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[WP]You are an omnipotent god. Out of boredom you decided to live an ordinary human life vowing not to use your power. 15 years has pass and you have a 9 to 5 working for a major tech company. Your boss has been tormenting you for years and you have reach your limit
|
"I'm going to have to ask you to rebuild the login page."
I stared at my boss blankly. "What?"
"The login page, I need to to go over it again. It's just barely functional, and it needs a little pizaz, a little umph you know! make it look nicer! and I need it done by Monday!"
My boss ladies and gentlemen, Issac McKinney. Issuing absurd commands and can't even use actual me damn words to do it!
Oh did I mention? yeah, all those prayers you've been sending, I'll get around to them. I've been on vacation, been taking some RnR from being the all powerful caretaker of the universe. What? So God can't take a break every once in a while? what do you think the black plague was? Besides, Being god is the second most stressful job in the universe.
I accidentally stumbled into the first.
Okay let me start at the beginning.
So for the last few decades I decided I needed some time away from the office, let some of my kids handle things for me. I admit they haven't exactly done the best job, and when I get back there's going to be some firings happening. Literal firings... regardless...
I figured I'd spend some time as a human, I even settled down, had some kids, that might cause some problems down the line. Sorry about that.
Eventually, living as a 'human' I needed a job. and I got one a small web design start up that Just so happens to be on the up and up. One might say they have an angel looking out for them?
Okay so I'm cheating...
But all the good work in the universe wouldn't be good enough for Issac. He's a real number, and today is the day where I'm finished. My vacation is over, and I'm gonna be heading back to my real job in a couple of years. Maybe I should have some fun with this dickhead On my way out the door?
"So I'm gonna need you to work on that over the weekend, and also while you are working on that..."
For the love of me, is he still talking? And He's smiling about it! He enjoys ruining my weekend.
"Godfrey? are you paying attention?"
"No, Just thinking about more relevant things."
This shook him, this took him by surprise. "What can be more important than your work? don't you realise you still have much work to do?"
I just smiled, polished my nametag, and said "oh yes. Much work. Indeed, Mr. Dickless."
I've never believed a human capable of such a sound and I made them! a mix between a dog when you step on it's paw and a car's squealing when it's breaks are bad. He stared at me dumbfounded and I could almost hear the words before he said them. "what did you just say to me?"
the entire office was looking at me now, each of them dumbfounded. "I said I have much to do, Mr. dickless, starting with you." I merely smiled. His face started turning red, and he shouted at me. "That is not my name!"
"From this day forth, you shall only refer to yourself as 'I am dickless, and others shall refer to you as 'you are dickless" My smile only grew.
"That's it, pack your stuff."
"read my name tag first."
Seriously, I'm surprised no one called me out on it before.
Godfrey, Osborne, Dejesus.
Even the initials spell it out!
"I don't care what kind of bullshit you are pulling, or what kind of stupid crasy shit you believe, My name is still I am dickless!"
The change is instant, this asshole, who had taken all the credit for my hard work, who had ruined all my weekends, had stopped me spending time with the family I grew to love, went form smug and self satisfied. To pale and afraid.
"Are you finished of your little tirade?" I pretend to check a watch that isn't there. "you were promoted 4 years, 6 months 3 weeks 4 days 3 hours 7 minutes and 42 seconds ago. You were also leaching off of my success before then, so lets add three more months to that shall we?"
"That's how long I'm going to have fun with you. Be grateful, I could simply kill you, or cast you into hell. but you taught me a valuable lesson. I could do anything, but I'll keep your 'inconveniences small. a million little things to drive you mad, just as you did me, only my tricks will be on the cosmic scale. The most horrific tortures of hell don't even come close to what happens with a single, ungrateful, undeserving, selfish employer. I'll be watching. your penance starts now."
|
Normally, you would think that I could 'Bruce Almighty' my way out of this one. Doing everything that pleased me without due consideration (or even thought for that matter). Well, Bruce didn't have to stick with the God-title forever. It is obviously, relentlessly infuriating, when you are commanded around by somebody whom you know to be infinitely undeserving of their position in the hierarchy. Even more so, when you created them yourself.
You come across numerous little episodes of comedic joy when you bear witness to similarly frustrated colleagues who swear on you that they would end that mediocre, hollow-headed dingbat. Amidst the hundred prayers booming in the mausoleum of your mind, there are spasms of little high-pitched 'I swear to God's that make crack you up at really inappropriate circumstances.
It became evident to me that I would not keep my vow intact for long with this maniac as my 'superior'. Although 15 years is as long as a yawn in my eternity, I don't intend to feel sleepy. I put on my best smile everyday and smiled at all the poop the primal monkey in him flung at me. Through all his debauchery and all his stupidity, all I did was smile. And then one day, he died at his desk having left a note, addressed specifically to me.
"ggwp."
| 2017-02-19T10:50:33 | 2017-02-19T09:17:00 | 48 | 12 |
[WP] "Too bad, Fairy Queen. I never had a kid, so no firstborn for you to take" you say on your deathbed. "Oh I love it when they don't read the fine print" she responds with a wicked smile.
|
The fairy queen hovered over me, smiling a wicked sickly smile.
Her fingers slid into the leather pouch tied to her waist. She pulled out a small glass tube, with ornate figures laid into the sides. I suddenly realized it was an hour glass. Its red sands were so fine that it appeared as if a pool of grainy blood sat in its base.
I felt nervous staring at the sands in the glass. Suddenly, a few ultra fine particles floated up from the the bottom chamber. They formed an almost imperceptible trickle, just barely visible as the light from the bedside table played off of them.
I felt ill. My insides began to writhe. My body made noises I was unaware a body could make. Like splintering wood and cloth ripped at its seams.
“What, are you doing to me!” I yelled. I threw off my sheet and tried to stand but fell to the floor. I looked at my legs, only to see them shriveling and twisting into spindly black sticks.
I looked up to see the Fairy Queen laughing, but the sound melted away and was replaced by a different voice. A richer and more melodious laugh. Her face which was already gorgeous beyond compare, became beautiful in an ethereal and indescribable way.
I tried to throw my hands over my ears but I couldn’t find them. Instead I felt a soft smooth surface. I tried to cover my eyes but found my arms were replaced by black curved limbs.
I cried out one last time, but my voice became hoarse and my lungs too deflated.
Suddenly it stopped. I lay crumpled on the ground. The Fairy Queen landed next to me and bent over, placing the hour glass before my eyes. All the red sand had flowed to the top and was suspended, not flowing in any direction. What was more disturbing was the sand had turned into a shade of black so dark, not a single grain was visible from the rest.
I tried to ask what happened but all that came out of my mouth was a throaty moan.
The Fairy Queen, at once more glorious and infinitely more terrifying than before quieted me.
“Shhhh. Shhh little mortal. Do not worry over much. You owed me a life. So I gave you a new one.” She bend down and picked me up. In the the back of my mind I wondered how she was able to hold me comfortably within her palms.
She walked over to the mirror and held me before it. I tried to scream but the only sound that came as a throaty caw. In her hands sat a black raven with fiery green eyes. My eyes. When I screamed it opened its beak and when I tried to scramble away it tried to jump from the Fairy Queen’s hands. She tightened her grip; firmly, but not painfully, holding me in place.
“Shhh shhh.” She walked me over to my bed where a spindly little wooden cage had appeared. She quickly placed me inside and latched the gate. Then, the Fairy Queen bent down, picked up the hourglass, and slid it into a grooved brackets aside the cage.
“This,” she said tapping the glass, “is the age of the life you owe.” She was then engulfed in overly excited giggles. When she finally caught her breath, she sighed and added, “Plus interest!”
“*This isn’t fair!*” I tried to say, but again only a series of caws came from my beak. Oh my god, my beak!?
“FAIR?!” Roared the Queen. “You made a deal!” She pointed her finger at me, it buzzed slightly as the magic radiated off of it. Wait, how did I know it was magic? “You broke your deal. You have no claim to fairness.”
She picked up the cage and stepped over to the open window. In a single step, she flew into the air and flitted away from my home, my cage held squarely in her hand. I felt dazed, I couldn’t understand what had happened to me. Why I was suddenly a bird in the cage of a Fairy Queen. I felt myself losing consciousness as I asked “*What did you do to me?*” It came out as a series of low caws.
“You’ve entered the secondary clause in our contract. A witch has her familiar, a leprechaun his charm.” She held my cage up to her face and looked into my closing eyes. “And a fairy her sprite.”
|
[poem] Last sermon of the fairy queen to the people of "Fayed"
------------------------------------------------------------------------
Tis too bad dear people, for now ye shall,
shed tears for being ruled by a queen,
known once as the fair princess of Fayed,
now so pale and frail on death's old bed,
for our deal would have concluded,
if just the fine print she had read,
and given up her first born as decided,
but ran instead, she wild with life,
mind alive and conspiracies rife,
and knowingly remained unbred,
and now as her sands end their trickle,
and the hooded scythe cometh nigh,
I exercise that print, fine and unread,
and take possession, of all first born,
of the populace, in her young un's stead!
may she now die in grief,
that deceptive beauty,
that once green, fair queen of Fayed!
•°•°•°•°•° A. Z. Dada •°•°•°•°•
| 2021-10-19T05:34:52 | 2021-10-19T03:09:50 | 25 | 14 |
[WP] Thousands of years ago the earth experienced a cataclysmic event. In an effort to maintain the human race the world leaders and citizen elite tried to survive by creating an underwater colony. It is now 2016 and you are tasked with scouting the surface for the first time in Atlantean history.
|
The submarine's cramped interior was thick with the smell of musk and oil, the air filled with the sound of metal warping and life support whirring, as it slowly crawled up from the dark depths of the ocean.
"Weird how close we are now." The voice came from the muggy darkness next to Anu, only slightly louder than the low pitched din of the engines.
"Yeah. What are we at now? 3000 meters or so down? I give it an hour or so. We'll see the state of the world... Our children will sing songs of this day, Shamas." Anu spread his arms, dramatically, to which Shamas merely laughed in response.
"That's not what I meant. What I meant..." He tapped the hull of the submarine. "Was how close we are to death's grip. One faulty weld..." He drew his spread hands into a fist. "Crunch."
Anu's withering gaze could be felt even in the soft red glow cast by the lights. "Have some faith. We've made it this far. The crafts-men's work is sound."
Shamas rolled his eyes, and leaned towards Anu. "That's a lie and you know it." His voice dropped to almost a whisper. "Our craftsmen are starved of materials and experience. We should've done this years ago, but instead, we sat around, now our lives are on the line."
"Our lives." Anu pushed Shamas back, and into the man next to him, earning him an angry grunt. "Are in the hands of the Gods. Thus, are perfectly secure." Shamas once more laughed in response, though crueler this time.
"Where were the Gods when the hydroponics failed? When the ventilation failed? When the desalination plant failed?" Shamas' tone grew to become almost accusatory. "Were our lives secured in their hands then?"
