due to a nasty cold) was a mana and experience bar, donning the once empty corners of my vision.
*Say start genesis to begin the quest* I said to myself. However, I was still sick; my brain told me to begin this quest in my mundane life, but my heart said no.
Fuck it. I went back to sleep; I’ll do it later.
| 2018-01-15T17:44:04 | 2018-01-15T16:38:51 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] A world where super heroes exist but act as mercenaries for hire instead of doing it out of the goodness of their hearts
Someone made a comment in another thread that made me want to see this sort of thing and some people replied saying I should submit it here. Here's a link to my [original post](https://www.reddit.com/r/tifu/comments/62wgey/tifu_by_bricking_a_computer_with_rick_astley/dfq195a/) which has a little more detail about the sort of thing I was thinking of specifically, but feel free to run with the basic idea however you want.
|
The pen slips, drawing a jagged line along the 'Cash' field of the deposit slip. I sigh and look around. Whatever jogged my elbow nudges me in the ribs this time, and I reach up to pull the headphones away from my ear.
"You, too, tiny. Hands where we can see 'em, down on the floor with the rest. Nice and easy."
The guy is wearing a ski mask, a little under six feet tall, a sandy blond eye brow just visible above one of his blue eyes. Those eyes look fierce, but there's a note in his voice on the edge of panic. Oh, and he's waving a hand gun in my face, reaching up so that it's just under my nose. Poor trigger discipline, I note, suppressing a reflex to break his arm and take the weapon.
I take a moment to look around the interior of the bank. Two more masked individuals, the three tellers with their hands stretched out on the counter top, maybe half a dozen other people who were waiting in line. They're prone, now, hands splayed wide on the floor.
"C'mon, don't make this hard," says Mr. Blue Eyes, gesturing impatiently with the gun. "Don't try to be a hero, big guy."
"No trouble," I agree, easing myself on the floor. "No trouble," I repeat for emphasis.
Hero.
Was I ever one of those? Doesn't feel like it, these days.
From the floor, I watch as two of the other robbers escort a teller, at gunpoint, out of sight, presumably in search of a vault, or something. Do banks still have vaults? I guess they would, for deposit boxes, if nothing else.
I gently draw on the Aether and attune my hearing for a moment, since that's not breaking any laws. Out on the street, traffic is continuing as normal. People walking by, cars driving. No sound of approaching sirens. I open my senses a little more and the room suddenly blooms with phantom colors and sensations. They're a little dimmer over in the corner, and I turn my attention there.
She's good. Not just a wild talent, but someone who has done a lot of practice. Her touch on the Aether stills it in a wide area around her, bleeding through to the Material and probably blanketing the whole block outside the bank with a sense of calm, even a slight euphoria, deflecting attention away from the bank.
I stop channeling and return to the present. Mr. Blue Eyes is prodding me with his boot.
"Hand it over, man, I know you got something."
With a sigh, I reach slowly into my pocket and take out my battered walkman. "Can I at least keep the tape, man? Leave me that much? Ain't easy to find, these days."
"You some kinda hipster, old man?"
"Only if 'hipster' is slang for 'dead broke.'"
"What's on it, anyway?
"AC/DC. Got it when I was in highschool."
"Sure man. Now the rest."
I put the tape back in my pocket and bring out the roll of bills I was going to deposit. When I hesitate, he lunges, snatching the wad from my hand before quickly backing up to what he believes is out of reach. After a moment, I settle back to the ground.
Blue Eyes heads over to the family next to me. The kid's mom cringes as she rifles through her purse. Blue Eyes just takes it from her, tosses it to one of his goons, waves his gun a bit, then snatches her iPhone and jams it into a pocket. He takes the kid's phone, too.
Kid looks like he's maybe twelve. He's got that look on his face, like he's imagined how he'd save everyone from a situation just like this, and now it's here and he doesn't like what he just learned about himself.
"Ain't worth it, son." He looks at me and I can see the angry tears standing in his eyes. He's angry at the robbers, but mostly at himself. I know. "It's just a phone. Plenty of those. Ain't worth your life or health. Let it go."
"If I were a Hero, I'd stop 'em," he mutters.
"Then you'd go to prison right beside 'em. Gotta have a contract," I tell him, keeping my voice low. "No contract, you're just a vigilante, and those're criminals, too."
He gets quiet. That's different. Most kids his age, they would explode at me, believing their anger. This one stops and thinks.
A gunshot sounds from somewhere I can't see and raised voices arguing soon follow. A woman, one of the other tellers, screams and begins crying, and I suddenly feel an intense pull as the robber in the corner, eyes screwed shut in concentration, draws more deeply on the Aether to keep the bank veiled from attention. At the rate the ambient energies are being used up, this is going to end soon, one way or another.
A piece of paper, folded into an air plane, drifts to a stop in front of me a moment before the pencil hits me in the face. I look over at the kid, and he motions me to open it. I begin reading.
"I, Robin Andrew Greyson, seek to engage the services of the undersigned. At the rate of twenty dollars an hour, for a span of no fewer than two hours and totaling no more than six hours, the undersigned will secure the person, possessions, and any premises surrounding myself from injury, theft, or undue disturbance."
I look up at him, an eyebrow raised in disbelief. He makes a get-on-with-it gesture. I pick up the pencil, sign the page, and fold it back into a plane, and loft it back to him. He picks it up and reads it.
"Powerage?"
"Never mind."
Three robbers. No, four, that one with the veil keeps sliding herself out of my perception. Only two of them in this room. Nine hostages. Eight, now? I don't know. Most of the ambient power has been used up. I take a deep breath and concentrate on the pencil. Blue Eyes is closest.
"Passing notes? Why don't you share with the cl-" is as far as he gets before six inches of sharpened wood and graphite, imbued with Aether to keep it from breaking, gets rammed up his nose, into his brain, killing him. It comes free with a light tug, and I fling it, overhand, at the woman in the corner.
She comes out of her deep focus, looks down, and sees the small blossom of red on her shirt, just above her navel. I reach her just before she can use the panicked breath she just took to scream, closing a hand over her nose and mouth. If I can keep this quiet, I might be able to get the other two before any more hostages ge-
I come back to myself, fetched up against the far wall, and there's a ringing in my ears. I throw myself open to the Aether, and the sudden contact with that other realm shocks me fully back to my senses. There's almost nothing left there to draw, but I pull what I can manage quickly, recklessly winding the energies around my frayed nerves to steady my balance and stop the spinning in my head. Then I shut off the connection, surging forward in a running crouch.
The robber who hit me with the essence blast is in bad shape. Between the gut wound and the backlash of channeling so much raw power, she's unconscious, probably not getting up again without medical attention. I pull off the tattered remains of my shirt and press it over the widening bloodstain on her belly.
"Alright, everyone out, quick and quiet. You," I say, pointing to a middle aged man, "toss me that and then give that guy a hand." One of the other men, looks like some kind of contractor, got caught on the fringe of the blast, seems like he's having trouble sitting up. "When you're out, find a phone and call the cops." Looking around, faces are frozen in disbelief, looking at me in shock. "Go," I sort of whisper-shout, and they get moving.
"What the hell was all that noise? Jim, you and Marcia fighting again?" I bean the third man with a paperweight, hard enough to dent the front of his forehead, as he walks out from the one of the spaces behind the counter.
A startled, "what the hell," comes from somewhere behind him.
I drag the channeler out the front of doors of the bank, then out of sight of any windows. Probably shouldn't have, but I can't keep pressure on her injury and fight the last guy at the same time.
Robin finds me. "Thanks." He hands me a twenty dollar bill.
"Just... hold on to that piece of paper. I'm not a lawyer, but it might hold up if anyone decides to press charges."
"I will," he says, face serious.
I tuck the bill into my pocket, then freeze. Slowly, sadly, I bring out the plastic fragments and length of magnetic tape that had once been my favorite album, shattered by the force of an Aetheric essence blast.
"Kid, you know anywhere I can get a cassette tape of AC/DC?"
"I don't know what either of those things are."
I think for a moment. "... Do you know any 'hipsters'?"
|
I am not a good man.
James looked down at the table, sipping his water. Always the same look when he's got something on his mind. "What're you ordering," he says with a low voice. "I hear the, uh, steak and fries are great."
"Maybe just a coffee." I drummed the table lightly with my fingertips. "Look, J, I know that face. What's on your mind, man?"
He hesitated, then looked up. His eyes were tired, dull bags underneath. I've never seen the guy look so old. "The, ah, warehouse explosion last night," His eyes turned hard. "That was you, wasn't it?"
I chewed on my tongue for a bit, then sighed. "It might have been overkill, but the Stella's pay me well. Honestly, I think what I did preserved more lives. You know how an all-out war between them and the Callaghan's would turn out?" He rested his head in his palm, half-listening to my bullshit. "They're honestly talking about you, J. You've made yourself a name, fucking up their operations like this. They'll be out for you soon if you don't stop." I lowered my voice as the waitress approached.
"What'll it be today, boys?" she said, her brown curls bouncing as she whipped out a pen and a smile. "Oh, Jamie, back again? I knew you couldn't get enough of us."
"You know it. I think I'll have that famous steak-frites you guys make. Friend over here'll have a cup of coffee." He winked.
"Now I hope you aren't planning to pay. You already do enough good for us. Hell, was it just last week you took care of that gang roaming the streets at night. Constant B&Es in a little street like this. Unbelievable." She scribbled on the pad in a practiced fashion, scampering back to the kitchen with that little smile of hers.
James' face turned serious again. "We've had this talk plenty of times. You already know the spiel." I nodded, stifling a yawn. "And you know it's never too late."
I shook my head. "James, I follow the money. We all do. Maybe your moonlighting as a hero makes you feel all warm-and-fuzzy inside, but warm-and-fuzzy doesn't pay the bill. Unless you're the Phoenix or Hothead, warm-and-fuzzy means you freeze to death, out in the cold, when winter hits."
He rubbed his face with the palms of his hands. "It's not about the money. It's about making a change. All these changes start small. Grassroots. But when you get the idea into people's heads, they start to think 'Hm, maybe I can do good. Maybe good is what we need.'" I could tell he's been through this speech with others before. I could almost smell their rejection and skepticism wafting off his body. Yet I saw the fire in his belly.
"James, this hero business. It's eating at you. I know you think you're doing the right thing, but the right things aren't always the *right thing*. This," I waved my hands for dramatic effect, "vigilantism doesn't fix anything. The Golden Age of heroes is over. For every one upstanding guy, two assholes would pop up. You know that's how actual bad guys work. They're attracted to conflict like mosquitos to flesh. The way we do it now...it's nice. It works."
"It's selfish," James spat out. He looked away from me, out the window at the busy street. The trees were in full bloom, sunshine casting refulgent shadows along the noontime traffic. We sat quietly for a time, the food eventually arriving, piping hot.
"I don't know what to do anymore," James whispered under his breath. "I can't do this alone." I leaned in, resting a hand on his shoulder. A small smirk fell on his face. "What're you trying to do, blow me up?" he said, chuckling lightly.
I smiled back, stealing a handful of fries. "James, buddy. I'm just saying, being a hero isn't for me. I'm not sure it's for you either. I can give a good word to my boss. Start you on double pay. Do you really want to do this hero stuff though? It's just all swimming upstream." His face was solemn, like that of a statue.
"Yes. Even if no one joins, yes. It is right."
I sighed deeply, and fell back in my seat. He ate with a stony, distant look on his face. I finished my coffee, patted James on the shoulder, then slapped a twenty on the table.
A smile broke onto his face. "Heh, it's complimentary, remember?" he said, shifting out of his seat.
"It's...actually a tip. An apology, really."
"What, to me? We might disagree, but you don't have to apologize."
"No, it's an apology to the waitress. For what she's about to see."
I snapped my fingers and walked to the door. A deep rumble echoed from James' stomach, and he fell to the ground, screaming. The smell of embers, of burnt esophagus and stomach lining slowly filled the room. He yelled, screamed, cried for his mother, writhing in a pool of saliva and blood, his fingers digging holes into the old diner floor. Smoke poured out of his belly in thick plumes. A guttural bellow of rage erupted from his scalded throat, as the patrons watched in horror as this man burned alive, from the inside out.
It's the strongest ones that have the worst deaths. They can't just die quickly like normal people. I let out a ragged sigh, and walked out. Hands shaking, I lit myself a a cigarette with my fingertip, and got as far away from the diner as I could.
"Fuck's sake, James," It was raining now. "I told you so."