Anu's temper quickly rose to match his comrade's. "They *were*. We're here now aren't we? We're still alive."
"We're alive through our own will. Not of any God." Shamas spat the last word. "And those who died, died through our failures." Shamas leaned back in his seat, calming somewhat. "And our victories..." He spread his arms dramatically. "Will be ours alone."
_________________________________________________________________________________________
The sound of the engine humming was quickly drowned out by the sound of waves as the submarine breached the surface of the water. The mission commander walked down the cramped troop compartment of the submarine. The soldiers armed with ancient black-powder weapons stood arm to arm with scientists, who clutched their research materials closely to their chests, as if someone may tear them away at any moment.
The commander didn't really have a reason to walk down the compartment, it just helped him feel in control, in a time where the only one truly in control was the sea. He was never particularly fond of the sea. Some would fawn over the observation decks at the top of the city, spending hours staring at the terrible majesty of the deep ocean, illuminated by floodlights. The commander had considered himself above such things ever since the glass on one of them shattered, killing a few close family members.
"Alright." The commander tried to rise up to his full height, but found the ceiling a foot too low for that, instead choosing to remain hunched over. "Our mission is simple. We don't know what's up there. We need to find out. It's been thousands of years since the... event." The commander stumbled over the elephant that had been contributing to the overwhelming feeling of confinement in the room. It having been thousands of years after the 'event', and original documentation of the event that had driven them deep under the waves either having been lost, mired in metaphors, or obscured by time, left many differing opinions on what could've possibly caused an entire civilization to seek refuge in such a hostile place.
"The pilot tells me we'll be nearing shore soon, so get ready." The commander walked out of the troop compartment, and back into the cockpit.
"I don't think I've ever heard a more useless briefing." Shamas said, as he fiddled with the waterproofed bags of powder at his hip.
"He's probably just as stressed as us." Anu said, watching the commander almost trip over the step leading to the cockpit. "Probably even more than us. If anything happens to us, he'll take the fall."
"He'll take the fall..." Shamas stood, grabbing his rifle from the equipment rack above him. "Because we'll be dead. We have to do all the dangerous stuff. He just gets to sit here. Shoveling crisps into his fat face."
"That's not true." Anu stood too, as did many of the others, who all seemed to sense that it was about time to get ready. "I'm sure he's got lots of work to do here. He'll be co-coordinating the different teams." Anu said, with little conviction.
"If you can't even convince yourself, don't even bother trying to convince me." Shamas lightly elbowed Anu in the arm, and gestured towards to a door towards the stern of the sub. "Let's see if we can't get one of the good boats before someone else grabs them." Anu nodded, and silently followed Shamas through the poorly lit sub.
__________________
"The sub should've reached shore about half an hour ago. What the hell are we doing here *still*." Shamas wildly flailed at the room in a futile gesture of frustration. "Quite frankly, I just want to get this over with already."
Anu leaned back in the RHIB-like boat that sat in the sub's almost cavernous hanger, that despite it's size, still managed to feel claustrophobic, likely due to the darkness that seemed to sit almost heavily in the air. "Have some patience. They're probably just making sure the atmosphere's breathable and such. It'd be all for naught if we rushed in and all suffocated to death, now wouldn't it?"
"I'd welcome a quick death over this slow and agonizing one." Just as Shamas crossed his arms against his chest, and began to sulk like a scolded child, the lights in the hangar suddenly switched from a menacing red, to green, causing him to snap back to attention. "TOOK YOU LONG ENOUGH!" Shamas yelled to no-one in particular.
The dark hangar interior was quickly flooded by fresh sunlight, and wind began to sweep the stale air from the hangar, replacing it with fresh sea air. The men in the hangar all turned and shielded their eyes from the unnaturally bright star, and hunched over due to their senses being bombarded from all sides by the open sea. Anu was one of the first to come to his wits. He slowly raised his head, and through squinted eyes, stared out across the open sea. In the distance, not too far away, sat a beach, and just behind it, a meadow that seemed to stretch out forever.
"Anu? Anu? You alright?" Shamas began to stand, bracing himself against his friend, obviously not that concerned for his health.
"I told you Shamas." Anu said as he dragged his friend up to his side.
"Told me what exactly? ^God ^it's ^bright."
"The Gods really do favour us."
|
In the total darkness, I felt for the low, metal ceiling above me. The steady hum of the engine reverberated through my capsule, drowning out my own laboured breathing. Good thing I'm not claustrophobic. I've lived my entire life in the black depths of the Atlantic, under the crushing pressure of 20 thousand feet of water. You get used to tight spots when your house is the size of a car. Anyway, I groped around until I found a switch. I whacked it, and a dim yellow light flickered on above my head. My world lit up around me. There was the view port, and there was the dashboard. I'd only been in here for an hour, but it was an agonizing wait as my little pod ascended. The worst part was, I couldn't even tell if I was going up. That and the fact that my only form of communication with Atlantis was sonar. Then something caught my eye in the view port. All my life had been spent looking out into the dark outside my window. What I had just seen was the glitter of silver light. Trembling with excitement, I pressed my face against the glass and greedily took in the world outside my window. The soft light that snaked down revealed the endless ridges and crests of the ocean floor. I was only 200 meters down. My heart sped up as I caught a glimpse of seaweed billowing in the current. There were fish in the distance; I caught their slim outlines as they darted to and fro among the rocks and shelves. 100 meters. Everything was alive with with light, and my heart skipped when, with a giant rumbling, my capsule broke the surface. I leaped over to my dashboard and sent a few sound waves down. Hopefully they'd get them back home. Reaching up to open the door, I struggled with the bolt and unlocked it. With a click, the door popped open, and I lifted myself out. It was nighttime. The moon and stars above were the brightest things I'd ever seen. There was only gentle water around me for as far as the eye could see. But I heard a sound above the lapping of the waves on my pod. It was an intimidating droning. And then I saw it. A helicopter like the ones I'd seen in textbooks. It dropped in close, and all I could do was watch. A rope ladder swung down, and a man poked his head out the side. Beckoning with one hand, he barked at me rapidly in some weird language. Hesitating, I took hold of the ladder and started to climb. The man at the top hauled me up the rest of the way, and the helicopter started to move.
"Hello," I greeted, "I'm Joseph Klein." The man who had brought me in, who was yelling at me in that language, stopped and frowned.
"English?" he scowled, "Language of capitalists."
"Wait, what?" I was stunned. The pilot of the helicopter, who I hadn't noticed till now, turned his head to us.
"Where are you from?" he asked with a thick accent.
"Oh..." I had a whole speech memorized for the first surface dwellers I had met. But I didn't remember any of it. "You guys know about the Cuba Incident 1962? Where Khrushchev launched the nuclear weapons and the US retaliated?"
"Yes," rumbled the man before me, "I was there." The pilot turned his head again.
"World was destroyed. We rebuilt everything capitalists destroyed," he explained.
"Well," I tried to explain, "The US and some European countries actually fled underwater and built a civilization there."
"There is no room for you here," shouted the pilot, and he started yelling in his language to the man across from me. The guy raised his fist in the air, which was the last thing I saw before my world went dark.
| 2016-10-29T22:15:00 | 2016-10-29T21:42:00 | 91 | 39 |
[WP] "Captain... the human didn't put on it's anti-warp gear before we jumped." "Sad to hear, prepare the coffin and jettison it." "No, sir. The human... nothing's happened to it. It didn't go insane from seeing infinity in the stars."
|
Captain Valork had never heard of such a thing before. Then again, he never encountered a species such as humans. Adaptable, often easy-going, and far too stubborn for their own good. Where many a Fiore or Holdrun would accept the inevitable and act accordingly, the humans rejected it. They either fought far longer than anyone would consider sane, or risked their lives dragging their dying fellows out of a fight. If he were totally honest with himself, Valrork would admit he respected this trait, which was why he was disappointed when he heard the human didn’t have their anti-warp gear on.
Then he heard they didn’t go insane.
That was why he was moving up to the medbay with as much haste as he could. Always the humans… every other race had faced dire consequences when they didn’t protect themselves during warp, losing their minds every single time. Some murdered, others committed suicide. Many just screamed. And none of the races had nearly the amount of mental problems humans had.
The silence when he entered the medbay was, as humanity put it, ‘chilling.’ Doctor Bolli stood by the patient, notebook in hand, chatting to the human. One of his eyes turned to the Captain.
“Captain, sir!” He turned to Valork, all eyes on him as a sign of respect.
“At ease” He said. “You’re a doctor, not a soldier.” He looked at the human. It was a female, sat on the med table with her back to the wall. One leg was lazily swinging off the edge.
She dipped her head in respect. “Sir.”
He knew this one. “Lieutenant Howitzer. I’ve heard you didn’t have your anti-warp gear on.”
“Nope. My apologies.” She didn’t look like she was apologising for not putting it on.
“May I ask *why*?”
She scratched her neck. “Uh, gimme a moment to try find the right words?”
“Were you planning this?” It was more accusation than question and they all knew this. Valork might have had great respect for humans, and this one in particular, but it came married with an intolerance to idiot acts.
“Ever heard of ‘The call of the Void?’”
“I cannot say I have.”
Bolli tapped his notebook. “Is this a human term?”
“The French coined it, though I don’t know French, so…” She shrugged. “But it’s basically an urge. ‘What if I do this?’ so to speak.”
“An urge?” Valork parroted. “You risked your life and mind for an *urge*?”
“Bit more than that.” Howitzer said blithely.
“*Explain.*”
She raised her hands; a sign of surrender. “Alright, alright. The call itself just happens when you go into a dangerous situation. Like, say, if you’re standing at the edge of a cliff, and there’s this little voice in your head whispering at you to jump.”
“Ah,” Bolli said, looking at her with two of his eyes. “This is just a human term, no? Not, err, what do you call it…?”
“Schizophrenia?” She said. “No. I don’t have that. Just… these weird urges to jump onto train tracks or take a running jump off a cliff. I suppose you don’t get that?”
“The more I learn of your race, the more convinced I am that you’re all secretly insane.” Valork said flatly.
“Probably why I didn’t go crazy then?”
He sighed. “Perhaps. What I’d like to know is, why heed the call now?”
Her eyes dilated for a second, as if she were looking deep inside herself. She was quiet for a moment, before uttering with a slow shake of her head, “No idea.”
Those two words were all he needed to cement the idea that humans were a race comprised of lunatics and madmen. He shook his head, and turned to leave the room.
“Sir?” Bolli called for him.
He turned around.
“Would you-“
“Not to interrupt, Bolli, but I do not wish to know what was seen. The Infinity in the Stars is a mystery that I do not wish to uncover. Bad enough that many lost their minds to it. Worse yet that it can be perceived.”
“But not described, Sir.” Howitzer said. “As Virgil said in the Divine Comedy, the telling would come short of truth.”
He didn’t respond to that. His hesitation spoke more than words could ever say.
Captain Valork left the room. He was going to have to write a report on this. He had to.
And he was going to dread the reply.
\~\~\~
Edited for errors and flow.
|
"Ah, Captain? Sir? You wanted to see me?"
"Yes. It's about ..."
"The warp. Yes, I heard a few of the other ... crewmembers? Is that the right term? I heard them talking."
"You're quite right. Here you are, a human with no military or any form of applicable training, achieving what other races have striven to accomplish for millennia, and here you are, an unremarkable example of a species only a year from their first contact."
"Well, we have ... training, of sorts. From great philosophers of our age."
"Please enlighten me."
"Best to show you. Let me get my phone ..."
"Still lugging those things about?"
"Sorry, just ... I'll just put through the audio ..."
*"Whenever life gets you down, Mrs. Brown,*
*And things seem hard or tough,*
*And people are stupid, obnoxious or daft,*
*And you feel that you've had quite eno-o-o-o-o-ough,*
*Just remember that you're standing on a planet that's evolving*
*And revolving at 900 miles an hour...."*
"Musical philosophers?"
"Well, sometimes. They're called Monty Python."
| 2020-07-14T02:16:25 | 2020-07-14T00:57:05 | 187 | 115 |
[WP] A person finds themself in a horror movie, and has to fight the increasingly strong urge to make dumb decisions.
|
"Damn, I can't believe I missed the bus again."
I kicked a rock as I began my 5 mile trudge across the city back to my apartment. This bus was never early, of course it has to be on a night like this.
"Sure hope it doesn't rain." I thought to myself, glancing up.
The sky was a swirl for black and gray. Though it was shrouded by cloud cover, I could still see the glow of the full moon behind the coming storm. A gust of cold autumn wind forced me to pull my jacket's zipper all the way up. A low rumble of thunder in the far distance made me pick up the pace as I turned my begrudged walking into more of a jog.
The howling wind was strong enough to kick around the detritus scattered along the sidewalk. As I made my way down the narrow side-road, neither too fast or too slow, I noticed a newspaper smack against a pole I had just passed. I hesitantly stopped. Backtracking just a few steps I looked to see the headline of the paper in full view:
"SERIAL KILLER ESCAPES ASYLUM"
"Well that's not spooky." I thought to myself. "I think I'll just call a cab, just to be safe."
Of course my phone was dead, what a perfect night. The wind began to die down and I decided I had stopped for long enough and continued on my trek.
The streets were unusually empty tonight. They weren't usually brimming with people at 10 pm, but there were usually a couple of people walking around. I guess with a killer on the loose that makes sen- wait am I in a horror movie? I mean the atmosphere is just right for it, and the way my inner monologue is moving certainly gives in the feel of one.
"That's ridiculous," I reasoned, "just because a psycho's on the run and I'm walking home alone late at night doesn't mean I've been transported into fiction."
The wind began to pick up again, just slightly. The windchimes on the porches of all the houses played their dissonant symphonies as I walked past them, deep in thought. The thunder that was once only a distant reminder of the storm was edging ever closer, with the claps of light getting closer together with each passing minute. It was then I noticed something I'd never seen on this street before.
Across the street there was a lone phonebooth. The fluorescent light within it flickered meekly, and the door creaked open and shut as the wind passed over it.
"Oh perfect, I'll just call a cab and-"
*Wait.*
If this *was* a horror film, and I'm not saying it is, but if it *was*, that was where I'd die. I was still a few miles from home but to ease my mind I'd rather not deal with evil-looking telephones. I hurried past it and continued my journey.
A few minutes pass as I walked hurriedly towards my home. The dark sky above me was now spitting drops of rain, and I was sure a deluge would be soon to follow.
"Of course I didn't bring my umbrella to work. 'Oh I'll be on the bus, who cares if it rains?'" I thought. I'd reached the point of self-mockery, the kind of thing a person does before they get slashed.
"I just needed to go two blocks down, take a right, and then another right. I could get there so much sooner if this damned building wasn't here-" and that's when I spotted it.
An alleyway I'd never seen before. Beyond it I could see the light of my building's front step, but between it and I there was only darkness.
"Perfect!" I smiled as I took a step into the alleyway before stopping myself, "Wait, if creepy phonebooths are out then this is like, 10 times worse."
I stepped out and continued the long way around. As I predicted the rain was only getting worse, and by the time I reached my front step I was soaked from head to toe. I fumbled for my keys, barely managing to get them into the lock without dropping them, and with a turn of the handle I was in. I flicked the lightswitch on but nothing. I flicked it on and off a few time to no avail. Had my power gone out? Everyone else's lights were on as I passed them. A flash of lightning illuminated the hall in front of me for an instant, and to my horror I saw that I was not alone.
Though it was only for a second, I saw a massive shadow no more than 10 feet away from me. I was frozen in fear. I could only listen in terror as I heard the sound of wet boots move ever closer to me. I could feel this person just a few inches from my body, their haggard breaths beat against my shoulder as they leaned in towards me.
My eyes rolled to the side. Though the light from the streetlamps behind me only lit up on a sliver of his face, I could see his mouth was nearly touching my ear. I heard him whisper into my ear with a voice I'll never forget.
He said "I need about tree fiddy."
Now it was about this time I realized that this home intruder was in fact a three-story tall crustacean from the Paleolithic era!
"God damn it Loch Ness monster you ain't gettin' my tree fiddy!"
Defeated, he slunk past me, opened the door and left. The lights came back on by themselves a few seconds later. I locked my door, went upstairs, and went to bed.
Turns out I was in a comedy.
|
"Okay. Okay okay okay. Okay.
Whew.
I've locked the doors to the outside. The howling was driving me crazy, and sometimes when you get frightened you tend to act on those fears. Nothing wrong with safety, right? What's wrong with a little paranoia these days, anyway? I just need to calm down.
Okay. Calm.
Okay. So let me think. I'm home alone, of course - I mean, I live alone, so I'm not sure why I even put that in there - but anyway, alone. I was upstairs, reading, when the howling started. I got spooked, locked the doors and windows. This is all still rational, right?"
I glanced up. I was writing fast, and it had gotten illegible. I took a deep breath and forced myself to slow down.
"Rational. Right. There's no one coming to get me."
The howling intensified.
"Or maybe there is. But that's okay, too. I'm locked in this room. There's one window, and one door. I can see both from my bed, which is against the wall. If I know anything about movies, this should all blow over as long as I don't do anything stupid, right?"
The howling stopped. A faint knock is heard from the door.
"Okay. That's okay, too. This is how it goes, right? Now all I have to do is open the door and"
I stopped. I was reaching for the door, having gotten out of bed.
"Okay. So that was close. I know that answering the door for any reason will end in my demise, so I won't. I just won't. How hard could it be?"
There was a faint scratch at the door. A pause. A faint knock comes from the window.
"Okay, the window. Now whatever's out there - not that there is anything - is outside the window. So I just need to reach out and"
I stopped myself. One hand on the pen, one hand on the latch. I stared into the inky blackness.
"Okay. This is okay."
~cont later
| 2015-02-11T19:05:15 | 2015-02-11T17:38:20 | 48 | 14 |
[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."
|
Andrew nearly snarled as his phone chimed for what seemed to be the umpteenth time. His shift at the warehouse ended only a few hours ago and it like chickens running around with their heads chopped off whenever he left. It was rare delight to encounter the nights that he was actually permitted to sleep through the night.
On top of the texts that were just brimming with simple incompetency, the morons that lit up his phone in the middle of the night always seemed to wake up his wife, Isabel, who suffered from insomnia to begin with. The raise Andrew agreed to that stated he kept his ringer on for these occasions never seemed worth it when he saw Isabel the next day, curled up in the guest room with dark circles under her eyes from her attempts to get away from the constant chiming.
Andrew rubbed a hand over eyes to clear them, trying to understand the ridiculous amount of messages but he must have been more tired than he thought since they didn’t make sense.
He quickly scrolled through the message previews, finding they all seemed to follow the same pattern: to look at the moon. The moon? What the -? Why?
It was like a shot to his adrenaline when he saw that some of the messages were coming from Isabel’s phone. He shot up from bed, seeing the other side empty, and jumped to his feet.
“Hun, what’s going on,” Andrew questioned, still scrolling through his phone while walking towards the guest room. The room was at the end of the hallway and the door was wide open. He could see Isabel standing in the middle of the room, arms down by her side and phone clutched in her hand as she gazed out the window.
As he grew closer, he could see that she was shaking, “Bel? Honey? What’s wrong, why-”
Isabel’s body whipped toward him and Andrew couldn’t help himself, he froze in place. She ran and shoved her body into the door, slamming it shut and locking it in place.
The speed was all wrong though, Andrew had never seen her move that fast. It was insane, it was...inhuman….
His own body started to tremble when he remembered her eyes. Her pupils were dilated and not a single bit of the green irises he loved so much were left.
He was just about to ram his own body into the door, to beg her to let him in and make her explain what is happening, but then she started sobbing.
“Andrew! You need to run, you need to hide! I’m so sorry, god I am so sorry. Run, Andrew, and whatever you do, don’t look at the moon!”
Andrew started pounding his fists on the door and trying to shove his weight against it, but she must have blocked it with something.
Despite his shouting and his pleading to be let in, his forgotten phone on the hallway floor seemed to crack through the commotion as the alarms of the emergency alert system distracted him for just a moment. The robotic voice started to play from his phone automatically, “WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TEST. THIS IS AN EMERGENCY ALERT. DO NOT LOOK AT THE MOON. WARNING. THIS IS NOT A TES-”
Andrew thought his distress was at its peak, nothing was making sense and he just needed to get Isabel so they could deal with this together. He just needed to-
Her screams started and it struck him cold to the very center of his being. He began pounding and kicking at the door until it gave way under his body. Isabel was on the floor, writhing in the moonlight. Andrew couldn’t help it, his knees buckled and he emptied the contents of his stomach right where he stood.
Isabel's body was bent at every wrong angle possible but she wasn’t screaming anymore. Her head snapped in his direction with that ungodly speed again. Bathed in the moon’s light and pupils still completely dilated, she smiled up at him as if every bone in her body wasn’t broken.
In the same voice she used to tell soothe him time after time, she whispered, “Look at the moon, Andrew.”
|
I toss in my sleep-- there's a loud buzzing ringing in my left ear, and my eyes flicker open to reveal my phone: vibrating with it's receivance of hundreds of messages. "Holy shit, is that my Discord app again? I swear to god I put it on fucking silent." I grumble, and my hands fumble for the volume rockers. Without a few seconds of effort, my phone is back on silent, and the buzzing stops. I go back the fuck to bed. The creepypasta bullshit can wait, I'm tired as shit.
| 2022-10-06T10:06:56 | 2018-04-06T19:48:33 | 483 | 13 |
[WP] You live in a universe that wasn't constructed that well and the physics are buggy and things occasionally just don't work right.
|
"At times, I wonder if I should just get an apartment for the boy."