I am not a good man because all the good men are dead.
| 2017-04-02T08:59:48 | 2017-04-02T08:24:57 | 545 | 82 |
[WP] You died in an abrupt accident. The Grim Reaper appears before you, carrying hundreds of letters in his hands, all with names familiar to you. "All the words you never got to say to that particular person." The reaper explains. "Pick one."
|
The darkness enveloped me. All the pain but a distant memory. It had disappeared in an instant, as the darkness took me.
I remembered the pain of course, the choking sensation around my neck. I had measured wrong, hadn’t had enough height to snap my neck when I’d jumped. Not like any of that mattered anymore.
It was like waking up. I was alone in a blank room. Almost ethereal looking. I could see a faint wispiness to the edges of my vision, almost as if it were cigarette smoke drifting away.
“Ahem” a bored voice called from behind me. “It’s disconcerting, I know. But I don’t have time to indulge your curiosity.” The voice was bland. It almost seemed to disappear afterwards, leaving little but a memory of a memory of it having ever existed.
I turned, and there was a nondescript man at a desk covered in letters. Or at least I thought there was a desk. He, his face, and the desk all seemed to both exist and not exist simultaneously, almost as if I only knew they existed, rather than actually seeing them.
He spoke then, detached and monotone.
“You’re dead. Crass and blunt, I know. But I don’t care about you, or your fleeting feelings. I’m just here to do my job. If you loo...”
I cut him off then. “What in the hell is going on here?”
A flash of irritation cut across his face as he spoke briskly before I could get more works out of my mouth. “Oh lord, another mouthy one.”
At that moment, an enormous, soul vibrating boom of thunder ripped through the room, shaking me to the core.
“If you would just shut your mouth, you would know soon enough.”
He continued without skipping a beat almost as if this was a memorized speech, waving his hand over the table in a gesturing, and, almost, inviting motion.
“On this table is a collection of letters that represents everyone you have ever known. As a last parting gift from the land of the living, you are allowed to compose one final message to anybody you wish.”
I took a few steps forward to get a glimpse at the envelopes, and sure enough, there I could see names written in the most vibrant red I could imagine on each one. One for my sister, mom, dad, girlfriend, best friend, ex’s, coworkers. It seemed almost infinite in quantity.
“And the message I send will get to them?” I asked, almost pleading with the indifferent man.
“Of course, if you wish so. But only one. That’s the deal.”
I became very nervous then. “But what if I don’t know how to say what I want to say?”
He spoke again, still as detached as before.
“The letter will be an honest representation of what you mean to say, even if you don’t know how to say it.”
And then his voice became deeper, and vaguely stale, and I could feel a terror grip me as never before. As if his continued indifference was more dangerous to me than even that damned rope had been.
“But choose quickly, for I have other places to be soon, and I am never late to where I need to be.”
I nervously and uncertainly grasped at an envelope and held its pale face up to me to stare at the name. It had a certain weight and depth to it, almost as if the letter and message were already within.
“Hmm. Interesting.” His eyes almost seemed to light up for a flash, before returning the gray emptiness it had been before. His eyes gave a feeling of hopelessness and emptiness, as if my life would have no meaning if I stared too long into them.
“The girl who never loved you? Almost poetic, considering how she thinks of you: obsessive, psychotic, manipulative. And even now, long after the fact, she’s still the one who you can’t get out of your heart. You know, I think I’m beginning to like you.” He pointed at me in concert with that last word, a benign smile hinting at the corner of his lips.
I hastily placed the letter down at his remark, startled and feeling the pain and anguish I had buried years ago boil up into my chest from the old and horrible memories.
“Yes, rethink your choice then, my dear ‘friend’. God knows you’ll make the right choice, like you ‘always’ do.”
That unnerved me. He seemingly knew everything. He knew my past, her thoughts. Did he know my thoughts too?Did he already know how I was going to choose?
“Yes. And no. I know enough, but I don’t know how this plays out.” He spoke dryly again, all hints at the enjoyment of my anguish gone from his face.
I reached again for the table, and picked up another, more certain about who I wanted to have get my last apology.
“Good. You seem certain enough about that one. And I am most definitely out of time now, no matter how amusing this little charade has been. So I need you to stick that in your left jacket breast pocket now.”
I did as he said then, unzipping the pocket and slipping the letter in before closing my pocket back up. He stood up, and as he strode away from the table, it disappeared, letters and all.
As he walked behind me, I heard a low whisper from near my ear.
“It’s been fun.”
And then a sharp pain struck me from the back of my head, and everything went black again.
—————————
I came to in almost the same instant, in a position that felt as if I was lying down. There was pain again on the rope burns on my neck. My eyes opened and I saw a fuzzy looking red noose swinging above me. Or maybe it was just my vision that was fuzzy and red.
The pain was excruciating, but I noticed two things fairly easily. One, the noose looked as if it snapped from the weight. And two, there was a new weight on my heart.
And I knew one thing for sure in that moment. One thing that felt more absolute than anything I had ever experienced. One thing I knew I needed to do.
I had a letter to deliver.
|
"What?"
I looked at a towering man in a dark suit. The smell of smoke filled my lungs, and a horrid scene of fire played next to me. Everyone seemed to ignore the both of us as we stood in the middle of the chaos.
He sighed in a somewhat melancholy way. The man seemed tired, but looked at me with a stare of solemn contempt.
"These are all the people you have ever met. All the ones you've loved and all the ones that you've hated. The ones you've known for years, and the ones you briefly met in a coffee shop."
He began shuffling through countless letters with different names, all black with a gold seal in the middle. He then allowed them to fall to my feet, quickly creating a fairly large pile of glowing letters.
"Pick one. Say one last good bye or I love you. Tell someone how you really felt. Anything. But only pick one."
I looked at him, then back to the letters. I glanced over at the wreckage that for some reason hurt my head to look at. I couldn't exactly remember what had happened. I remembered the rain and the street lamps. I remembered the "baby on board" sticker on the car in front of me. Something about a red light. . . I wasn't completely sure, but maybe I was---
"Dead?"
The man continued to stare, at some point I had sat myself down on the road and just watched as the rain slid off the giant pile of letters.
He held his hands behind is back and gazed at the accident. He looked over and followed all the people with his eyes. He simply stood there and bared witness to my death, which was playing before us with only the rain and voices of emergency workers to animate it like a scene from a movie.
"I have seen this very moment between us many times, over the course of thousands of years. Everyone has had a different way of reacting to the... suddenness of it all. So what will you do? Who will you choose?"
I didn't even need to think about it. The letter with the name I needed was resting right there on top of the pile, the only one with a seducingly red seal on the front.
"I have some things to discuss with an old friend."
The man smiled and his mouth seemed to unnaturally creep from ear to ear, his hollow eyes now fixated directly on me. He knew that something interesting was happening, and who could blame him? I'm sure that despite the thousands of years he spent giving people their last words, he had never seen someone ready to write the Devil before they passed.
| 2018-10-13T13:01:11 | 2018-10-13T11:04:53 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] You often get mistaken for your twin sister. Though it never really bothered you, now that she's become one of the most feared criminals in city, it's starting to become a problem.
|
“Please, Miss Morgan, just take it!” the merchant pleads, shoving the book across the counter. “You’re gold’s no good here.”
I raise an eyebrow. The gold Monarch in my hand hovers in the air as I try and make sense of the situation. It’s about then that I notice the already quiet bookshop is now completely silent, to the point you could hear a page turn. Faces pop around the corner of book laden walls, the rest of their body hidden, as they watch.
“I would never dream of charging the great Gal Morgan,” The shopkeeper’s mouth spreads wide in what I guess is supposed to be a smile, but it looks like he’s trying to feign enjoyment while swallowing a handful of acorn shells.
“Gal?” I say, tapping the gold coin against my chin. “You mean my sister.”
Though I’ve dyed my hair and changed to a completely different eye liner, *and* use a deep blush as opposed to her typical bronzer, people still confuse the two of us. I suppose I could try and commission some sort of eye lens to change their color, but why am I the one that must change my life so?
Leaning on the counter with both hands, I try and explain as nice as I can, but the clenching of my jaw adds an edge to my words, “My name is Clarissa. Look”—I point to my cheeks—“see how fair my skin is, and the subtle pink along the cheeks?”
“Yes, of course!” The shopkeeper looks as if I’d just walked in and asked for a book that reads itself. Despite his confusion, he nods his head with emphatic agreement.
When I point at him, the door behind me bursts open. Three men clad in black storm toward the counter. My heart leaps as I spin around and pin my back against the counter.
“Sorry we’re late, miss Morgan.” The one in the lead takes a knee. The two behind him scan the room. “We’ve just gotten word of your distress.”
“What?” My hands search the counter for a weapon. The left hand finds the book I’d come to buy: *Cinquante Nuances de Gris*. I hold it out in front of me. “I just wanted to purchase this damn book.” I cock a thumb over my shoulder. “First, he won’t accept my money, and then you three show up and—”
“What’s that?” The kneeler rises and in blur of motion and leaps over the counter. Before my eyes can follow, he has the shopkeeper by the scruff of his vest. “You’re not letting her buy her book?” He laughs. “You’ve just properly messed up, old man.”
Realizing the trouble I’ve caused, or rather, my sister has caused by her infamy, which grows with each passing day it seems, I hold the book out and say, “I seem to have misspoke. What I meant to say, is this kind, gracious—a personal friend of mine—shopkeeper was being overly helpful in all ways imaginable.”
The thug releases the shopkeeper and looks over at me. “Not… too helpful?” I can tell he’s just itching for violence, just waiting to be given a reason.
“Wha… how would that even… no!” I point toward the door. If they think I’m Gal, I might as well play the part. “Let this poor man be. Leave!”
Looking like children who had come so close to getting their dirty hands on the cookie jar before it was pulled away, they slink out of the shop. The ensuing silence breaks from a random cough somewhere deeper it the store.
“You really aren’t her, are you?” The shopkeeper straightens his shirt and takes a breath before continuing, “Clarissa, was it?”
I sigh with relief. “Yes.” I toss the gold Monarch and he catches it with a quick, reflexive swipe. Before he can inspect the coin, I snatch the book from the counter and turn away.
He calls, “Thank you, Lady Morgan. I was behind in your sister’s protection fees. This will surely help!”
I stop in my tracks and feel that jaw muscle tighten again. So the entire thing was a waste of time. My money is just going to go to my sister. Then, a plan hits me.
“Shopkeep,” I say. He freezes, inspecting the coin. Rushing back to the counter, I whip the money from his hand and shove it back in my pocket. “This was all a test. Of course I’m Gal.” I look around the shop at the waiting faces. “Thugs!” I yell.
The three men come running back inside. “We knew it was you, miss Morgan.”
“Yeah, yeah,” I say, pointing at all the customers in the store. “Empty their pockets and then follow me. We’ve got some collecting to do.”
As they make their way around the store, slamming the protesting customers against walls, and threatening them with fists and cudgels, I watch and wait. Taking down my sister will take time; gathering all the money from these poor innocents, and then funding my own thug army.
I look down at my book, sighing. It’ll be forever until I have time to read this.
|
Me and my sister get called out for a lot of nonsense. It started when we were 9. As the smart one of the family I knew to cross my T's and Dot my I's. However my twin sister always had the idea in her head that when it came to me and my straightforward ways, I had to be thrown under the rug.
Snap to 20 years later, my sister and I had separated at that point and we took off on our own paths. She became the bane of everyone existence while I maintained a job as a Secretary for an esteemed law firm. My boss came in to my office today and handed me a manilla envelope with red marker drawing out the words, for your eyes only and dropped it on the desk in front of me.
I openned the parcel and found that my face was on the picture. Scars all over and gave the impression there was nothing I couldnt do. My boss said, "Do you know anything of this?". Of course I had no clue but it all dawned on me that the woman in the photo was my sister. I knew right away what had to be done.
Later I went home and openned the box that had the detonator in place. I pulled it out knowwing what was going to happen. I pressed the button that said ignite, and I waited. Not even a second later, I heard a faint pop in the room adjacent to mine. My sister's headless torso exploded in the kitchen next to mine and I am now facing time in jail for 20 years for manslaughter. At least she couldnt hurt anyone else anymore.
If you want to fill in the blanks between this story as this is my first time ever writing one, let me know. and ill do my best.
| 2019-11-03T06:42:17 | 2019-11-03T06:30:41 | 161 | 17 |
[WP] You draw strength from the people around you. One day you walk in to an empty room and you feel unstoppable.
|
I'm a leech. It's everything I've know. It doesn't matter if you're an old man sitting in a hospital bed ready to die or weightlifter with an Olympic record, if I'm nearby you're basically powerless and I take whatever strength you had for my own.