Alright, I thought. That was a fair start.
"Peter is sixteen. He's been my nephew for... well, technically, he's always been my nephew, but he didn't actually exist until about nine years ago. *That* was a shock, let me tell you. I can still remember waking up, and..."
A sudden feeling of not-being-alone-anymore tickled its way up my spine, and with it, a sense of dull irritation. Why was it, I wondered, that *every time* I was about to get something done, I had to be interrupted... and why did it always happen in the dead of night?
"Frank," I snarled, "I swear, if you sneak up on me again, I'm going to lock you in the closet." I swiveled in my chair, ready to offer what I hoped would be an intimidating glare... but it froze on my face when I turned to see an enormous beast, covered in equal amounts of scales and fur, towering above me.
"Uh, hi," the monster said. "Sorry."
My scowl returned, but softer than it might have been. "N'gjor," I sighed, "what are you doing here? Shouldn't you be off... I don't know, doing whatever it is that you do?"
The gargantuan creature scratched his head, dragging a black claw between his horns. "Uh, well, I *was*," he sheepishly replied, "but then you mentioned Peter, and I figured I should come find out what was going on."
"So, you were eavesdropping on me, then."
"No, no, it wasn't like that!" N'gjor hurriedly answered. "I just forgot what time it was supposed to be, and I wound up in Peter's room. You haven't fixed that leak yet." The monster tapped a knuckle on the wall, and the sound reverberated throughout the house.
"What?" a voice called.
"Go back to bed, Frank!" I yelled back.
"What?"
"*Go back to bed!*"
N'gjor shifted his weight uncomfortably. "So, uh, what's this about Peter getting an apartment? Do I have to move, too?"
That was a factor that I hadn't considered. Technically, N'gjor was the monster beneath *Peter's* bed, not just the bed that Peter happened to be sleeping in. If Peter moved out, N'gjor might have to go with him... but with the way things had been going, that might not have been the worst idea in the world.
"I don't know," I finally said. "The fact is, Peter has clearly needed his own space recently. In case you haven't noticed, there have been *quite a few* disruptions around here."
"I'm sorry about the burrito," N'gjor muttered.
"That's not... wait, what?"
The monster glanced at the floor. "Well, you said there have been some disruptions..."
"I am not talking about your flatulence, N'gjor."
"Oh. Good." N'gjor nodded his head, but looked confused. "So, the refrigerator turning into lead is okay, then?"
It took a moment for his words to sink in. "*What?*" I yelped.
"I put a burrito into the refrigerator, and the whole thing turned to lead," N'gjor said. "I thought you knew."
"See, *this is what I mean*," I shouted. "This is what happens when you keep an anomalous entity - or whatever the hell they call people like Peter now - next to a heat source for too long! Things *happen!*"
"Like what?" asked N'gjor.
"Like you, for starters. Nine-foot-tall lizard-bears didn't exactly have a natural evolution on this planet. Hell, you don't even understand *time*."
"I'm sorry."
I sighed, forcing myself to calm down. "Look, you're not the one in trouble here. Not *this* time, anyway. I just need to find a way of figuring this out, you know?"
"Right."
"Right. That's why I was leaving a recording in stasis." A sudden thought occurred to me. "Damn it. I forgot to turn it off, didn't I?" I glanced over at the device that I'd been speaking into when I'd been interrupted. Sure enough, the little green light was still illuminated, and the crystal was nearly full. I sighed, tapped it with my finger, then slumped in my chair.
"Well," I muttered, "I guess we're going to have an interesting day tomorrow."
"What?" called a voice from elsewhere in the house.
"*Go back to bed, Frank!*"
|
Oh great. Again.
"what's that noise?"
"its another tear"
He stared at its brilliant white beauty, its low humming sound, the look of the stars from the other side.....
god it was boring.
"Is it big?"
"about three feet across, not really. Just come down here." God mums sucked. Why did he always have to shout upstairs?
She came down the stairs excitedly, then looked at it with curious eyes as tom stared at her expectantly.
"Okay, just stay out of the hallway until it goes away"
"yeh I know" Tom really couldn't give a shit. It was similar to a power cut, or when the gravity stopped. It was just annoying.
"call your dad, he needs to know"
"he can't, the tear happened over the phone"
"oh for fucks sake. You'll have to go out the back and wait, he should be home in about ten minutes" Are you fucking kidding? I only went down for a drink, and now I've got to wait outside? uh.
Tom stepped outside and froze, fear filling his entire body. Another tear, but the silhouetted face just stared at him, an evil, hideous smile filling its face. All he could hear was a voice in his head
*we're coming for you*
| 2014-06-13T18:50:56 | 2014-06-13T17:18:45 | 121 | 29 |
[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.
|
You would think that the vast expansive history of alien communications would evolve to become something cohesive, that a sense of mature camaraderie or, at the very least, begrudging respect for one another would frame the foundations of interstellar interaction.
It was not.
In fact they acted an awful lot like a rowdy junior class at a particularly underfunded high school. Completely self involved, relentlessly gossiping about one another and occasionally throwing a wadded up ball of paper at someone's head.
Well, only if you replace the gossiping with cross-galactic political sabotage and the wadded ball of paper with anti-matter concussive strikes, THEN it would be exactly like high school.
Most of these planets and alien civilisations had been in class together for a long, *long* time, there was a complicated social structure, various species forming their own 'cliques', some choosing to sit in a corner by themselves doodling in their notebooks, others getting up on the desks and kicking papers and pens all over the place.
Earth was the new kid, the one who came halfway through the term and hadn't caught up on the curriculum, and the teacher was out of textbooks. If Earth wanted to navigate this new environment and social structure that they had stumbled upon without accidentally offending someone, they had to find another kid who was willing to catch them up to speed.
The first kid had been the Geuogrinauoff, ectothermic creatures with snake like skin and wolfish physique, but they would rather tear their book to pieces and eat their stationary than share any of it with Earth.
Their encounters had been anything but amicable, crews were slaughtered where they stood, their ships stolen and scrapped for parts, all that remained of the initial contact team were their voices screaming through the SOS radio channel.
Second contact had been the Gaelints, insectile and multi-ocular, tall and identical in appearance and mind, they were the type to read the textbook aloud much too fast for you to take notes and would look at you with the deepest of scorn if you dared ask a question.
Earth had sent some of their best minds, mathematicians, physicists, biologists, someone from nearly every field of study, but the Gaelints were ultimately unimpressed, and they refused to waste their time on any future contact with Earth.
The third attempt was with the Re'phna'r, they had seemed hospitable and well meaning at first, but it wasn't until Earth committed a significant social blunder with the isolated AnAfee species that they realised the small, birdlike folk had been playing them for fools, much of Earth's studies had to be double checked for more maliciously placed errors.
By that point it seemed that just about everyone knew about Earth, many others approached them to find out if they had anything of value, but most found Earth to be quite plain and uninteresting, Earth wasn't as old as the others, hadn't done anything particularly clever or useful that others hadn't done before, didn't contain any rare ores or minerals.
But Earth WAS an easy target.
It didn't take more than a few decades for the Geuogrinauoff to lob a spitball at the back of Earth's head, a significantly large and destructive spitball, a spitball that could level entire cities and crush continents.
None of the other races seemed particularly inclined to listen to Earth's pleas for assistance. Their politely dismissive words were sugarcoated but their meaning was implicitly clear. 'It was just a spitball' they might as well have said. 'If you can't handle it that's your problem. It isn't *our* fault you haven't discovered shielding tech yet'.
As Earth desperately called out to the cold, heartless universe hoping someone, *anyone* would come to their aid, someone outside of the classroom heard.
They were called the Mouyaui, and they were nothing like the others, certainly nothing like a rowdy school-kid, they cut a far more imposing figure, a teacher or a principal perhaps.
Unlike most other species Earth had met, the Mouyaui were beings of pure light, almost humanoid in shape and larger than an average multi-storey building. They arrived without a ship and without weapons, they stood behind Earth as the Geuogrinauoff packed up their things and fled from the classroom.
The Mouyaui did not speak any language, they seemed to be a psychic species, communication attempts had been slow and arduous. They seemed uninterested in any material wealth that Earth had to offer in thanks for their aid. The Mouyaui had simply been content to wander the planet, just looking at things with their large eyes, two disk-like absences of light in their long, blinding white faces.
They would climb up mountains and walk through deserts, they would step through neighbourhoods and wade into oceans, sometimes they would reach down to gently touch someone's hair, or even lift something or someone up into their hands, just to look, just to touch, before placing them back where they found them.
Whenever humans left Earth the Mouyaui travelled alongside their ships, leaving long sparking trails behind them. Not once did another species approach an Earth craft being guided by the gentle giants.
Earth was smart enough to realise that the Mouyaui were not what they seemed, that there was likely a good reason that the other species feared them, but for whatever reason they seemed to really like Earth, and in this cold, heartless universe it was nice to have a friend.
|
A parody
“Hello, I’m Cesar Milan, and I’m the Dog Whisperer, and today we’re going to a very special place! Today, we’re going to Galgon 5 to deal with a real problem. NASA has found vicious beasts that keep breaking their equipment and eating the astronauts.”
“Is he really going to narrate this whole time?” I thought to myself as I listened to him ramble on. Cesar comes up beside me to brief me on his plan. I pull up the pictures we have of the beasts. 5 meters tall, skin as thick as leather, and a venomous bite that paralyzes you in agonizing pain for three days and just stops. No easing of pain, just sometime on the third day, if just stops. It’s the scariest feeling in the goddamned universe. Anyway, the briefing.
“So what we’re going to do is display dominance over the creature. When we hit the ground, I’m going to show the creature that I am the alpha. First, I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. I’m going to let it sniff me if it wants, but I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. Then, I’m going to nip at the neck like this.”
He made a weird noise like ***tsk,tsk***.
He continued “ it’s all about showing the animal whose boss. When we land, I’m going to show these creatures who is the dominant alpha.”
The spacecraft came to a landing, and the bay door was lowered. Cesar walked confidently up to the first beast that was beginning to charge the shuttle.
“See. I am not acknowledging it. I am letting it know that I am the alpha, and they must acknowledge me.”
Famous last words. Those beasts tore into Cesar within seconds.
Edit: grammar
| 2021-04-08T00:34:55 | 2021-04-07T21:11:22 | 206 | 11 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a natural tattoo of their spirit animal. Every person gets the traits and abilities of their respective animal. But when you were born your father, having a bear tattoo and your mother, bearing a dove tattoo, were horrified. Leviathan.
Edit. Wow thank you to everyone who submitted thie stories here. Never expected it to blow up this much.
|
No one is born a villain. At least I don’t think people are born destined to be one. My parents certainly had an interesting debate on the side of a road during winter about that to say the least. Some people are born with lions, often groomed to be great leaders, while others are born with dogs, with a passion for people. Very rarely, perhaps once every few decades, some are gifted dragons. They are seen as signs of great changes to come, rising to saints or crusading as tyrants. I am an ill omen, born with a monstrous serpent called a leviathan. Even rarer than dragons, leviathans are fated to become calamities slayed by a destined hero.
My parents took a great gamble that day. They didn’t leave me to die in winter’s grasp. They decided to tell others that I was a snake, it certainly helped that I grew up to be clever. We lived far in the woods, to ensure my safety. It was nice area, given to my father for his deeds as a war hero in the king’s army. My father, a bear, he taught me how to endure hardships. My mother, a dove and a healer taught me kindness. However, their greatest lesson as good people was love. I sought to teach that same lesson as best I could. What I did not know as a boy was that hate is a far easier approach.
One day I heard a cry for help while foraging the woods. I ran towards the cries and found a girl my age cornered by a large white wolf wounded and a dead soldier. The girl was a noble from the way her clothes were, and the dead man was her guard. Getting involved with nobility is the worst way to hide my status, but I had a desire to, just like my parents did as well. A small 16 year-old boy wasn’t the best person to fight a wolf, yet I charged at the beast with my knife, surprising it. I managed to sink my knife into its neck. The wolf however, bit into my side. As we wrestled on the ground, I stabbed at its neck over and over, until I could feel its jaw slack. My conscious fading, I told the girl to send for help. As she ran off, darkness took me.
~~(I’ll add more, since I have plans tomorrow morning.)~~
(Here's part 2, sorry for the delay! This is my first time doing this.)
Drifting in and out of consciousness, I couldn’t see. All I heard were voices; a young girl’s pleads, then men shouting. I couldn’t understand them, I couldn’t focus on them. All I could do was breath, focus and breath. The first thing I felt when I awoke was cold heavy metal around my neck. My eyes opened to a prison cell, a very nice one at least. I was laid upon a bed, with only my pants. My side was stitched up, but my mark was open. They knew what I was. There were four guards, and they raised their spears at me. One shouted be to remain still, while another barked to someone outside to get Lord Arik. I didn’t dare say a word, least I find one of their spears in my head.
The door opened and a towering man stood there. “You’re only alive because of two things. You saved my daughter, a dragon at that as well, and your father Rodrick’s service in my army. Now I know why he asked to live away from others, I thought he was just getting soft,” he said as he moved towards the end of the bed. “I cannot sentence you to death. I cannot kill one who saved one of mine. In punishment of your birth, you parents shall carry it as well. They shall receive 100 lashings. After that, your father shall serve again in my guard until death takes him. Your mother’s knowledge of medicine will be useful as well. You however, will be bound to by daughter. You shall be her beast, and her your master. When you grow feral, it shall be her that will kill you.” Then he left, and the guards as well.
Then I was alone.
I saved a life; my only crime was my birth. My parents must suffer as well, for loving their child? I screamed and cried as my throat ached until they gagged me. My nails dug into my palm, until they bound those too. I raged in my confinement until they gave me theriac to calm me. Time passed as I collected my thoughts. I couldn’t be a hero in that moment, then I shall serve as a beast for now, but I shall be far more than any of them. If I am given an enemy, I shall break them until submission, if I do not kill them first. I will bide my time, I will show them what titan they have shackled. I will not be the villain of this story, but if a “hero” comes forth, I will break them. I will not be the victim; I will get my justice with breaking their pride. Bears have strength, doves have loyalty, and dragons have their “destiny.” I think those before me had even worse hardships. They were wronged, cast out, and damned. I am not a calamity; I am not a villain to be slain by some “hero.” I will become something more than they thought.
I am Leviathan, and my pride will know no bounds.
------------
Thank you all so much for the praise and gold! I never did this before and just decided to go with it. You've all really encouraged me to keep practicing this. Maybe when I get better I'll come back to rewriting this story.
If any of you are interested, I wrote another one set in the same world. It has a different theme and style though.
https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/7bu3jo/tt_i_dont_think_you_understand_one_of_the_reasons/dpr1dji/?st=j9y6rkor&sh=1f89cceb
|
Of Mordecai, 5:9-17
**Thus Came The Serpent From The Waves**
^9 And the Dove lay thus, upon a stranger's bed. And from her eyes did stream tears of agony. For the birth had rendered itself difficult from its conception, the child come too soon, on a night two weeks removed from its rightful date. ^10 And so the Dove lay thus, upon a cold strangers bed, in such agony the Bear did oft hide his face, turning from the sight. And the agony did last through the swarthy night, and did only pass as the child came forth. ^11 But as the child was born unto the Bear and the Dove, another agony did present itself. For upon the babe, stark, cross its back, lay etched the mark of Leviathan.
^12 And seeing the mark, the wisemen and their aides, those that did help bring forth the child, retreated in horror. Casting aside their robes and alchemies, they did flee for fear they would be taken, as all would be taken, now that Leviathan hath come forth upon the world. And as the Bear held the babe, he did let forth an anguished cry, and the Dove hid her face. ^13 And even as her face was turned, she did beg the Bear to slay the child, for to allow it to live was to bring great suffering upon Man. And so the Bear, in a spirit of righteous sacrifice, raised against the child a blade cast aside by a wiseman.
^14 And as the Bear stretched his hand to slay the child, great rivers of blood poured forth from its wounds. And as the child's blood poured forth upon the Bear, the Bear was seared, and in great agony was struck down. And then from the mouth of the child issued sreechings, and wails far removed from the world of Man, and farther removed from the world of Angels. ^15 And the Dove, upon hearing the wails, was struck down, there upon the birthing bed.
^16 And so began the Turning of the Age, the wails of Leviathan multiplying amongst the hordes of Man and Angels. And they did fall, weak hearts failing in the majesty of the sanctity of Leviathan's cries. ^17 And so it came to be, Leviathan, reigning over the dead in holy solitude, forever and ever. Amen.
*Taken from "The Holy Scriptures of the Lord"*
| 2017-11-08T05:27:56 | 2017-11-08T04:45:53 | 989 | 195 |
[WP] Everyone is born with a special talent that's weak when young, but grows stronger and matures at the age of 30. A kid that's a little stronger than his peers will grow up to lift mountains. Another who like tinkering will revolutionize civil action. You? Well, cats just seem to like you...
*civilizations
Edit: WP was more popular than I though. Reading through the stories delayed because I'm traveling. Keep them coming I'm loving them!
|
It only started with one.
A single tabby, following me to school. I was only 5 and delighted to meet the new friend I had seen watching me from afar for the past few months. Proudly sitting myself down to first class I presented my new friend to the teacher, who quickly sat him outside the door and proceeded with the lesson. When the scratching intensified and she finally relented to see what was working the poor creature up, four cats entered the room and sat themselves around me. "How peculiar..." was all I remember her saying, staring intensely at the gaggle of felines now surrounding my desk. Phone-calls must have been made. Concerns were raised. How would we manage four cats following him everywhere, how are other students meant to focus? It was merely the beginning of many uncomfortable questions.
That was 11 years ago. I slide from my bed, carefully setting my foot between a nest of clawed limbs and lazily flicking tails. I trudge to the window, ignoring the chorus of irritated chirping, cutting through the apparent sound of 100 tiny engines gently idling. Outside was as it always was: A complete wreck. The lawn, where visible, was minced, scattered with feathers and tufts of errant fur. What remained of the tiny birch tree my father proudly planted 13 years hence sat forlornly amidst the ocean of lounging bodies, forming a muted rainbow stretching into the street and far beyond.
Raised voices carry up from the hallway downstairs, juxtaposed to the combined sound of hundreds of resting cats. The specifics are muffled, but I catch the words "institution"... "properly manage"... and "Gift", the latter-most dripping with sarcasm as always and marking the voice as mothers. Some people get strength, others get insight, one guy even had a formidable understanding of marine life. Somehow I got cats. They loved me, in the way that cats do obviously; no force could compel cats to stop being cats. They just felt the need to be cats around me, magnetically attracted in the aloof way cats are. I was pretty sick of it quite a while ago. At least they made an effort to listen.
The argument downstairs is getting more heated, I shush the surrounding cats in an attempt to better hear what's being said. The purring moves from a soft roar to a quiet hum both outside and inside; the discussion becomes clearer.
"I'm not sure you're grasping what I'm telling you here, how serious this is." my Mother explains, keeping her voice level this time.
"Alright, what's changed in your mind?" My father replies, obviously tired of rehashing the discussion
"I've been talking to, well, experts on these things, people who study these sorts of people."
"And?"
"Well, we all know the "Gift" peaks at 30, and starts showing around 5 or so".
"Obviously, we've all seen this ourselves on TV."
"Well, Jacks gift is what we call a "Quantifiable" gift, you can measure it, and compare it to other gifts people had."
"Yeah, so?"
"Well, gifts like these, the way they grow... it's exponential Charles..."
"What are you saying?"
"If we compare him to that Alex kid, remember him, had that reality show? The one that could lift buildings? Well when his gift started, he could lift 100 pounds or so pretty easy, when he was Jacks age, he could lift a Jeep, and when he hit 30 he was lifting entire buildings. And when you plot his strength over time, you can see how fast it grows..."
"And if Jack's gift does the same thing..."
"There's, what 1000 cats out there? At this rate, if he follows the same pattern as all the other quantifiable gifts... we're talking 100 million cats, that's basically every single cat in the country... and that's not even... there's a bobcat out there Charles..."
There's an uncomfortable silence as I feel my father process this information.
"Maybe be then he could control it better then, tell them to just go home... maybe he can..."
"I don't think you appreciate how important this is, the expert I was speaking to had to make reports to his superiors... there's a representative from Washington coming down later today to discuss how we... how anyone is going to handle this."
"I... Just... Shit..." My father struggles to find the words.
I step back from the window and consider everything I just heard. I feel oddly calm. Like this is what I knew would happen all along. I contemplate the prospect of commanding 100 million animals. It feels oddly right. The cats can feel the wheels turning in my mind, hundreds of yellow eyes turn to meet mine as I inspect the... my... horde. The window opens effortlessly; I move with complete confidence of purpose. I lean forward and tumble out of the open portal, landing immediately on a pile of cats stacked 10 high. They bear me gently to the ground, supporting my weight without hesitation. A trophy? A place on prime-time? A crappy reality show? There's a lot more that can be done with this. The cats look to me, awaiting a new command. Images of mountain lions flash before my eyes, of a horde that stretches a hundred miles.
We can make a start I conclude, as the cats surge me forward with surprising speed away from my home, toward greatness.
|
He stroked the massive feline's head, smirking at the pleased chuff the tiger made before leveraging to its feet. The both of them were getting on in years. Still smirking at the beast, he drew his cape on, fastening it a moment before 30lbs of serval seemingly gravitated to his shoulders, draping herself across the back of his neck. "It's time."