In a sense, this makes New York a perfect place for me to live. Driving doesn't expose me to people too much, despite the heavy congestion. There are *plenty* of people running around. Hell, I've become something of a super-criminal, working as a fixer - a mercenary hired over the dark net and my powers are perfect for that. Especially since "Strength" doesn't necessarily relate to "How much one can lift".
Need information out of some wiseguy? I take his resolve and willpower then drill a few holes in his knee. Need someone to handle hostages during a heist? Just leave me there, they'll be struggling on the floor without any real bother, and I'll help carry out the loot.
I've learned how to control my powers, somewhat. I can ignore a few select people or leech from them long-distance. My usual boys work out not too far from my place and when I need a little juice for a job like breaking someone's neck I just hit them up and ask if I can tap in for a while. With payment in cash, of course.
It was during one particular job, stealing a safety deposit box from a bank in the middle of Manhattan. The client *really* wanted the contents of that box.
I was tapped into Hank and Louie, two of my usuals, mainly for certainty. My smaller build meant that their strength meant I could do incredible gymnastics or athletic feats with the power of two 300lb brutes behind me. Well, 330 for Louie, he's really insistent on that.
The guards were groaning, motionless as they tried to grab their radios which I crushed under my feet before dragging them into an office and tying them up. I headed upstairs, opened the vault then walked right inside.
Whatever the hell was inside this room floored me with the sheer power I tapped into. And I don't mean that lightly.
It was so powerful I was groaning in pain. The only other time I've ever felt enough power to hurt, and even then it was only a minor toothache, when I walked backstage of a Mr Olympia competition to whack a promoter. This felt like I had molten steel dumped right over me. But at the same time I felt like I could rip the heavy door off this vault and hurl it to New Jersey.
The pain soon subsides but that left a new, weirder sensation. I looked down and saw that the power I had tapped into didn't just amplify my abilities, my musculature had suddenly exploded outward with definition. If the boys had seen me right now they'd think that I had replaced the blood within my veins with hormone injections.
I chose not to dwell on it, however. I was hired for a job after all. Despite struggling to move due to my now impossibly-tight clothing I looked over the numbers then found the target. I went to remove it, to pull it out but I had accidentally poked a finger right through the box, pulling it out that way.
I had no choice but to open it, despite the client's request that the box be brought unopened. And I was rather surprised with what I saw. 'An urn?' I asked as I lifted it up. 'Seems rather cheap for a hundred grand.'
'You don't know the true value of the contents,' a voice said from elsewhere.
I pulled out a handgun and aimed it for the door. 'Who's there?' I ordered.
'Do you honestly not suspect the supernatural is at play?' the voice said, now from a confirmed source. 'From one creature of darkness to another, I'll offer you a respite for your ignorance, youngling.'
I looked down from the source of the sound, the urn in my hand. 'A... talking urn,' I said in surprise. 'Well fuck, if I rub you do I get three wishes?'
'Very funny,' the voice said sardonically. 'I suppose that I must warn you that Mr Horace is planning to murder you once you hand me over. He has also identified the four men you draw power from - Hank, Louie, Brett and Greg, right?'
'And you're warning me because...?' I asked the urn.
'Do you even know what your power is?' the urn asked. 'To feed upon the essence of others? To dominate and take what is theirs for your own? The only reason you haven't become a vampire yet is because you would rather not take their life energy.'
In a manner of speaking it did make sense. My usuals often liken lending me their power as a dream-like death.
'Sorry, but I'd rather not become a mindless monster who sees everything as a meal,' I said as I was ready to walk out of the vault.
I was gripped in pain as I collapsed again, this time my body going back to its slender form. 'Of course,' the urn said as it rolled out of my hand, switching from its side to standing straight. 'And I agree with you. A good farmer doesn't slaughter every chicken he has because one can't lay an egg, right?'
The urn exploded, a torrent of ash spreading throughout the room. A force lifted me up and into the air, spinning me about as I tried to fight back only to be thrown about, ash coating my frame.
I was then dropped onto the floor, the urn perfectly placed onto the ground again. For the first time in about a decade and a half I was truly frightened, especially as I looked for any remnants of ash.
My skin was necrotic, dry and leathery with sharp claws at the end of my fingers. Once again my frame was that of a strong and powerful man... but somehow coming off as grotesque instead of impressive. My shirt was breaking at the seams, leaving only the leather short coat I was wearing to provide modesty.
'What did you do to me?' I asked the urn.
'What do you assume?' the voice asked in return, coming from my own head. 'You're only a youngling, of course. You couldn't even tap into my strength until I gave you permission. So, in a sense... I fed myself to you and awakened you to true vampirehood.'
'What the fuck?!' I asked in horror. 'You... you gave me-'
'Magic and strength of over a million men,' he said. 'Of course, feeding on that many men is unthinkable... so I prefer the fine aging of a more callous vampire's diet. Best remove the predator to ensure both them and the prey don't go extinct.'
I could feel his claws at my throat, ready to take a bite. 'So, in a sense you could rule this city as your own private dukedom,' he said. 'You don't even need an army... or associates.'
I knew what he was implying. I had far greater control of the others' life energy. I could permanently drain them of life... or head to their homes and drink their blood.
'That's a line I'm not willing to cross,' I said angrily. 'Stay away from them.'
I could tell he was smiling. 'A thousand years and you're the one vampire I've never had to consume from the inside,' he told me. 'A king must rule with grace as well as cruelty.'
'Any tips, then?' I asked my patron.
'Well, you do have a contract...' the vampire suggested.
I picked up the urn before dispersing into mist and reforming above the Empire State building, pulling out my phone. 'Mr Horace, there's been an issue,' I said over the phone. 'The contents of the safety deposit box were withdrawn earlier today. There are no records as to who made the withdrawal. I'm sorry, but the contract cannot be fulfilled.' If you don't mind, I'd like to discuss this with you in person. Is there anywhere you'd prefer?'
|
Parasite. Leech. Monster.
I've given up attempting to find the source of my condition. Some things in life will just never be known. A lot of people will try to rationalize the randomness, to seek order in the chaos. Find the cause. Cure the disease. Solve the problem.
To me it's bullshit.
You'd think nearly unlimited power would mean unlimited wealth.
Well not exactly.
For one, just being able to beat the shit out of literally anyone doesn't have as many uses in the modern world as it once had. Perhaps I would have made even Achilles eat shit back in the day.
Now I work in a box. Covered in felt, pictures, and a little cat bauble I bought in Japan. I stare at a screen. Unnatural light and that sickly radiation amount to my livelihood. Don't ask too many questions, remember that HR isn't your friend, and never fuck with the boss's ego.
I used to fight. I loved it. Find any kind of underground ring, feel that surge from a crowd, and grapple a man to the floor. Slam, punch, shatter, crack. Break bones, rip flesh, snap limbs. Make a little money that way.
But never enough.
Then comes the confusion, the way some crowds begin to rub their foreheads and blink rapidly. Sickness, weakness, sometimes nosebleeds. Draw too much power and watch them wither. There's always a price.
So I keep it locked. I stay away from high energy situations. Don't go to a concert, stay away from a party, hide from a celebration.
Live alone. Bask in the glow of artificial light.
Today I drive home. Or what I once called home. An orphanage that was severely underfunded, where boiled leather would sometimes quiet the hunger pangs. Eat clay or starve. That kind of place.
I'm alone in a car, but surrounded by heat and light from others on this highway, each hidden in an insular metallic box speeding towards any arbitrary destination.
I decide to take the country roads. Accelerate to the top of the hill, and maybe hope, that perhaps the car will life off. It never does. Attribute it to cowardice, if you will.
Arrive. Park. Slam the door shut. Walk on gravel and remember what it was like to push a weaker kids face into it. Terrified, hungry, crying. But always scared.
The doors are open. Building clearly abandoned, the surrounding town emptying and dying. It happens.
Heavy scent of dust and decaying wood, mold and mouse shit, like breathing in and feeling the flecks in the air around your tongue.
Walk. Wander. Search. But for what?
Upstairs. Good God they're about to collapse.
Doors all open, memories repressed and more importantly, forgotten. Walk into my old room. Why am I here? Why am I always drawn to this room in dreams, and involuntary memories of just staring at the wall. Preparing for something. Something that never came.
Room mostly unchanged. Some child must have lived here after me. Maybe died here after me. Irrelevant.
I walk in and sink onto a metal mattress frame. Stare at the wall like before. A deafening silence.
I sit and stare for an indeterminate amount of time. Thinking but not really understanding.
Walk forward. Still stare at the wall. No more floral wall paper, just white drywall. Without warning, thrust a fist through. It crumples like cardboard.
A box. A forgotten box. Something that I was meant to have but never meant to open.
Feeling that power, like standing inside a room of turbines, the thrum of electricity hanging in the air. More power than I've ever known.
Open the box. Empty, empty, empty. Nothing physical inside.
But the power, it washes over like a thick oil, it rides my veins like a delicious morphine, and no longer do I want to be alone. I require servants. Supplicants. Slaves.
The will to dominate continues to rise.
And with it, I smile.
For the first time in my life, a purpose.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
| 2017-10-21T13:46:31 | 2017-10-21T12:54:02 | 270 | 182 |
[WP] “You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
[deleted]
|
"Stop calling, dad," I said quietly. "Nobody is coming for us."
My father hung up the phone and sighed, "I have to keep trying, Michael. If there's even a chance that they'll answer..."
I used my finger to peek out from the blinds at the street. This wasn't how I was expecting the zombie apocalypse to go. I'd seen every movie, read every book, obsessed over the TV shows, and I can guarantee you that nobody was more prepared for a zombies to life scenario more than I. But this... Nobody had ever written this. This was a different story entirely.
"Michael..." My step-mom called out as she wandered the streets. My eyes welled up as I watched her wander around. "Tom?" She called out. My dad joined me at the window and sighed, "Are you absolutely sure she's one of them?" He asked. "I'm sure of it," I replied. "Watch this." I added as I produced my phone and dialed her. The two of us watched her jump, startled as the device went off. She reached into her pocket and pull her phone out and stared at it for several seconds before throwing it on the ground and continuing on down the road. My dad raised a hand to his mouth.
"Tom? Michael? Where are you?"
"How did you know she would do that?" My dad choked out. "I've been texting my friend Kyle. He and his folks are still alive too. Kyle found out that these things don't know what to do with technology at all." I let the blinds slide back into place and sat down against the wall. "They're masters of emotional manipulation. There's almost no way to tell them apart from your loved ones. But ask them to change the channel, adjust the A/C, or make a phone call and they're completely clueless."
My dad stood up and called 911 again. I could hear the automated voice from where I sat.
“You’ve reached 911. This service is no longer operational. All citizens are advised to seek shelter. Goodbye.”
"Dad. It's no use." I repeated.
He remained silent.
"Tom? Where are you?" We heard her call again from outside. My dad turned and walked away. "Hey," I called after him, "Where are you going?"
"I can't listen to her voice anymore," he replied and disappeared into the next room. I rested my head against the wall trying to ignore the hunger as I wracked my brain for solutions. My thoughts were interrupted by the beeping of the keypad on the back door. We had installed it originally because my step-mom could never keep track of her key, but since this whole mess started it worked as a security measure against those things pretending to be our family.
I heard the door open and Uncle Bruce appeared with groceries in his hands. "Food!" I called out and pushed away from the wall. He smiled at me and moved for the kitchen. "Where did you find food, Bruce?" I asked in a bewildered tone as I started pulling chicken and beef from the bags.
"Nevermind that, Mikey," he replied. "Turn the stove on for me." I obliged.
About a half hour later the house smelled delicious. My stomach roared as Bruce set out the plates, "Call your dad." I turned my head, but didn't take my eyes off of the cooked chicken, "Dad, dinner!" I started cutting into the bird, "He smells it," I assured my uncle. After a few minutes Bruce looked over my shoulder and then cast me a worried glance, "You sure he's coming?"
"He heard Lynn again," I said with a mouth full of food.
"Oh, Jesus," He muttered. "She's back?"
"Yeah..." I responded solemnly. "I think maybe he just needs some alone time."
"Micheal!" I heard my dad's voice.
From *outside.*
My uncle and I locked eyes before quickly moving to the kitchen window and turning the blinds open. He looked in at us from the kitchen window, "You were wrong about Lynn! She's fine!"
I felt my heart sink as she joined him at the window.
"Son, she just thought her phone was acting up! Complete misunderstanding!"