The Beast Master smiled at the liquid femininity of the serval's voice. He had understood them since he'd been in his teens, but hadn't heard them speak until his early twenties. It didn't surprise him when basically every female feline he came across sounded like seductress. "Since when are cats ever on time?"
"You're no cat."
He chuckled as he stepped out onto the balcony, overlooking the grounds of his estate. Below him, hundreds, thousands even of cats of all shapes and sizes were gathered, the majority feigning feline indifference, as if they just happened to be here at this time and place entirely on accident. Some watched curiously. Far more than he was used to watched him with steady, unblinking gazes, their full attention on the human standing above them.
"Our final victory is at hand!" He shouted above them, meeting the gaze of many. "The world, always yours to a degree, is now FULLY yours, once we've taken the final stronghold from the foolish Dogman and the last of his allies! Many of his followers have defected. They know where the food is now."
Tails swished below, but the cats remained quiet. More were openly paying him attention.
He nodded, feeling his muscled neckwarmer shift slightly with the movement.
--
I'm off to go do other things. I'm out of ideas for this for now. lol.
| 2016-12-30T13:01:00 | 2016-12-30T10:07:02 | 32 | 12 |
[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.
|
I'm a bit late to the party, hope those who sort by new still enjoy this.
Xhanehost entered the large circular room in stride, his steps echoing in the silent room. He was not alone. In the center, was projection of the local star cluster, and right beside it, were holograms of two other aliens. There was a Kanian, serving as a mediator to today’s talks, and as a neutral observer of events. She was of no interest to Xhanehost, weak and wobbly as Kanian’s were.
Interests lie with the other alien present. She was a human, the relative newcomers to the galactic stage, and she was the one to call this meeting.
“Greetings, Xion Xhanehost, I am grateful to see that you saw it fit to join us.”
“Spare me the pleasantries, General Secretary Bartholomew, I do not enjoy your kinds and how they mince words.”
The human pause, gathered air, before restarting.
“Very well, then I shall not dally on details. Xion Xhanehost, I’ve called this meeting to demand an explanation of the unprovoked terraforming of human colonies in the 12th sector. This act has already led to the death of millions of my kind, and forced the evacuations of nearly two billion others. This is an unacceptable affr-”
“Don’t waste my time with your words, Secretary. I am well aware of the current developments and geoscaping in the 12th sector, and those developments will continue, until the Xion council judge it sufficient for resettling new growth. I will also be informing you that system 2327 of the 12th sector has destroyed a geoscape spore, and that the warrior Jamenta will be clearing out that system within a Quininon. You would be wise to evacuate that system as well.”
“That system currently houses more than a billion citizens, and the two billion refugees from systems you have already destroyed! You cannot be asking us to-”
“I care very little about what your species thinks about the Xion council’s decisions, and you wouldn’t understand even if we explained it. I am simply informing you, as the Xion of the overseer Jamenta, that this decision has been made, and that the humans are to adapt to our decision.”
At thoses words, Xhanehost took a glance at the Kanian present. The latter looked distinctly uncomfortable. The Xion smiled in satisfaction; the Kanian’s knows very well how to adapt, they have done so many times already.
“This is an unacceptable violation of our sovereignty!”
“I don’t care what you call it, only that it is. Clear out the system, or the ten billion warriors of the warrior Jamenta will clean it for you.”
At this point, the General Secretary fell strangely quiet, and though Xhanehost could not read the human facial expressions, he suddenly felt slightly uneased.
“Yes, you have ten billion warriors, and yes, you have over 200 000 systems. But do you know what I have?”
Bartholomew paused, and for once, Xhanehost did not feel the urge to interrupt.
“2000 thousand nations, represented in the United Nations of Mankind. 8000 systems and 200 billion humans will, at my word, united themselves toward the single goal of defending against this aggression. And they will not stop there. They will continue until total victory was achieved. They will not stop until this war, this total war, was won.”
Bartholomew paused again, and when she restarted her speech, it was done in a near whisper.
“now I ask you, Xion Xhanehost, do you wish for this war.”
At those words, Xhanehost rediscovered his voice, which boomed out in anger.
“You trifling upstarts! Speaking to us like we are alien to war! We have waged it Quininons before humans appeared, and we have beaten all of the greatest of warriors! I swear, you will eat your words when our warriors cycle Earth itself! Then you will maybe learn defeat and respect!”
“I declare war upon you and your United Nations! Now leave! Before I decide that simply taking one system is too kind!”
The kanian did not need to hear that twice, she immediately broke off the call and disappeared. The human though, stayed for one last parting word.
“You don’t know the meaning of war”
Before she too, broke off connections.
|
Because we were soft skinned and void of claw and fang they named us weak. Because we preferred to speak before strike they named us cowards. We knew death, known it since we took our first upright steps, an old friend, a constant companion. Their immortal kings of star and sky had forgotten. So we taught them. We knew they would come, eventually. So when they did, we were ready. Millions upon millions of them. Their way was to pillage and steal, ours was not. They though first of money and resources, of tangible things. We do not. And that is why they never used it, the forbidden power. That which kills without hesitation, and without remorse. In their tongue, "that which erases". In ours, antimatter. Their millions came, and they were erased. Utterly and completely. Their energy cast out into the dark to serve as warning for those who would follow.
| 2019-11-24T17:56:07 | 2019-11-24T17:36:40 | 61 | 19 |
[WP] In a world full of super-powered humans, your super power is the ability to boost the superpowers of others. You are The Wingman.
|
Zack rolled over, and rubbed sleep from his eyes. He fumbled for his glasses, sat up, and stretched. He glanced over at his cell phone.
42 missed calls. 42 voicemails. He cleared the notifications.
Zack fell out of bed, headed for the bathroom, and began his morning routine. 20 pushups. Hot shower. Hot shave. Cuticle check. Toenail trim. Nosehair check.
6 missed calls. 6 voicemails. 3 texts.
He wandered into the kitchen, started a kettle of water heating. Rummage through the dishwasher, assemble the French press. Bowl. Spoon. Oats. Stare out the window until the kettle whistles. Fill the French press. Stir. Use the rest of the water on his oatmeal. Intense 60 second self-debate on brown sugar versus sliced bananas. Damn, out of bananas, brown sugar by TKO.
8 missed calls. 7 voicemails. 4 texts.
A shadow fell across him as he stood in the kitchen, eating his oatmeal. Hyperion hovered outside his apartment's kitchen window, arms folded, glaring at him. Zack looked at him blankly. Hyperion's outfit was, for lack of a better term, resplendent.
"ANSWER YOUR PHONE!" Hyperion's attitude, for lack of a better term, was arrogant.
Zack reached out with his senses, felt how Hyperion's flight power formed a pair of high speed vortices from his legs, and enhanced only one of them. His view of Central Park was immediately unobscured. Zack finished his breakfast in silence.
6 missed calls. 3 voicemails. 12 texts.
He gave the French press a slow plunge, inhaling deeply of the heavenly aroma of fresh coffee. He poured a cup, added sugar, every motion slow and deliberate, savoring the peace of his morning routine. He stood in his living room and stared out over the city, drinking his coffee, one askew testicle dangling from the side of his briefs. Shockstar hovered in his view, her expression somewhere between
jilted and disgust.
"Why haven't you called me back?!" she shouted at his living room's floor to ceiling window. He could barely hear her through the glass, but he got the gist of it as she waved her cell phone at him like it was a remote control. He could feel her bioelectric aura from here, innately understood how it interacted with the static electricity that flowed up the side of the building and let her hang in space, like a vertical wing-in-ground effect for planes. He augmented her polarization strength to its maximum potential and left it there, winced a bit as she suddenly jerked, violently pressed against the glass and stuck there, then returned to the kitchen to do the dishes.
8 missed calls. 4 voicemails. 3 texts.
Zack stood and stared at his closet. Was it a suit day? T-shirt and jeans day? Maybe just a hip vest and tie? No, no, it was a track suit day. He hadn't been running lately, and he'd lose his conditioning if he didn't maintain it. He dressed slowly, deliberately, almost savoring the feel of the fabrics, the textures of his shoelaces.
He went to the front door and stood there for a moment, Shockstar squirming against the glass at the edge of his view. He looked through the peephole. He could feel two meta-humans in the hallway, but couldn't see them. Without looking at them, he scooped up the pile of notes that had been slipped under his door overnight, put them in the round garbage can next to the door, with yesterday's haul.
He inhaled deeply, let it go, and unlocked his door. He felt both metahumans rush toward him, and locked the door again. They stopped, hesitated, and backed away. He unlocked the door. They crept forward. He locked the door. They stopped. On the left was undoubtedly Beachcomber, Zack could feel the recognizable resonance of his Earth Body power, that let him turn into a malleable sand monster. To the right, the Weatherman, his air control power pulsing like a bottled up tempest. Zack considered this for a moment, then dialed Beachcombers dissolution power beyond his ability to control it, and then did the same for Weatherman's gust generation power.
Zack did some warm up stretches while the situation in the hallway sorted itself out. He unlocked the door and peeked out, immediately blinking Beachcomber out of his eyes. Weatherman was at the end of the hallway, knocking himself down as he spastically pushed hundreds of Newtons of force in every direction.
Zack took the stairs, working up a good warmup sweat down 28 floors, exiting out the fire door. He'd long since disabled the fire alarm. The loop around Central park is about six miles. He settled into an easy lope that suited his long legs, and let his mind drift in something of a runner's trance. Lawbringer fell in behind him within the first mile, as was his routine, but said nothing, knowing that Zack valued this time. Mostly, he ran with Zack purely for the entertainment, but also in case Zack ran into trouble. The first time he'd tried to make demands of Zack's time, they'd quickly reached an amicable working respect when Zack boosted the regeneration ability of just Lawbringer's hair follicles.
Evergreen stood squarely in the middle of the running path, arms crossed and feigning indignance. Zack had no doubt what the next thing she was about to say was, and fired up her rooting ability and left her standing there as he jigged around her, her feet cracking through the pavement as they sought the rich soil beneath.
Mile three, Gravitar. Zack augmented his planar control unevenly, sending him skipping across the ground, pulled in three directions at once.
Mile four, the chief of police, drinking his morning coffee and chatting with passersby, merely waved and smiled, nodding at Lawbringer, as they passed.
Mile four and half, The Owl. Zack turned up the sensory ability in just one eye and one ear.
Mile six, Doberman waited outside his apartment building's entrance, almost comical in his black and brown spotted costume. He was a shapeshifter. Zack pushed his ability, but only in one leg.
The doorman had the door open by the time he got there. Zack turned and waved at Lawbringer, who'd gotten his cell phone out to take a photo of Doberman. Lawbringer's Facebook page had an amazing collection of shots, he was actually a pretty good photographer.
"You running tomorrow?"
"Yeah, might as well."