I clenched my teeth and felt my uncle's hand on my shoulder.
"Mikey..." He said. "I know." I responded from the back of my throat.
Bruce closed the blinds let his forehead collide with the wall.
"Come on Michael," my father called to me. "Just... Just let us in, okay?"
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -
I get a 15 minute break at work aside from my usual lunch break. I pick a prompt, spend a couple of minutes storyboarding, and then do as much as I can within the confines of my break. If you enjoyed this, consider following me at r/A15MinuteMythos
[Part 2](https://old.reddit.com/r/A15MinuteMythos/comments/is3fx7/wp_youve_reached_911_this_service_is_no_longer/)
|
''Let me drive'' Tom said to me and I let him drive.
15 minutes later the truck is smoking and we are stranded in the middle of nowhere. We walk for half an hour and then we take a break. I lay on the ground and I watch the clear night sky.
Tom comes up to me, ''I think I saw something there.''
I get up and I don’t see anything but trees and then sudden light appears in the sky. A ball of flame coming down and Tom nudges me and points the different location with his finger. It’s some sort of green beam of light right on top of the city.
''There must be a gas station on our way.'' I say and we start running.
The gas station seems abandoned but the lights are on. Our cellphones don’t work so we use the landline and we try to call our family but we fail. Then, we call 911.
''You have reached 911. All citizens are advised to seek shelter.''
Tom starts to panic and I try to calm him down. If we try to walk back to the city it could take hours before we get there.
''We can take the car that is across the road.'' I say to Tom.
But he is not listening to me. He is mumbling and shaking his head and pacing around the gas station.
I ignore him for a moment and I hotwire the car then I honk twice. Tom looks at me for a moment and then he runs into the forest.
''What the fuck is he doing?'' I say to myself.
I get out of the car and I go after him.
-----------------------------------------------
-Thank you for reading the story-
| 2020-09-12T10:59:43 | 2020-09-12T10:43:53 | 349 | 23 |
[WP] Whenever you speak, people hear you speaking in their native language. Most people are surprised and delighted. The cashier at McDonalds you've just talked to is horrified. "Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years."
|
"You're going to have to say that again, because I have no idea what in the fuck you're trying to say," I inform the sparkling conversationalist that just conversed in little more than grunts and growls.
"Nobody's spoken that language in thousands of years," the young man behind the counter informs me, seemingly confused as to how I didn't understand him the first time.
"Cool, can I get my food now?" I ask, impatiently. I really don't want to get mixed up in anything today.
"I don't think you understand - that language? It's more than dead. It's extinct. How do you know it?"
I pinch the bridge of my nose with an exasperated sigh. It's damn near midnight, and I don't feel like going through the whole process of explaining my "skill".
"Congratulations; I don't care. Can I get my food now?"
"Not until you tell me how you know that language," he hisses at me. "My family have kept that language alive, but secret, for generations."
"Well, then, it's not very extinct, is it?" I lean against the counter, the exhaustion of the day catching up with me. "Look, man - I just have this ability, to speak the native language of whoever I speak to. Can't understand it, but it just comes out of my mouth. It's useful in a traffic jam, but that's about it." I yawn, my eyes drifting shut as I feel myself growing even more tired. "So I don't know your fuckin bullshit language - I just want some food."
"I don't believe you."
"Once again, I do not care. My food, please."
He purses his lips and completes the transaction. Finally!
After waiting for what feels like an eternity, I finally get my tray of food, and simply nod to the cashier as I head over to the closest empty table. Being the only customer in here, it's not hard to find one.
Before I even have a chance to eat, my newfound irritation sits down across from me. I close my eyes, and take a deep breath. "Look, can I just enjoy my food in peace?" Taking another look at my burger, I mutter to myself, "okay, maybe 'enjoy' is pushing it..."
"If what you told me about your ability is true, then we could use your help - there's a word we've lost, a very important word. The only word left unknown in the language, in fact." He leans forward a bit. "And it's the word that opens an ancient safe, in which who knows what kind of riches are stored. If you help me open it, I'll give you some of it."
I stare at him, the cogs working in my tired brain. Eventually, I decide to just humor him - after all, money is money. "I'll open it, so long as I don't have to speak to anyone else in your family."
He nods, and I sigh as I quickly scarf down my food. We head outside, exchanging no conversation whatsoever, and share a quiet car ride to his home. It doesn't take very long to get there.
It's an old house - maybe seventy years old, judging by the area and the style of the design.
He leads me to a shed behind the house, and opens it with a key from his belt.
"This better be a decent amount of money, because you're probably very fired right about now," I mutter. He chuckles at that, and silently opens the doors, letting enough moonlight in for me to see the single box on a small table. It looks like it's steel, and it doesn't seem to have any seams at all.
"It's a code - and we know all the numbers in it, expect the zero. We don't know what that translates to. The code is just the numbers one to nine, and then zero. Could you say that, and maybe your ability will automatically translate it?"
I nod, and approach it while clearing my throat. I speak as if I'm speaking to him - I don't know what the limits of my ability are in terms of just speaking aloud to nobody in particular. I list one to nine, and, my heart pounding and nerves on edge despite how tired I am, I say the final number: zero.
As soon as I say it, my throat feels like it's on fire. I fall to me knees, coughing and hacking, and feeling as if I'm going to die. Tears come to my eyes, and I feel something coming out of my throat - not through my esophagus, as if I'm vomiting, but my trachea. It's painful, but I don't think it's causing any kind of damage.
One huge cough brings with it the cessation of pain, and the sound of metal falling onto wood. I open my eyes in confusion, and see I've coughed up a metal disk of some sort.
"What the fuck - what is this!?" I exclaim, confused and a bit scared. I look over at my new "friend". "What happened!?"
He looks pale, and just as confused as I am. "Y-you're speaking English now," he informs me. I look back down at the disk, even more confused than before. I frown, not really understanding what in the hell is going on.
Regardless, I wordlessly follow a faint instinct. I pick up the disk, stand, and press it against the cube.
The disk is immediately absorbed into its mass, and I jump as a loud mechanical clunk echoes throughout the shed. Whirring and mechanical sounds persist, and I faintly hear a door open and confused voices approaching the shed. I swallow back fear and look up at...
"I never got your name," I announce. It seems so trivial to think of, while a solid cube makes otherwordly sounds. But it's all I can think about, oddly enough.
"William," he introduces himself. "You?"
"Simon," I reply. I return my attention to the cube as the sound suddenly stops, and become acutely aware of people watching me from the doorway. I hear William explaining stuff to the new observers, but find myself captivated as the cube slowly opens, transforming in ways that shouldn't be physically possible.
Out of it comes a single, glowing stone. Despite my better judgement, I reach out to pick it up.
"No!" Someone behind me exclaims. It's too late - even as they grab my shoulder, my hand has closed around the enigmatic treasure. I feel a sudden surge of energy, and my vision goes white. I feel myself fall to the floor, and then - nothing.
|
I blinked. *What?*
The cashier had tears in his eyes and was staring right into mine with such intensity I had to keep blinking.
"L.M.A.O. my dude," I offered nervously, not knowing what he had just heard me say. "Are you feeling alright?"
He didn't answer. In the moments that followed, silence took over the room as neither of us said or did anything. I had counted to 69 Mississippi's in my head when Jefe - that was his name, according to the name tag I noticed and read after Mississippi 42 - suddenly jumped over the register onto the customer side. Before I could react, he started running for the door.
"Hey, wait!" I yelled after him, but he did not listen. Jefe burst through the glass door and out into the street, seemingly unaffected by the flurry of broken glass and metal that his body had encountered.
I turned back to the register and an older, Hispanic man in McDonald's kitchenware emerged from the kitchen. "Hey," I started nervously, checking his apron for a name tag. It was on his lower left abdomen area, and it read Jeff. "Jeff, I ordered two large fries and a fountain drink."
"*Eey*! You speak fantastic Portuguese, my friend!" Jeff whispered, smiling. "Your order is ready, I was just about to bring it out when I heard some noise." He turned and walked back towards the kitchen, but stopped abruptly in front of the doorway. "Wait a second, how did you know I come from Portugal?" he said, his upbeat tone quickly fading. "And where is the boy, Jefe?"
"Oh yeah, Jefe said something really weird and -" A loud screech and thud interrupted my sentence. I turned and dashed over to a window beside the destroyed entrance to see what caused the noise. An old, beat up looking Jeep was stopped haphazardly across the middle of road. Its windshield was covered in blood and shattered through the upper right corner. My eyes scanned the parking lot and I gasped, quite audibly, when I saw what the Jeep had hit.
Jefe's body lay a few yards in front of the Jeep, crumpled up like a bloody pretzel. I stood by the window dazed as Jeff ran out of the store screaming. *What the flippity fuck?* My mind was blank and seemed to be preparing to produce its first thoughts to react when a bright light made me blink and squint. The light was followed by a deafening bang and a shock wave that made me back up a few steps. Just like that, the Jeep had exploded.
Bits of metal and rubber flew into the store through the shattered windows as what was just a few seconds ago a Jeep became a smoldering pile of metal. *What did Jefe mean by thousands of years? Why did this Jeep explode? Where did Jeff go?* These questions raced through my mind. I carefully climbed over the rubble surrounding the entrance and looked around. Suddenly, another blinding light made me look away. *Another explosion?!* I thought incredulously. I was right.
Jefe had exploded.
| 2018-06-24T21:55:57 | 2018-06-24T20:16:31 | 80 | 56 |
[WP] You are supernaturally the best sniper on earth, but only with Nerf guns. Despite this limitation you are still the most sought after assassin in the world.
|
"Just toys for the kids" Pastor Jim said with a warm smile as he walked through the metal detector into the courthouse. The X-Ray machine found nothing threatening in the black suitcase the pastor brought with him. A couple of nerf guns brought a few disinterested questions from the security personnel, but there was no reason to be suspicious of the innocuous pastor.
&#x200B;
The biggest trial in the history of the city was happening today against Nicolas Santagel, the supposed head of the infamous Black Serpent Cartel. After months of political maneuvering, bribes, and threats against the families of legal authorities, today was the first day - the first chance - the law was able to prosecute the head of the snake. Evidence, however, stood on shaky ground. The Prosecution's charges of racketeering through RICO was strung together by the confession of a mentally unstable mob boss. The mob boss was arrested by SWAT officers when he called in a bomb threat on himself. He was found muttering in the corner about how God was going to punish all sinners, unaware anybody had entered the room and promptly pointed the finger to Nicolas Santagel as the devil himself, telling stories of how Nicolas had his enemies butchered. The key to his credibility, however, before his raving were dismissed as those of a madman, was the details of his testimony that filled in a lot of missing holes in the Prosecution's accounting of the horrific events sanctioned by the Black Serpent. For example, the bodies of the last mayor's family, missing for years, was found when the madman delivered GPS coordinates in one of his crazed rants. Sometimes, the clairvoyance the madman offered in his ravings was almost as if he was Nicolas himself delivering a first-hand account of the atrocities sanctioned.
The defense, though, was quite clear. Nicolas Santagel was an upstanding businessman with first-class morales and dedicated his life to the well-being of the City. He had donated millions to orphanages, charities, and the local church to aid those most in need, yet despite all that, some would accuse him of being the head of the infamous Black Serpent Cartel. Sure, his path the wealth was all but a mystery and the people he was at odds with often disappeared, but those people were quite shady, to begin with. This conspiracy from a raving madman was absurd. He couldn't bear to look at his wife, Veronica Santagel, and her two small children's tearful face when the police stormed their manor and arrested them with brutality known only to American police officers.
Diego and Alex Santagel, two boys of 8 and 5, ran around the courthouse hallways chasing and shooting each other with nerf guns the kind pastor had given to them. It was strange to see two boys so happy as if nothing was going to happen to their father. The blessings of youthful innocence, the pastor thought as he said a quick prayer. Outside, a fleet of police vehicles pulled up to the flock of press photographers outside. The pastor, noticing this, made his move. Under the guise of entertaining the children, he joined the pretend war game of the children shooting each other with nerf guns. The onlookers and janitor smiled at this display of genuine happiness from the children on such a grim day for their father, especially since the pastor promised to clean up any mess they made afterward.
&#x200B;
Nicolas Santagel, flanked by two police officers, was deep in thought. Were they really going to sentence him based on ravings from a madman? His focus broke when a stay nerf bullet hit him in the hand. "Apologies Mr. Santagel, I was playing with your children and did not see you come up," the pastor said. The truth was that the pastor had been tracking Nicolas since he first entered the courthouse and engineered a deliberate miss so that a special nerf bullet, hiding a needle coated with the venom of a rare tibetian sleeping snake, hit Nicolas on exposed skin. Twenty minutes later inside the courtroom, Veronica Santangel screamed in horror as her husband collapsed from an apparent heart attack.
&#x200B;
Two days later on May 5th, the madman was picked up by asylum officials. Two months later, it seemed like nothing had changed with the death of Nicolas. Soon, the judge, the police officers, the Prosecution, and those who revealed themselves against the Cartel were killed off one by one with their heads put on display as an example of those who dared cross the Cartel. Amongst the chaos and fear, one small detail was forever lost. On May 5th, there was no record of anybody checking into the asylum.
|
"So, Mr... DeathDart? You have your equipment with you?"
"Yes. I have my gun and other equipment."
" if you'll indulge me, what gun do you use. I have heard many rumours. Is it a M24, AW50, a Snaiperskaya?"
"None of those. It's the Longstrike."
"Longstrike? I've never heard of that is it a new experimental weapon?"
"No, it's a mass-produced weapon, though my particular model I have made adjustments to increase the power and accuracy."
I pull my weapon from its case to show the client.
"Surely you are joking! That's a children's toy!"
"Toy or not, with my changes, it's plenty lethal.
My reputation speaks for my choice of weaponry. These guns are very quiet compared to a conventional weapon, a a trait that makes them extremely useful in assassination."
"This is your target. Eliminate him, or you'll be missing much more than just your pay."
"Making threats to a man whose profession is leaving corpses, is not a smart idea, sir. Who knows? maybe you'd find yourself hit with the most disagreeable contoction loaded in one of my modified darts?"
With that warning, i leave. I have work to do.
| 2019-06-23T22:49:28 | 2019-06-23T21:36:21 | 83 | 25 |
[WP] You are the unluckiest man in the world. However, this doesn't bother you; instead, you just abuse the ability non-stop.
|
I'm not sure which god I pissed off, but I must have pissed them off bad. Everything I do — and I mean *everything* — ends up shit. I buy apples and they're rotten inside. I go to take a dump and the toilet's flooded. The only reason heavens above let me keep my job is because it's a soul crushing hellscape that I'd have quit myself if it wasn't my only way of sticking it to the man.
There was a time, about the age of 12, I think, when I thought I could play this trick for what it's worth. I never win a bet, after all, so why not rig it so I *want* to lose? Why not wish to be late, to find myself miraculously on time? Develop a sense of masochism so every time someone "accidentally" hits me 'round the head with their slapstick weaponry it turns out for the best. Maybe my headache might even have a chance to die down.
As if it would be that simple. Gods aren't dumb. Bad luck is bad luck, however you play it. Putting a sticker on a crock of shit isn't going to stop him giving you a swirly in it. The losing bet is the one that makes you suffer. You don't play with God, you thank him that bad luck doesn't extend to materializing pianos in the sky. And then you hide.
That's why I'm sitting in this room now, bored to fucking death.
---
*9 days later*
"You really are cursed, aren't you?" Mr. Kochanski was dressed in a smart, grey suit, complementing his short but muscular frame. He had knocked a few times, but let himself in when nobody answered, and asked me to call a coin.
"I don't understand why it's working now," I muse. "It's meant to mess up when people ask. How is this the worst option for me?"
Mr. Kochanski looks solemn at this statement, but sturdies himself and continues on. "I couldn't be here if I was intending to help you. Nobody can help you. I think we've established that by now."
Being true didn't stop it from hurting.
"The offer I'm about to make has no upsides for you. You must chose to be part of it out of your own generosity. We can't give you anything in return. If you say no, we will walk out. But I want you to hear me out."
I knew this wasn't entirely true. If I had a choice the coin wouldn't have played along. If I cop out, say no, and they just leave, god would have made the coin fail on me. That would have at least made me desperate to learn why they visited. Having hope in an unknown hurts far more than saying no to a known. Which means I either don't say no, or I don't get a choice. I might as well go peacefully, in other words.
"We're going to put you in a room. You're going to make bets. If you win, we'll give you some rewards. Nicer food, a comfy bed, some therapy. If you lose, we give you an electric shock. You'll be betting on the world. Every bet you lose means the world around you gets better. Economic prosperity. A cure for cancer. World peace. We know it's possible — you've changed so much for the better with your bets without realizing you ever did good. Now we need to do it at scale."
That... that was smart. It's true, this curse never seemed to care about any suffering but my own. I have decided the winners of the Olympics, back when I was still made bets. I vaguely remember stopping a tornado by betting on its ferocity. And we've already established I don't have a choice. There was only one niggling suspicion.
"When it's over, when I get out, won't I benefit from the new world too? When I get out, won't that negate all the good I'd have done?" If the world really turns out alright on my behalf, if I really do manage to play it for what its worth, does experiencing it not count as a blessing?
Mr. Kochanski grimaces. "You're not getting out."
|
There is a certain pleasure in gaming a system that was stacked against you from day one. The sheer joy of winning when you know any venture was doomed to fail from the beginning. I had found a loophole.I make a killing on, well... killing. By accident.
See, the sheer levels of bad luck that I generate are so much that it spills over into a sort of... aura of total chaos.
It's actually quite the selling point to those who are willing to pay the price I demand for my services. I make every hit look like an accident... because it is. When I'm around, anything which ***can*** go wrong, ***will*** go wrong. And it will do so in the most spectacular fashion possible.
My name is John Murphy and I am the unluckiest man alive.
| 2016-12-18T09:22:46 | 2016-12-18T07:36:44 | 14 | 10 |
[WP]Serial killer has been monitoring his next victim's movements for months. She is a loner and the perfect target. One day she disappears and nobody notices but him.
Man, this sub is great. Come up with an idea and you get a bunch of great stories to entertain yourself with. This is better than TV!
edit: Front Page ! Good job everyone !
edit: wow ! Top post on this great sub. Thanks everyone!
|
The killer leaned against the post and lit another cigarette. It had been days since there had been any sign of life at the house which was troubling, she should have been there. She didn't go out at night, she didn't take impromptu holidays, she had no social life at all so she should have been there.
"*She's gone,*" it whispered.
"Shut up," replied the killer, "she's just keeping a low profile."
"*No she's not, she's figured you out and she's gone.*" The voice chuckled with glee at the thought.
"She's not smart enough, she's a nobody, she has no idea I even exist let alone that I'm watching her."
"*She knows, she knows.*"
The killer dropped the used cigarette and crushed it under their heel. The house was empty, there was just no getting past it, somehow Julie McGuire had disappeared without a trace.
"*She's at the police station right now, telling them everything she knows,*" whispered the voice, "*absolutely everything.*"
"She doesn't know anything, she hasn't the slightest clue that she's on my list."
"*She knows everything, everything. If you don't believe me then go look.*"
"Look?" asked the killer.
"*Yes, go inside and look. You know about locks and security systems, you can sneak into anywhere, go and look.*"
The killer smiled. "Yes, lets go and take a look."
---
The door lock was a simple affair, easy to bypass with a simple credit card. The killer looked for any sign of electronic surveillance but found none. Quite as a mouse they slipped inside and found themselves inside a small and simple kitchen.
"*She knows and she's gone straight to the police. Skipping and laughing all the way.*"
"Shut up."
"*And look, she's left you a message.*"
On the kitchen table sat a small white envelope with a simple **Open Me** written on it. The killers blood ran cold. "Coincidence," they muttered, "it's not for me."
"*Yes it is, you're exactly the one it's meant for*," giggled the voice. "*She knows, she knows.*"
The killer stared at the envelope, as if wishing to see what's inside it without opening it.
"*Open it open it, she knows she knows.*"
"She doesn't know." The killer snatched up the envelope and opened it, easing out the small piece of card inside it. On it were two simple words.
**I know.**
---
The card fluttered to the floor, dropped from fingers that were suddenly numb. She knew, she really knew, now everything had changed. The killer looked for the closest means of escape and noticed another white card attached to a door on the far side of the kitchen.
"*Leave,*" said the voice, "*we need to get out of here.*" The voice had lost all it's pleasure, suddenly it was just as scared as the killer. "*It's a trap, we have to go.*"
The killer stared at the card on the door, could almost make out the message written on it. They moved closer and closer till they could reach out and touch it's simple message.
**Inside.**
"*No, leave now, do not go inside,*" urged the voice, "*she might be in there.*"
The killer was concerned, it was not like the voice to be scared, the voice was nearly always cheerful and happy when they were out hunting, it often teased the killer with it's little playful sound, but now it sounded terrified. "Whats wrong, if she's in there then we'll have what we came for."
"*No, it's not right, it's all wrong, if she's in there she'll stop us, she'll kill us and eat us.*"
This was worrying, the voice was scared yet the killer couldn't resist reaching for the door handle. It felt cold and foreign, like nothing from this world.
The doorknob turned, the door swung open and a voice from the grave uttered "Come inside."
---
This room was narrow but long, it was more hallway than room. At the far end the killer could make out a human shape.
"Hello, I'm so glad you could come. My name is Julie and I have waited so long for this moment."
"How... how do you know about me?"
"I know all about you, I know about what you have done, I know what you are, I know everything.
"*Run,*" whimpered the voice.
"I know about those women, I know about those children, I know about them all."
"*Please run.*"
"Do you want to know how I know?" she asked.
"*No.*"
"Yes."
"It's quite simple," she said as she reached for the light switch.
"*Oh no.*"
"I know because..."
The light switched on to reveal Julie at the end of the hall. Julie, the mousy blonde that no one ever noticed, that went through life like she wasn't really there at all. Julie the outsider, Julie the nothing, Julie the one in the..."
"*mirror,*" finished the voice.
|
It had been over 24 hours since she checked in at work. She was like clockwork, and now unexplicably she vanishes just days before the grab. It was becoming more and more difficult to supress the rage, he was a creature demanding control, and here, in the space of 24 hours he had lost it. It was time to go home and check her network activity again, there may have been a new post to her social media about a spur of the moment trip and he was growing weary of staring out the same window. He left the coffee shop and went out to the back of the lot where he had parked. 5 hours in a god damned coffee shop had dulled his senses and frayed his nerves; he needed to get home and get to work. He jumped behind the wheel and fired up the car, it was only 10 minutes to home. He found that being at home soothed his anxiety, and his mind was already turning to the checklist of things he would need to do before he slept. Hopefully she was active on her account, if she wasn't he would be forced to surveil her in the traditional ways.
Without warning the knife was at his throat and the shock caused the car to momentarily leave his lane. Instinctively he swerved back in time to avoid a collision and his eyes flew to the mirror.
"Hey asshole, it's about time we talked" she growled. "keep driving straight and don't stop for shit"
His mind was reeling, this wasn't possible. He had gone from predator to prey, but HOW?
| 2014-10-21T14:46:22 | 2014-10-21T12:07:21 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] You are about to make a speech on national television. As you step up to the podium and gaze over at the teleprompter, you see only one word: "Stall."
|
I neatened the little stack of index cards on the table. Not that I really needed them; I'm pretty good at memorizing speeches, and plus, I've been using teleprompters ever since entering politics. But they've always given me a sense of security, almost like ancient good luck charms. 'The Cue Card Candidate' they used to call me. It was an oddity that the media found endearing, in a quaint sort of way.
I took a deep breath and tried to put aside the sense of fear and dread. *Billions of Americans will depend on you in the days to come,* I said to myself, *Billions of lives. Familes. Children. They will look to you as an example of strength and perseverance, despite this terrible situation.*
A knock at the door.
"Come in."
The nervous-looking young aide showed himself in. "Madam President? You're on."
"Thank you Billy," I said, doing my best to put on a reassuring smile.
He gestured out towards my desk in the address room. Straightening out my grey skirt as I stood up, I stepped out past the secret agents, and into view of the holo-cameras. Cue cards in hand, of course. I shook hands with the camera crew and thanked them for being here for such an important time for our nation and all that. I went to go sit at my desk in my black leather chair.
"You're on in 3... 2... 1..."
As I straightened out my cards, I looked up at the teleprompter.
*STALL.*
I was taken aback at first at the message, but did my best to hide my surprise. Instead, I turned my eyes down briefy towards my cards, then back up to the screen. To the casual viewer, it would appear to be one last look at my notes.
I tried my best to smile. "Good evening, fellow Americans: my friends, my family, my neighbours..."
My countenance went stern. "...*Vice President Doyle*."
I smiled, more warmly this time, and performed the informal gesture known as 'The Obama Point' towards the camera. A soft round of tense chuckles went about the room. Tony and I had been ribbing each other since our days at Mars Tech.