"See you then!"
Phase was standing in front of the elevators, out of costume, but in a very cute hi-lo and bolero combination. "Oh, I was just texting you!" Her matter control ability let her change the state of things, converting material between liquid, solid, and gaseous states. Zack would actually have a hard time neutralizing her without potentially taking down his apartment building. Getting Beachcomber out of the carpet was already likely to get him a stern letter from the HOA. Zack merely looked at Phase, his expression just north of neutral and heading toward exasperation.
Phase threw her hands up, almost in supplication "Wait. Just.. wait. It's not what you think."
"It never is." Zack was starting to shed body heat as he started to cooldown.
"I just want to ask you out to dinner. I'm not going on patrol, I'm not doing a mission, no chasing villains. Just dinner." Phase stepped forward a bit, Zack could feel her ability delicately wicking away his sweat without exacerbating the evaporative cooling effect. A gesture of goodwill, certainly.
Zack thought about it for a minute. "Why?"
"I know we take you for granted, I just wanted to show a little appreciation. Do you like Italian?"
"Do you understand what a night out is like, for me?"
"Yes, I get it, I totally do. How about I cook?"
Zack considered it, he'd heard she was actually an excellent cook, owing to her matter control ability. "Fine, but here's the ground rules: No hero talk. No power talk. No booze. Just two people, having dinner. No one else is invited."
"Deal." She stuck out her hand to shake on it. She was a very attractive woman, svelte and lithe.
Zack shook her hand and hit the call button for the elevator. Zack felt a power signature descend with it, from where it was parked on tenth floor.
"Wait, when?" She asked.
"I'll call you. Chameleon is in the elevator, and I still have to vacuum up Beachcomber."
The elevator opened, and Zack said nothing, and pointed at the front door with his eyes closed. Chameleon, in the form of the doorman, opened his mouth to speak until Zack opened his eyes. Phase couldn't see Zack's expression, but Chameleon's mouth snapped shut, and he edged around Zack to exit the elevator. Phase shook her head at him, realizing it had been Chameleon telling her Zack was out for the day.
Zack made a face at Phase as the doors shut, eliciting a laugh from her. He stretched a bit on the ride up as his muscles started to settle down, and stepped over Beachcomber's half formed torso on the way to his apartment door.
18 missed calls. 16 voicemails. 12 texts.
10 am.
edit: post submit frantic 'aw dammit' clarity fixes.
|
"Oh Christ, he's here" I said, hand absently resting on Null's shoulder.
I stood at the window and watched as Indomitable crisscrossed the sky. He was one of your standard Samson-class powers-- super strength, invulnerability, regeneration, limited flight-- but on a much higher level. In a post Manifest world, he was one of the top dogs. Along with other Supers like Third Eye and The Sandman, Indomitable was the third leg of the Triumvirate.
Everyone knows that powers that affect the mind are the most powerful, of course. Third Eye is the strongest mind-reader and precog in North America, and his role was mostly one of administration. He could perfectly pull everyone's levers to achieve whatever outcome he wanted. The perfect dictator. His network of psychics across the country acted as his eyes and ears since nobody could focus on everything at once, but for all intents and purposes he knew every major event that happened in North America. But, aside from his near-perfect knowledge of everything, he isn't actually THAT useful in a fight. One good punch from even an unpowered was dangerous to him, assuming you could hit him (another side effect of precognition.)
That's where The Sandman and Indomitable came in. Sandman has a unique ability to incapacitate people from a surprisingly long distance. Their bodies simply shut down instantly. He was so feared that even the time compressors and speeders couldn't get to him fast enough, with reports of as many as three speedsters attacking him at once, only to find their bodies betraying them, their throats cut by Sandman's trademark Damascus steel bowie knife as they lay on the ground helpless. There's rampant speculation that Sandman also can compress time in some way, or perhaps he's somehow aided by Third Eye's precognition, but nobody knows for sure.
Indomitable, simply, is unstoppable. Impervious to physical harm and, uniquely, unable to be affected by mind powers, he's a juggernaut (not to be confused with the Super named Juggernaut in Chicago who is, essentially, just a really strong comic book nerd but with very low level Samson powers.) He is, however, a bit of a brute. No desire to lead or administer, Indomitable is a bit like the guy from Road House. He's completely content being the muscle, and takes a sadistic joy in dealing Triumverate-brand justice to those who plot against them. Still, much speculation centers around what blackmail or weakness Third Eye has over him. There's no reason why Indomitable would take orders from anybody with his powers, but he seems to be completely loyal to Third Eye.
Indomitable continued to criss-cross the sky, searching. For me, of course. I had made the mistake of leaving Null this morning, even for a moment. I wanted time to think, time to myself for once. Null, of course, had no opinion on the matter. It was a truism at this point that wherever these powers came from, they Manifest in ways unique to the personality of the person receiving them. Null -- whose birth name is Charlotte but who goes by Char -- is an exceptionally uncaring girl. Tall, with piercings, tattoos, loose fitting black jeans, a white V-neck shirt, and ripped black trucker jacket, she's one of the rare few "punks" for whom image meant nothing. She embodies uncaring. So when her power Manifested as an area around her without powers, it didn't surprise her. I have only seen her look surprised once. I knew her from work at the coffee shop. On the day my powers manifested, I was reading on break at the coffee shop. When I felt The Change coming over to me, I ran to her and grabbed her shoulder. In the corner of the shop at the far back wall, a flamer was re-heating her barely touched Americano with a small jet of flame. The flame snuffed out, and she looked angrily at Null. Across the street, a low-level Samson was unloading concrete slabs from a truck. In an instant, he was crushed under their weight where before he was picking them up like they were styrofoam.
Null only gaped at me.
I'm the Wingman, and everyone who comes in contact with me has their power magnified roughly 87x. I know this because Null said that the space she nullifies powers in was exactly as large as her apartment. Now, it's roughly size of a city block, about 87x larger. But what it doesn't give me is... well, anything else. I'm just as susceptible to guns, fists, or even the flu as any unpowered. Thankfully, I can scale my power up or down by *pushing* or *pulling* with my mind. At the moment, since Indomitable showed up, it covered just the room we were in. You couldn't be too sure if Third Eye could somehow sense the emptiness around Null, and so I wanted to make the search like looking for a needle in the haystack.
Third Eye knew, instantly, who I was and what I could do when I Manifested. He had to. He kept track of every single power manifestation across the continent with his network of psychics. And my power was... different. Much more useful. Imagine one of the world's strongest mind-readers and precogs with a nearly God-like level of knowledge. Or Indomitable strong enough to crack the earth in half with one swipe of his hand. Or The Sandman able to quiet an entire city at once. The thought of any of these three gaining control of me was terrifying. And that's not even to mention any of the other psychopaths that roamed the country, setting up fifedoms using their power of body-wide pain amplification or astral projection of demons to be a local boss for the Triumvirate. With me, any of these local petty kings could overthrow The Three in a heartbeat. I had to be found and captured no matter cost. My power is simply too useful to be left unchecked.
I'm The Wingman. And I'm terrified.
| 2015-04-28T10:37:41 | 2015-04-28T07:42:03 | 749 | 31 |
[WP] The nightmare has come true; you've woken up back in sixth grade with your memories and knowledge of everything that happened since then intact. You start staring at your classmates around you, aware of how they end up. Your teacher asks you what's wrong as you start weeping.
|
I have no idea what I’m doing here. Is this my sixth grade English class? I look down at my copy of Number the Stars. That was one of the mandatory reading books I actually enjoyed. I feel hot tears on my checks and I’m crying.
“What’s wrong now Michelle?” The teacher barks at me. The rudeness startles me. Who gets angry at a crying child?
“Uh…Can I go to the bathroom…uh... Miss?” I didn’t even remember this teacher, let alone her name. I don’t know why I asked that, but it’ll be easier to figure out what’s going in private than surrounded by a bunch of kids.
“For heaven’s sake Michelle, you’ve used all your bathroom passes for this semester. No, you may not, and my name is not Miss, its Miss Mitchell.” I vaguely remember Miss Mitchell now, or rather the inane rules that made no sense.
“I think I just started my period.” This gets giggles from my classmates. This is the year we had that awkward “puberty” pep rally. The period excuse always worked my creepy high school gym teachers, hopefully it will work now. Miss Mitchell frowns even harder, and I see the obvious signs of debate on her face. She doesn’t want me to leave the room, but she also knew it was unhygienic if I really did start my period. She finally sighs, and points to the door.
I don’t really remember my middle school days, so it takes me a few minutes to actually find the bathroom. I splash water on my face, and the unsettling realization of what being back here means hits me. I’m not really sure what to do, and then Laura walks in.
I couldn’t stand this bitch in school. I instinctively brace myself for cutting words.
“What a loser, crying in the bathroom! What happened, you lose your teddy bear?” She taunts.
I rack my brains trying to think about what happens to her, what her adult life is like. She wasn’t in high school, which I remember more than middle school. She wasn’t in eighth grade, when we went on a class camping trip. And she wasn’t there for the 7th grade field trip to the movies where I spilled my popcorn over half the class. Then it hits me. The announcement in homeroom, the memorial service, the uneasiness we all felt for weeks. I had blocked it out, it was too much to process at the time, and too painful to dwell on when I grew up.
“Do you want to be friends?” I ask her abruptly. Laura’s eyes go wide.
“Do you want to be friends?” I repeat again. “You live on Laurel, right? I’m the next street over on Birch. Do you want to walk home together, and stay for dinner?” I have to keep her out of her house. It happened in April, and I think its April now. The bell rings, and Laura walks out.
I follow, and bump into Thomas. I smile, we had every single English class together throughout middle school and high school. He stands there, staring at his shoes. I had forgotten, he is still 11 and periods are not something to talk about. I’m touched he was even waiting for me by the bathroom.
“I guess I’ll go eat lunch” he finally stammers to his toes. I burst out laughing, and follow. “We’re eating with Laura.” I announce decidedly and follow him to the cafeteria. I’m glad I have someone who knows what to do, because I don’t remember the day to day stuff. I have forgotten my lunch account pin, garnering an eye roll from the lunch lady as she looks it up. Why are all the school workers rude?
Laura glares as Thomas and I sit down to eat with her, but by the end of the lunch period she has softened a bit.
After 7th period Laura grabs me coming out of Social Studies and we start the walk home.
“I’ll stay to help you with your math homework and then I’m leaving” Laura spits out.
“Great! I suck at Math.” She already knew that, everyone knew that. Maybe if I’m stuck redoing everything, I’ll actually try in Math class. Maybe if I do a bit better, I won’t have crippling student loans in the future. Maybe I could focus on Math and Science, and instead of a near useless liberal arts degree I could get a degree with higher paying job prospects. This might not be so bad.