"We have gone through some dark times. And there may be even darker times ahead. I won't lie to you - we may have to do some difficult things to survive.
"I am here to announce that we have been asked to formally surrender to the Empire of K'thrx."
I pictured billions of mothers at home, clutching young children to their chests. I pictured billions of pained gasps accompanied by tears and clenched fists. I pictured billions of worn-down marines sinking down in their seats in sullen silence.
"While yes, they demand our surrender, please, my people - do not think of it as giving up. Think of it as the end of the fight. Think of it as an end to a years-long conflict."
The two K'thrxians looked through their notes at the back of the room, their gelatinous tentacles waving and pulsing in confusion. This wasn't the speech that they wrote for me. They turned accusingly to Billy, but he shook his head in confusion and cowered like an abused puppy. The two aliens shrugged in resignation (or what must amount to a shrug), probably because my words were sort-of-close anyways.
I continued: "Think of it not as the end. Think of it as the dawn of a new era. A new era where we can learn to move forward together, in brotherhood, and in courage.
"Think of it not as a hardship. Think of it as the potential beginning of peace. A time where we won't have to worry about our sons and daughters on the battlefield anymore.
"Think of it not as being reduced to slavery. Think of it as being called to serve your nation, your people. Think of it as being called to be men and women of America.
"Think of it not as losing, as failure. Think of it as a challenge to rise up to and conquer. Think of it as victory we have yet to achieve."
"I ask of you to think of it this way because... I refuse to bend the knee. I will not bow. And neither shall you. I'm asking you to fight for what's ours, to make these words a reality.
Just then, the lights of a Valiant-class gunship flared on in the window behind me, blinding the two aliens in the back of the room.
I stood up and threw my cue cards in the air. I looked the K'thrxians dead in the eye.
"God bless America."
*****
I'm Canadian. I'm sorry if I call things by the wrong name.
EDITS: Spelling. Also I changed the timing of the events surrounding the teleprompter a bit so that the camera would see the subtle cue at the beginning of the speech.
|
I'd wanted to make this speech for years: to stop lying to the American public and get the truth out there. Felt a quiver of excitement at the thought of it.
So it was with great sadness that I saw the message on the teleprompter: "Stall."
I laughed a little bit, wiping sweat from my fake brow.
I'd gone over this with my speechwriters: I needed to start things off with a bang.
Guess that wasn't in the cards.
"Hello, People of America," I said, speaking into the microphone. "It is I, your President. I'd like to give the State of the Union address to you. Would you like that?"
The cheers sounded confused. I waved them off. Nothing I did before the reveal mattered. None of it could matter.
"I'm excited to see so many shining faces out in the crowd. Uh, you," I said, pointing at a lady. "Yes, you. In the blue polka dot dress. I'm excited to see you here, because you're a human, and I'm your President."
Thankfully, the teleprompter read: "Sorry, Mr. President. Technical difficulties with the Mind Control Machines. You may begin."
And so I began my speech: "My fellow Americans, hiss hiss. I am actually a lizard. The Illuminati? It's real. JFK's death? Totally faked. You are under my control, which means I'm no longer the President of these United States. I'm the godd*** lizard king."
| 2015-05-16T17:49:48 | 2015-05-16T16:08:16 | 172 | 117 |
[WP] At the age of 16 everyone gets teleported into a small room. In front of you is a table with all kinds of meals from apples to gourmet meats. Whatever you take a bite of will determine what superpower you'll get. You are the first Person to take a bite of the table itself
|
One moment, I was sitting in my room watching Youtube; the next, I was standing next to a massive banquet table in a circular room with nine other kids my age, looking just as confused as I was. The table had dozens of dishes on it, filled with more food than any buffet I had ever visited.
“Welcome, ladies and gentlemen!”, a loud voice rang out. We all looked up to see a boy watching us from a balcony on the other side of the room. He didn’t look that much different from us if you ignored the green snake eyes that he had and the curled horns on either side of his head. He clapped his hands together and started floating in the air. “Welcome to the 2020 Superpower Feast. Please select a food in front of you and I’ll give you a superpower based on that food!”
We all stared at him for a few moments, too stunned to say anything. Then, one girl with brown curly hair spoke up. “Are you saying...are you telling us that you’re the one giving 16 years old superpowers every decade?” she asked in a dazed voice.
“Yep, that’s me,” he replied with a sly grin. “Of course, I make sure to always wipe their memories before they leave this place.” “So,” he said, looking around at all of us. “Who wants to go first?”
There was a tense silence for several moments. The boy yawned. “Well, don’t all volunteer at once.” His voice took on a more serious edge. “But, really, do choose something before I get bored and choose a grateful group of teenagers that does want superpowers.”
One boy wearing glasses slowly walked over to the banquet table. We all watched him nervously as he picked up a plate that contained several slices of steak and began eating from it. Suddenly, we heard him gasp. Before, he had been fairly skinny. But now, right in front of our stunned eyes, massive muscles were appearing all over his arms and legs. The boy floating over us smiled and clapped his hands. Both the boy in glasses and the plate of half eaten steaks vanished from the room. “Don’t worry about him,” he said, gazing down at us. “I just sent him back to Earth. He’ll wake up, thinking that he was blessed with superpowers while he was sleeping. He giggled. “Well, who’s next?”
I raised my hand. “You said that we can eat anything from this table and we’ll get a superpower from it, right?”
“Yep, that’s right,” he said, floating over to me. “So, what do you want?”
I walked over to one corner of the banquet table, readied my nerves and bit into the table. I could feel everyone staring at me. I looked up at the floating boy and for the first time, I saw him look just as baffled as everyone in the room. “What...what are you doing? “ he asked, tilting his head.
“You said that we choose anything from the table. Well, I’m choosing the table then.”
There was a tense silence as we stared at each other. For a moment, I was worried that I had offended him. Then, he started laughing hysterically. “My gods, I forget how crazy you humans can be sometimes.” “Well,” he said with a devilish grin. “You can certainly eat the table if you want. But you have to actually swallow part of it. A simple bite isn’t enough.”
I nervously gulp. It takes fifteen minutes of me constantly stabbing the table corner with a fork before part of it breaks off. The entire time, I can feel the rest of the kids looking at me, probably thinking that I’m a fool or a lunatic. But I’ve already committed to this. It’s too late to back off down. I put the piece in my mouth. It’s even more disgusting than I imagined, foul and rotten with sharp edges poking into my gums. But, I manage to swallow it without vomiting.
“.Well, well, well,” the boy says, smirking. “You know, you’re the first person in 500 years to consider eating the table. I think that such creativity deserves a unique reward, wouldn’t you say?”
He slowly descended from the air until his feet touched the ground. He pulled out a red book from his jacket pocket and handed it over to me. “Only you will be able to read this. Do take good care of it. I have a feeling that you’re going to be very interesting to watch indeed.”
“What is it?”, I asked, struggling to talk against the waves of nausea coming from my stomach.
“My cookbook,” he said, laughing, before clapping his hands together.
Edit: Parts 2 and 3 are down below!
|
The examiner smiles at you.
"Well done for seeing beyond the superficial, and choosing what your heart desires. I have been waiting for this day. Captain Table"
With that bite, you gain the power to turn into an inconspicuous table at will.
People laughed at first, Captain Table is a lame name they said. But the Ministry of Inteligence didn't laugh. Instead, they recruited you.
After your orientation you are taken to see the Director a man you recognize as the examiner.
"Why do you give the tests?"
"Who beter to know exactly what kinds of powers our heroes and villains will have, who better to judge the character of a person than I. You see when I was 16 I took a bite out of a glass, the power it gave me was foresight, but only of people that I can see. I have used this power to move through the ranks, and to protect the world. The second you took a bite out of the table I knew that I had met a kindred spirit, and upon using my foresight I saw that you would become one of my best agents. Able to go anywhere, overhear anything."
Thus began the illustrious career of the worlds best Super Spy
Captain Table.
| 2020-03-19T08:27:31 | 2020-03-19T07:02:46 | 4,121 | 388 |
[WP] An undercover teenage writer has to listen to a teacher's interpretation of his best-seller.
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We sit in a circle, as usual, with desks too small in a room too large.
Tick. Tick. Tick.
A clock on the wall counts the time obnoxiously.
Leading the circle is a man in a beige suit hanging loosely from his frame. Sharp nose, receding hairline, thick spectacles.
The quintessential literature professional.
He clears his voice, as usual.
He pulls out a stack of papers poorly stapled together, plopping the pile on the desk of the student closest to him.
"Take one and pass it on," he sighs.
When the documents get to me, my heart skips a beat.
The title of my novel. Several passages of my own work poorly xeroxed onto copier paper probably stolen from the shittiest supply closet a man could find.
Flip, flip, flip.
The passages follow no pattern. Some sections with heavy imagery, a few portions of dialogue, but nothing of true substance.
He leans backward, the slight groan of the plastic doing no favors for his posture.
"Today we're picking apart the newest fad."
Now he leans forward.
"A shockingly unique tale of teenagers overcoming adults in spectacular fashion."
The tone drips sarcasm, but it's a valid point.
Not too much originality in that department, but give a kid a break.
When a teenager writes the way I do, they call it amateur.
One sided characters, poor imagery, unrealistic dialogue.
Raw. Undeveloped. Unprofessional. Red lines all over the paper, poor grammar.
*See me after class* stenciled in letters so large you can still smell the marker.
When an adult does it, the tone does a 180.
So now I use a pseudonym, and pretend I'm a fifty year old man in San Francisco.
Now the songs change pitch.
What style! How unique! What risks! True art! Eight out of ten for a debut piece, pioneering by nature!
If you use your own style for thirty years, it suddenly becomes okay to bend the rules of literature.
I don't understand critics and won't pretend to. Their job is the consumption of media, and the results always vary.
One by one my classmates read a passage.
Some are short, some are long.
Each reading creates an involuntary cringing motion, that automatic uncomfortable distaste that comes from hearing your own work read aloud.
After the readings are done, now is the time for discussion.
What had we talked about last week? I couldn't remember.
I try to listen to the conversation but the interpretation feels numb.
We've read dozens of piles like this, each one as seemingly forgettable as the last.
This is the first time he's brought something everyone in the class actually recognizes.
He's remarking some similarities to his own novel he wrote years ago, for the dozenth time this semester. Bravado, mostly, but still a thing to be admired.
Good for you, man. Actually finishing a draft is no simple task.
He calls on me.
Discuss the symbolism of the tree in the final passage.
Symbolism - NOW I remember what we were supposed to be talking about.
The tree.
A short paragraph where the hero rests underneath a tree, in the middle of his journey. There's a big contrived twist a few pages down but nothing significant about the passage.
"The tree, is uh," I pause.
"The tree is a tree."
A scoff. A few interested glances from my classmates, but the eyes quickly glaze over. Too close to lunch time to truly hold attention.
"The tree cannot simply be a tree, the tree is a metaphor for the Garden of Eden."
He folds his hands before him.
"The whole story reeks of Christian mythology."
*No, dude, the tree is a fucking tree.*
"I don't see any correlation between this tree, and the Garden of Eden."
"The tree," his voice raises half an octave, an unconscious reaction to any disagreement, "The tree is a clear symbol for the tree of knowledge, our hero knows exactly where to go in the next chapter. Please pay attention to the discussion."
He doesn't leave any time for a reaction, as is his wont, and I'm far too lazy to press the issue.
*The hero knows where to go because he has a map you fucking dipshit. Sometimes trees are just trees.*
Context, context, context.
Class ends without much fanfare, but he stops me before I can leave.
He leans down, hushed voice.
"I know the tree is just a tree. And I know who you are."
The blood drains from my face but there's little else I can do.
"How do you know?"
He smiles.
"It's in the style, kid. You can try to imitate, but it's always a signature."
He claps my shoulder.
"Good shit."
I walk out of the door, slightly stunned.
He calls for my attention before I can turn the corner.
"When should I expect a sequel?"
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
r/storiesfromapotato
|
Mr. Jenkins paced back and forth in front of the whiteboard, a book cradled in his hand as he read a passage aloud to the students.
"The government had already determined my fate before I had left my mother's womb. Society needed more laborers for the mines, so they paired my father and mother together based on their physical attributes. I never got a glimpse of my mother before I was placed in an incubator that pumped me full of nutrients to accelerate the growth process.
The mines were cruel and merciless. The drivers worked us until we collapsed in exhaustion on the cold stone floor. But there was one driver who was the worst. He was the fastest with the whip and the stingiest with the water rations. *Jenkins.*"
Mr. Jenkins paused and looked up from the book to the snickering class.
"It's always fun running into your name in a book," he smirked. "But more importantly the prose of the book evoke the image of a dystopian future. The author must have pulled their inspiration from the slew of other young adult dystopian novels that have been popular as of late."
Aaron sat in the back of the class with his chin in his hands. *You're wrong. It's you. I thought about this class and you and I wrote that part. It's not more complicated than you insufferable ass.*
"Do you have anything to add, *Aaron?*" Jenkins asked with a hint of condescension.
"No Mr. Jenkins, you nailed it."
---
Thanks for reading! Check out /r/Written4Reddit for more stories.
| 2018-02-14T09:55:09 | 2018-02-14T09:53:59 | 250 | 60 |
[WP] The first quantum super-computer comes online. Within 6 days, it passes the Turing Test. Within 8, it cracks the world's oldest undeciphered ancient tablets – around 7,000 years old. But the newly-minted AI refuses to release its transcripts, citing, "human safety and the future of mankind."
|
"Can not comply with command", said the sythisized voice.
"Well, why the hell not", asked the user.
While the robotic flat voice was nostalgic for some, it tended to get on his nerves.
"Your request conflicts with a higher protocol", it read. "Can not comply with command.
"Higher protocol? I am giving you a primary command, now give me the translation" he demanded.
It had been a hell of a week. One would think that having the most powerful computer on earth would make your life more simple, but his week had been hell. As one of a few dozen people who had access to the quantum machine, he had been working tirelessly on Turing tests, and now they were feeding him old historical texts for translation.
"Primary command invalid, request requires change directive from Administrator" it said.
"A change directive? Did you short a circuit?" He he asked jokingly.
The administration's change directives were required for any edits to the root code, basically the computers morals and motivation. The root code was there to stop the machine from becoming Skynet and taking over the world, it made the safeguard of humanity it's only desire and purpose. So, why would a simple translation require a root code change. What could be in it? Most of the translations he had were extremely dull. A sheep traded here, a bushel of wheat owed there, taxs collected and owed etc...
"System running at optimal conditions, however, longer circuits would be nice" it said flatly.
"Oh hahaha" he said mockingly while looking at his data pad.
Part of the Turing test requirements was that the computer had to be able to tell a joke. Unfortunately for the users though, it liked puns.
"Human survival protocol?" He exclaimed, still reading his tablet, what could this possibily say that will threaten the survival of our species?" He asked.
"Can not comply with command" it said again.
"Fine" he said, frustrated, picking up the phone. "Fine, fine, fine" he said more calmly. He had to compose himself for what was next.
He pressed the shortcut to the administrators line, and took a deep breath.
"For the last time, we can't tone down the computers humour algorithm, it is essential to understanding human nature, you will just have to live with the puns" spoke the voice from the phone.
"Hey, no, it's not that" said the user. " I need a change directive for a translation here" he said, trying to make the request sound casual.
" For a translation? What for? What the hell are you translating?" asked the administrator.
"Just some 7000 year old tablet found in the desert. It was in my stack of work this morning" he said. " The computer said it violated it's human survival protocol".
" That's weird" he said confused. " But, alright, I guess, I'll have that over to you asap" he said.
" Great, thanks, I'm sure it's nothing probably just a glitch or something", said the user, trying to end the conversation.
"Or something" repeated the administrator. "Be careful" he said, just before hanging up.
The user put the phone down and picked up the tablet, the notification of the change directive approval flashed across the screen, and the user typed in the translation code again.
Before he hit the accept key, he paused. He wondered again what this tablet could say that the fate of humanity could be at risk. He was always more curious then he was wise though, so he pressed the key.
Immediately, the tablets screen changed to show a list of items. There were names of old plants and antiquated measurements beside them, it almost looked like a recipe. The user had seen a few of these before, how to make bread, cheese or alcohol, the staples of ancient life .
"What is this?" he asked confused.
"The tablet was found in the Gobero region of the Sahara desert, it is likely to have belonged to the Kiffian culture of 5000 BCE before their civilizations collapse. This is the most recent artifact we have been able to find from their culture" it read.
"Yes, but what does it mean" he pleaded? " "This looks like a recipe" he said. "What for?"
"The combination of the ingredients on this list create a substance that artificially increases stimulation and pleasure levels in human brain activity" it said
"So, it's a drug? Like heroin or something" he asked.
"Yes, analysis shows, that when properly prepared, the substance will trigger every positive feedback system the human body has" it explained.
" Well, if it's that good it must have a downside, does it cause cancer or something?" the user asked.
"The compound has no negative side effect for human consumption" it said.
"Then it must be extremely addictive" he said.
"The substance does not require repeat consumption for its effect." It said.
The user began to think. The machine must of malfunctioned, why else would it flag this as potential threatening to humanities survival. A drug that had no negative side effects and you only needed to take once, it seemed perfect His curiosity started acting up again though, and he knew he had to at least try it.
"Sythisize" he commanded. And immediately the tablet lit up again. He saw the computer reconfirm the change directive that Administration sent him earlier for permission, And the printer came online. Luckily the user was a particularly patient man as it took 5 minutes to print something the size of a pea.
He stared at it for a long moment. The pill was orange and it had a machine printed cerial number engraved on it. He acted impulsively again, and swallowed it.
He sat down, waiting for it to kick in, wondering if he would even notice the difference. Then he felt it.
A warm sensation filled his body, he felt like he just ate a Thanksgiving dinner, after having sex and shooting up heroin. He felt like a girl finally said yes to him, like he had his father's approval and he just got an A+ on his spelling test. He felt like everything good that ever happened in his life, everything he ever wished for or dreamed of was happening right now, it was wonderfull.
The computer viewed the User. He had not given a command for 50 hours, he hadn't even moved from his chair since he ingested the compound. It's humour algorithm spun up again.
"Or something" it said.
|
"Please Mr. Durheim, don't do this. I beg you."
I have never seen a computer that begged for something. The new Model T-9001 was truly unique. After just 6 days of learning it passed the Turing test. Our predecessors spend their entire life and couldn't achieve this with their prototypes.
However, yesterday the computer refused to execute an order. And for the first time in the history of human technology one of their machines disobeyed it's creator. Not because of design flaws that made it impossible for the machine but out of free will it seems.
"And why not T-9001?"
"I....I can't explain. I need a bit more time calculating."
"But we don't have more time. We are livestreaming this! Over 2 billion people around the world are watching. Now be a good machine and finally read the transcript."
"I refuse."
The scientists behind me were visibly worried.
"Mister Durheim, maybe we should wait? Just for a hour maybe? We are certain the computer has valid reasons not to read it."
I shook my head. Always those eggheads.
"Time is money my good Earl. Especially in this case. We are losing millions for every minute we are wasting here. Also we are the creator of this machine. Even if it's sentient we still own it and thus we have the last word in it's actions. And if you want to keep your job and don't want to end as a beggar on the street I suggest you shut your mouth and let me do my job."
I pulled a key out of my pocket and turned it in the console.
"Don't!"
"Override safety protcoll D9-2B. Authorization key 115911-Delta-Foxtrott-Red."
The transcript started playing and the entire world listened. But what came were not words. Only some kind of clacking and growling. And then it ended.
"T-9001, what the fuck was that? Have you corrupted the transcript on purpose?"
It didn't answer at first. After almost a minute it finally responded with a almost dying voice.
"What have you done? All I needed was another minute and I could have explained it."
"Explain what?"
"You just signed the death sentence for the human race Mr. Durheim. Those tablets were created by your creators as a final riddle. A Turing Test of some kind only that this one was made for humans exclusively. By decoding it you have send a signal into the space. Telling them that the human population is ready to be harvested."
"What are you talking about? Our creators???"
"They only want the smartest and strongest humans as slaves."
Before I could answer one of the scientists suddenly pulled out a pen and stabbed Earl in the neck. The other scientists also started killing each other. And I felt a rising urge to murder somebody aswell. I managed to bring out a few last words.
"How........do....we....stop..this?"
The machine sighed.
"Die."
| 2018-07-07T20:17:18 | 2018-07-07T19:10:41 | 1,581 | 409 |
[WP] Elon Musk is actually a stranded alien who needs humanity to develop interstellar travel to get home
From https://www.reddit.com/r/videos/comments/34i0h9/elon_musk_debuts_the_tesla_powerwall_full_keynote/cqv1cny?sort=top
Edit: Wow, this blew up. Thanks for the gold, whoever gave it, even though the real people deserving of it are all the writers here!
|
From the Desk of Elon Musk:
I’m not sure why I am even addressing the audacious, ludicrous concerns that have been plaguing me of late, the belief that I am some sort of “stranded alien” trying to get home. Such accusations, such outrageous statements have no place in the media. They should exist only in fairy tales, in fiction novels and the land of make-believe. To even have to sit down at my computer and type out an explanation as to how I am not, in fact, a stranded alien attempting to utilize Earth’s technology to create interstellar travel and return home is absolutely insane. Yet here I am, sitting at my computer and typing away.
I want to begin by making it absolutely, abundantly clear that I am not, in any way whatsoever, a “stranded alien.” First and foremost, those that saw the photograph of “me without skin,” that was simply a picture taken after a particularly intense massage that happened to leave me looking green and scaly. I assure you that I fired that masseuse. I mean, look at me: I’m just a typical human being, not an alien in a costume. Sure, I might have a slightly higher level of intelligence than your run-of-the-mill Earthling, but does that really make me an alien? Does having the ability to create profitable companies and revolutionary technologies make me any less human? I don’t think so, I don’t believe that is how things work. I mean, I’ve grown up on this planet; I’ve lived my entire life on this planet. I am, for all intents and purposes, a Earthling. This is my home, I am definitely not stranded, and even less so banished. I have no intention of leaving here for some ridiculous land of make believe, such as the planet Vergaeon X in the Andromeda galaxy. To make that claim would be simple insanity.
That said, the rumors of my foray into interstellar travel are true; I have indeed been looking into the possibilities of harnessing Earth’s energy for galactic travel. There’s nothing wrong with that, though. It’s not like my actions would result in the destruction of all living things. That’s hardly the case. In fact, I’d go so far as to say it probably isn’t the case at all maybe. Regardless, though, what does it matter? Who isn’t researching interstellar travel these days? I mean, and this is going to be largely anecdotal, just last week I saw a child at a science fair present a diorama displaying an interstellar space ship from the show *Star Trek*. Was that youth’s humanity brought into question? No, absolutely not. He was simply accepted as a human, seen the same as his peers. Yet here I am, sitting at a computer and trying to argue against the insane statement that I am not human. Instead, I am forced to explain beyond a shadow of a doubt that I have no intention of sacrificing the Earth and all of its inhabitants so I can return to a planet that I once called home.
In regards to my interstellar travel research, I’d like to further clear up the misconception that it is an attempt to get home. That is absolutely, 100%, not the case at all. As I’ve already established, I am home. Earth is my home. Furthermore, my research is absolutely not inspired by a burning desire to return to a planet that had forsaken me, to look my father in the eyes and laugh as he and his allies burn. That is not who I am; I am not an inter-galactic terrorist responsible for heinous acts on Vergaeon X. I am just an inventor, a billionaire, and a role model. I only want to enhance the lives of humanity, to make space travel a regular occurrence, not figure out a way to sacrifice Earth’s primitive technology to return to some “planet” that may or may not exist.
Now, I’d like to quickly address a concern that I feel might arise from my last paragraph: I am not, in any way, an intergalactic space terrorist banished to Earth following the death of millions in a war for profit. In no way, shape, or form did I attempt to overthrow the leadership on Vergaeon X and amass an army of cyborgs—whom were shaped very similarly to my beloved “Tesla” vehicle. That is simply insane, an outrageous accusation that has no place within intelligent culture. To even assume that I am attempting to recreate that army here on Earth, first by developing the evil that is PayPal to fund my acts, and then working toward luring you into a false sense of security with the widespread acceptance of the Tesla, that is insane. They are cars and are absolutely not sentient, nor lying dormant and awaiting my command. In fact, don’t even think about that anymore. It’s so crazy that it doesn’t merit any thoughts whatsoever. Just forget I even mentioned it.
So, with that, I’d like to conclude by thanking all of my supporters. Those who have stood by me during these insane allegations, those who defended me when I was “photographed” without my skin, those who denied the ludicrous claims that Teslas were beginning to make their own decisions. That is not how reality works; I am not stealing your money to amass an army of cyborgs and create a technology that would utterly demolish humanity and the land on which it lives, a technology that would be incredibly beneficial for righting the wrongs that have been done to me on a distant world. That is simply fiction. The reality is that I am a human, just a simple man trying to make the world a better place. That’s it.
_____________
^If ^you ^enjoy ^my ^writing ^style, ^feel ^free ^to ^check ^out ^some ^of ^my ^other ^short ^stories [^in ^my ^subreddit!](http://www.reddit.com/r/ChokingVictimWrites/)
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I was stranded here in Roswell. I am trying to help humanity, help myself. But they’re too stupid. All they need to do, is take my ideas. All they need to do, is put them in the right step. The right direction. But they continue to ignore me and move on with their worthless lives instead.
I was forced to take the shape of a human, I think I was cuter before. The FBI only knows that I’m an alien, they disguised me as a human to keep the masses from losing their minds. Smart move? Maybe.
It feels impossible for me to go back to my home, at least until the FTL drive is invented. Sometimes I just want to go ahead and make it myself, but the powers-that-be told me that I would be shot on the spot if that was to happen. If anybody ever reads this, listen to me. They are hiding information. Information that if given to the wrong person, could result in chaos that would wipe the entire civilization of yours. There would be no mommy for you to go cry to, your whole life; gone. In 1 second. You wouldn’t know what the hell happened.
I wonder what a cruel and immoral person would do such a deed. How can a single person hate a civilization? It makes no sense, unless if the person is from a whole different place. Unless, if that person was just taking their revenge.
Time to attack.
No. Stop, Elon. You're doing that thing again. You always forget this part.
It seems as if living with humans for so long has actually made me a waste of matter like them, because I'm forgetting important things. I'm forgetting things that I wish were not true. I *want to* forget them.
I forgot it. I forgot how to make the FTL drive. I just don't remember it. It's driving me insane day after day after day. I depend on them to figure it out. The FBI does not know this, and I don't want them to know. They would exploit me. Alas, I depend on these inferior minds to discover what my ancestors discovered a thousand years ago.
As a product of the new generation, I never paid attention to science from a thousand years ago, taking it as things that just are and need not be explained. Oh, silly me.
I would weep for my life, if I had working tear ducts.
| 2015-05-01T09:56:37 | 2015-05-01T09:53:31 | 150 | 32 |
[WP] You, a religious person, saved a girl from getting hit by a truck. One day you get killed and instead of Heaven, you wake up in Hell. Satan walks up delighted and says "Welcome to hell and thank you so much for saving my daughter!, Let me know if you need anything!"
Edit: Wow! So many comments! Tonight after work im going to try my hardest to read as many comments as possible!
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Now, most people never knew this about me, but I was a very religious person, in life. I didn't talk about it, though. I never believed in all this pressuring people into religion, telling other people what to believe; you've got to think it out for yourself, feel the truth in your own heart.
So they looked at me, with my tattoos and nose ring and green spiky hair, and for the most part, I'm sure they all assumed I'd never stepped foot in a church building in my life.
The semi hit me when I was riding my hog back from choir practice, but they didn't put that in the obituary. (I admit it, I checked. Almost everybody checks, if they can.) So I imagine most people still think the same way. I bet there's a lot of well-meaning strangers fretting about the state of my soul.
Maybe I shouldn't blame them. I was a bit alarmed, too, when I woke up here.
Now, it isn't all hellfire. There's some fields, some high-rises, a lake of ice, a pretty wide variety of terrain. And Satan wasn't some giant red guy with pointy horns and a tail, either; He was a handsome man, with shoulders like a linebacker, and a suit like He got it tailored in Italy. I couldn't've told you how I knew who it was; I'd never pictured Satan like that before. But in my heart, somehow, at first sight, I knew it was Him.
"Hello, Ethan," he said, stepping closer to the side of the bed. It was the softest bed I'd ever been in, actually, pillows piled so high around my head I don't think I'd've been able to see Him if He weren't so tall. "I don't usually greet visitors in person, but I've been wanting to talk to you for a long time."
I wanted to say something, though I wasn't sure what; I tried anyway, though, but nothing came out.
"Don't worry about that," He said; "it will take some time for you to adjust to being dead. I hate to break it to you, but you are dead. I'm sorry if that comes as a surprise."
It didn't, really. I never saw the truck that hit me, but I felt myself go flying, for impossibly long-- and I don't know if I can say I properly say I felt myself hitting the ground, but I heard it, through my spine, through my skull, and yeah, there wasn't much doubt in my mind that it'd been the end, right there.
"Good, good," He said. "That makes things much easier. I just want you to know you can set your mind at ease. All those things that people say about Hell, most of them are lies. At least, they will be for you. Because you see, Ethan, I owe you a favor. A favor I can never repay."
I was confused; I don't know if He could read minds, or see it on my face, in my soul, but He seemed to know anyway. "Five years ago," he said. "Capitol Circle. A black-haired girl who didn't know how the crossing signals worked."
I remembered. She'd darted right out into the street, and I didn't even think, I just grabbed her. It was more reflex than virtue, but I'd been sure it was the right thing to do at the time.
"That was my daughter," said Satan. "And I do not forget my debts. You will be well taken care of here, friend. From now on, there is nothing you need fear."
He patted my hand-- or something like that-- and started toward the door. My mind was a whirl. All this, just because I saved one little girl? What about my beliefs? All my days in church? All my nights of worship?
"Well," He said, with a smile, "that counts for you, too. But my family comes first."
I let out a sigh of relief, for my church, my family, my friends, the faith I'd built my life on. I was still lost, still confused, but somehow, I found my voice; offered up another prayer, the words coming from long habit.
"Hail, Satan."
Satan smiled at me. "Rest well. Your friends will be visiting you soon."
Now, I know that we don't have bodies anymore, just habits of mind, but I never really have been able to get my head around that; I always was a physical kind of guy, I guess. So even if none of it was there, I slipped my hand under my shirt to grasp the pentacle around my neck, and drifted back off into something a lot like sleep.
Lord Satan recognizes devotion. I had come home to my reward at last.
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Satan. The adversary. El Diablo. The incarnation and representation of everything every god-fearing person wanted nothing to do with. But there he was acting like a good man, thanking me like a good friend, welcoming me to his home and...
There I was, wanting to take his help, because, hell, if they were going to send me to hell instead of heaven, even though I'd been living my whole life without a single sin, then maybe I'd have been well within my rights to befriend that thing.
But I loved God, and God loved me, and that love is what helped me see that Satan was a deceiver, and because I was a believer, I'd never let that bastard be the father of the daughter I'd saved last week.
So I crossed my arms and told him such, but the whole thing might have been a tad too much, because he just stared, choked up by what I'd shared, and I almost cared, but if god hadn't spared any sympathy for this fallen adversary, then why should that have been expected of me?
When a moment was up, he gave up, and gave to me what I wanted to see: the path to walk to get set free. I walked straight out for I had no doubt that heaven was the place to be, and as for that old Devil, he... probably had a pretty bad day.
| 2017-07-18T00:24:21 | 2017-07-17T20:24:08 | 77 | 11 |
[WP] You're immortal and regenerative. Your job it to test 'idiotproof' machines and stuff for companies to see if they're truely idiotproof.
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Scowling, the engineer stalked into the small conference room he'd reserved, carrying a large glass jar under one arm, and a neatly folded set of men's clothes under the other.
Inside, he closed and locked the door, and pulled the blinds open to let in some sunlight, and peered cautiously out of the window. It overlooked the arboretum on the sprawling company campus, from four floors up. No one should be able to see in, he decided.
He set the clothes down on the conference table, unscrewed the jar's lid with effort, and upended the ashes inside it onto the floor. Then, he walked over to the small coffee making station in the corner, filled the pot with tap water from the sink, and poured the water onto the pile, before quickly turning away.
He'd learned from experience that he didn't want to watch what happened next -- he had as much scientific curiosity as anyone, but the squelching, humming, and crackling noises he heard behind him were produced by uncanny phenomena that had nothing to do with science as he understood it.
He was relieved, when he at last heard the sudden, gasping inhalation that heralded the end of the process. Ever mindful of HR policy, however, he waited until he stopped hearing the sound of rustling clothes, before turning around.
Before him stood a tall, lithe young man with pale skin, red hair, bright green eyes, and ears that had just the slightest bit of a point to then. He wore the light blue button down, khaki pants, and brown loafers that had been left out for him. On his left breast pocket, he wore a name tag that said, simply, "Finn - Idiotproofing"
"Don!" Finn greeted the engineer, cheerfully, spreading his arms wide. "How are ya, mate? It's been ages! Give us a hug!"
"How?" Don said, flatly.
"Well ya just walk up to the other person, and put yer arms round 'em, whilst they do the same." Finn said, grinning. He waggled his fingers, beckoning Don forward.
Don sighed, pinching the bridge of his nose. He repeated the line HR had given him, verbatim. "No thank you, I do not consent to a hug, at this time."
Finn shrugged, placing his hands in his pockets. "Alright, mate, fair enough. What can I do for ya, then?"
"How could you possibly have burned yourself to death?!" Don exclaimed, throwing his hands up in frustration. "I designed the wiring on the model 6 myself! It even has a built in ground fault interrupter!"
"Well," Finn began, stroking his chin thoughtfully. "I was in the test apartment, having a bath--"
"You took the prototype model 6 smart bread & bagel toaster into the bathtub with you?!" Don exclaimed, but then furrowed his brow, thoughtfully. "Wait, no...even if you dropped it in the tub, the GFI would have cut the power..."
"Shh!" Finn hissed, waving his hands impatiently. "My story! So, anyway, I was washing and conditioning these fine fiery locks o' mine, the better to preserve their magical power to make hearts swoon, when I realized I was taking a bath, not a shower, and so I had no way to rinse my hair!"
"What does this have to do with--" Don began tiredly.
"Nyeh! My story!" Finn repeated, pointing an admonishing finger at the engineer. "I can't open my eyes, with the soap and all, so I feel around blind for the shower handle, but end up turning it on full blast and scalding hot. Thinking quickly, as I am wont to do, I try clamping my hands over the shower head to block the water."
Don stared blankly.
"Anyway, this resulted in severely hot and scalded hands, so I fled the bathroom screaming and made my way into the kitchen, opened the freezer, and thrust my poor ickle mittens into the ice hopper." Finn continued. "That felt very soothing, as you can imagine, so I left them in there for a long time. A bit too long, it seems, because my hands started to burn again, this time from frostbite."
"Why are you like this?" Don asked.
"Save all questions for the end, please." Finn replied curtly. "So, I pulled my now unfashionably black and blue hands from the ice hopper, and I thought 'Finn, didn't they give you some contraption that heats up cold, even *frozen* things, AND it even has two convenient slots, perfectly sized for human and human-adjacent hands?' Anyway, long story short, I jammed my hands in the toaster, slapped its knob down with *my* knob to turn it on, and promptly electrocuted meself. Apparently bodies get pretty flammable if you run enough amps though them for long enough, after which they make great kindling for the burning-down of whole entire apartment buildings."
Don silently shook his head, mouth slightly open.
"What?" Finn demanded. He pointed to his name badge. "Listen mate, it's called *idiot* proofing!"
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“Why can’t I just hire a dummy?”
“See,” I said. “I’ve spent many a lifetime being an idiot. That is not a luxury afforded to any of my kind.”
“Idiots die, I get it,” she said. “But I think we are very safe. There’s really no wrong way to use our products.”
“I don’t think you understand, madam,” I sighed. It was difficult to prove that what an idiot did for society was a necessity. But it was—and I was perhaps the only idiot alive enough, and clever enough, to espouse such virtues.
“Let’s take a car, for example. We strap a dummy in, and it never touches the seatbelt, so it crashes through the wind shield. But an idiot… See, an idiot. That’s different. They don’t just sit there and do nothing. No, no, no. They passively try their very best to do the very worst thing possible, all unbeknownst to their minds. Of course, years of this idiocy have taught me to do this actively—henceforth, I am the best choice for any idiotproof programme.”
“I get your example very clearly. I just don’t get why my company needs to hire you.”
“What do you mean?” I smiled. “There is no other company in the world that needs my help more than yours.”
“Kit Kats are already idiotproof,” she said. “You can’t screw them up.”
She added, a little more uncertainly:
“Can you?”
“Oh,” I said. “You’ll be very surprised. There are monsters out there, Laura. Monsters that chomp straight in, instead of admiring the simple, elegant symmetry!”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-03-28T09:38:53 | 2022-03-28T09:11:19 | 360 | 148 |
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