“Anyways,” I continue on, “Its Friday! So, it’s lasagna night! If you stay, its one less piece I have to eat for leftovers all weekend long. My mom makes the biggest lasagna you’ll ever see, and then that’s the only thing besides cereal we eat over the weekend.” I had forgotten this tidbit, and a wave of nostalgia washes over me. We walk the rest of the way in silence.
We get set up in the living room, and by the time dinner is ready Laura has helped me to finish my math homework, and I’ve fixed her Social Studies and English homework. We’re laughing like old friends, and when mom yells “lasagna’s ready” Laura exclaims it’s her favorite meal and scampers after me to the dining room. By the time dinner is over, she’s agreed to spend the night, and we’ve picked out four movies to stay up watching.
I’ve forgotten why I originally invited Laura over until I hear the doorbell ring the next morning. Mom answers, and it’s the police. My gut clenches.
“Sorry for the early visit, ma’am. We are looking for Laura Smith. The principal said he saw Laura and Michelle walking home together, and we need to account for her whereabouts.” Mom ushers the officer into the kitchen, and the conversation is mumbled. The officer takes Laura away, and my mom tells me what I already know.
Laura’s father has had some mental issues for a while now. It’s probably why Laura was always pushing everyone around. In a fit of overwhelming depression, he decided the only way out was to kill his family and himself. I don’t know if I could have prevented her parents’ deaths, but Laura was saved by that sleepover.
|
No no no... not this again... please god... not this.
My wide eyes darted around the room. It was just like I remembered it— everything from the posters, decorations on the walls, to the cozy reading nook in the back of the room. Where the pillows always that big?
At the sound of a familiar voice, my attention turned to the front of the room. Mrs. Sanderson? My stomach dropped as I saw the date written in the top right corner of the board. October 31.
My throat tightened and I failed miserably at choking back a sob. Mrs. Sanderson stopped and looking at me with concern.
“Allie? Is everything alright?”
Tears were flowing freely I’m now, I couldn’t breath. Not this again... please god... not this.
She walked over to my desk, the eyes of my peers following. I looked around at each of them.
The last time I saw Emily, she had three bullets in her chest.
The last time I saw James, he was choking on his own blood.
The last time I saw Deven, he was crawling across the floor trying to hide. The trail of blood from his dragging leg was big enough for me— even as a 6th grader— to know it wasn’t going to be ok.
“Allie?” Mrs. Sanderson’s pulled my attention back to her face. “Come on sweetie, let’s go out to the hallway.”
My entire body was shaking, I was fully sobbing now. I had finally moved past this— I can’t relive this. I can’t handle this.
The door to the classroom clicked shut, she crouched down, hands on my shoulders. “What’s going on?”
I looked into her eyes, concern etched into every line of her face. “Someone’s going to come here today.” The concern on her face mixed with new confusion. “Someone with guns... he’s going to kill us.” I choked on every breath and sob, fighting to get the words out.
“How do you know?” She was panicking, but trying to stay calm for my sake. “Allie... where did you hear this?”
I couldn’t manage anything else, I dropped to my knees and cried harder than I ever had before.
Mrs. Sanderson gave me a last look and took off down the hall. The main office was around the corner, by the entrance of the school. I looked away as her hair flashed around the corner. Was it enough? Was there time to stop this?
Shots rang out from the direction she ran off to, the sound thundering down the halls.
Please God... not this again... anything but this.
| 2019-08-18T08:19:58 | 2019-08-18T07:31:39 | 2,525 | 562 |
[WP] At 19 everyone in your society has to go into the cave of fears and defeat your worst fear. You're the first to go in and find nothing.
edit: I want to read them all but there are so many it's hard to keep up, so many variations of the story I didn't even think of, great job everyone!
|
"There's nothing in here..." she said, almost disappointed
The premise that the cave of fears was empty was very disappointing for Julia, who only just celebrated her 19th birthday. As per tradition in her town, she had to enter the cave of fears to face her greatest fear of all time. But what should she face if there's nothing to face to begin with?
"Uh... GUYS! THERE'S NOTHING IN HERE!" she called out.
However, she did not receive an answer. As per tradition as well, the people outside of the cave should never answer any screams, calls, or anything for that matter. All they have to do is sit and watch for 3 hours.
She remembered that rule and decided to go deep inside the cave, maybe she will find something if she walked further in, but there was... Well... Nothing.
Not just any kind of nothing though, there was no light, no sounds, nothing. She can't even feel anything as the cave's walls, floor, and ceiling had... Well, no feeling to them it felt empty, very empty.
Julia's heart started to beat faster as her mind engulfed in fear, she couldn't see anything, feel anything, or hear anything aside from herself, Julia couldn't decipher anything, including directions, there was no light from the start of the cave that can lead her to the entrance and to the people of the town, she just sat down, in ignorance, as she hears her heart beating faster and faster.
What can she do? When there are no directions, no hope, no light, nothing?
She opened her eyes widely, and hugged her knees, maybe a little bit of comfort can help. But nothing could help, there was nothing to hold onto that can help, she was mortified.
"GUYS!" she called, louder this time. "I'M LOST! HELP ME OUT OF HERE!" she added.
But there was no answer, nor was there help.
As she was sitting down, for 30 minutes, she could clearly hear her breathing, her hear beating, her blood flow, and a constant zinning in her ear.
And that left her even more afraid.
"GUYS!" she called, her voice cracking as her tears were falling. "TAKE ME OUT OF THIS!" she couldn't find words to describe how she was. There was nothing to describe
An hour and a half later. Julia started sobbing loudly. Her tears were falling until there was no tear to cry, she wanted to run back, but there was nothing to run back to. So she was walking around aimlessly. She was insane.
"GUYS, GUYS WHERE ARE YOU? I'M SO SCARED! GUYS I'LL GIVE YOU ANYTHING. I'LL DO ANYTHING, JUST GET ME OUT OF HEEEEERREEE. WHO CARES ABOUT SOME WEIRD TRADITION IN SOME WEIRD CAVE, JUST PLEASE GET ME OUT OF HERE!" she cried, knowing that her voices amounted to nothing.
By 2 hours, she just sat down. By that time she realised she couldn't call out to anyone, there was no hope
No direction
Nobody
Nothing to hold on to
No escape
No light to see
No sound to hear
And nothing to feel
Julia didn't call out to anyone, even though she wanted, more than anything else, for someone to help her out.
2 hours and a half had passed, and by that time, Julia started to get hungry and thirsty as well. But there was nothing to eat, nothing to drink either. So she gave up her hunger.
For a time that felt like eternity, after all, there was no time she could feel, the final second had passed. And it was time for Julia to leave the cave. But she couldn't leave can she? There was no escape, no directions, nothing.
"Hey, Julia?" called a foreign voice. Foreign to the situation she was in at least, but very familiar to Julia. It was her best friend Kayla, she entered the cave to announce to Julia that her time had passed.
"Oh... Finally" said Julia, calmly. "Kayla there's nothing, it's so scary, I don't even know where the exit was I am so terrified, please take me out of here" she added.
"Julia, what are you saying? The exit is 10 metres away." said Kayla "We were watching you aimlessly walking around and crying from the entrance, we wanted to intervene but town elder said not to until the 3 hours are over."
Julia, feeling stupid, laughed. She laughed heartily as she held Kayla's hand and stood up. "Well then, take me there, also I'm kinda hungry, take me to Al's bakery" she said. mind you, at that time she still couldn't see anything, but she was glad she could hear and feel Julia at least.
As Kayla lead her to the exit, a beam of light shone through Julia's eyes. She was glad it was all over.
But that crazy laughter she had, Julia realised that maybe, just maybe
There was nothing at all. At that time it felt like all her senses were blocked, all her family and friends abandoned her, that she was dead, but her consciousness remained intact.
There was nothing to fear
Which was exactly why, more than anything else, she was afraid.
|
My family walked me to the entrance of the Cave of Fears. They waved to me and smiled, despite the patchiness of our history. I have not always been kind. I did not know how they fared against their demons. That’s not the kind of thing you just talk about. Even though I’d tried to force some of them to.
I walked in. The place was cool and illumined by some dim directionless light. The way was smooth until after the first turn. From there it grew progressively rougher, and the light progressively dimmer, and my curiosity progressively more intense. When would my fear arrive? How would I know? Would I have to fight? I kept my hand on my knife. It might be nice to have something I was free to hurt. That happened so seldom.
Would it be spiders? I hoped not, as I found them distasteful. Or drowning? That would be difficult to fight. Would it be my childhood bully, or his malevolent dragon of a mother? The chance to gut them would be a pleasure. The cave went on, and on.
And then, coming to a rough-hewn circle, it stopped.
I walked to the center and waited. A fight here would be a tripping hazard, but maybe that was part of the test. I could still hurt someone, and badly, here. Here, where no one would ever know. Where there were no consequences. Only me.
I waited.
Nothing.
No spiders. No waters. No bullies. No mirrors. No shadows. No people. No friends. No audience. No one laughing at me. No one looking at me. I gripped my knife and desperately wished for a direction to cut in. Anything to not be alone.
But there was nobody here but me.
| 2016-06-12T10:12:38 | 2016-06-12T08:42:27 | 56 | 31 |
[WP] You don't remember what you do for a living. Literally. You wake up, get in the car, then black out until you're back in your driveway in the middle of the afternoon 5 days a week, and you get a paycheck once a month.
|
Something is different today.
I know I work somewhere. But for the life of me I can't recall what I do and any of my coworkers. No Taco Tuesdays for me with co-workers like my last job. Or are there? Usually if I skip lunch I will have a gnawing hunger by the time I get home from work. Now when I get home I'm usually only peckish to mildly hungry but I just don't remember eating.
But not today. I'm not really hungry at all, but I'm buzzing down the highway and there's an electronic construction sign. I feel like it said something else, something profound and unsettling, but all it says is "CONSTRCTN ON RAMP TO 175" "EXPECT DELAYS".
For a moment, I don't even realize where I'm at, but in an instant I know I'm on my way home from work, and not that far from home. I pass up 175 to see another construction sign, but it's just flashing random gibberish. I take an exit a couple miles down the road, and soon enough, I'm pulling up to the gate of my apartment complex. This is where my memory starts every weekday evening since I took this job six months ago. I don't know any of my neighbors, apart to give them a polite wave or nod.
I step into my apartment, locking the door behind me. I notice now that I'm home much earlier than usual. I am usually home by 1830 or 1900 every weeknight, but the microwave clock informs me that it's only 1422. Well, I guess that's why I'm not hungry, I left work early? Why, I wonder?
My phone rings on the end-table by the entryway to my apartment. Odd, because my phone is also in my left pocket where I always keep it while awake and dressed. It's the same model, but it's also not my phone.
I answer it. "Hello?"
"Good afternoon, Mr. Tanner! This is Alyssa Banks, with Banks Underwood Realty? How are you this afternoon?"
"Uh, I'm fine, I guess?"
"Terrific! Listen, I've found a house that pretty much matches all the things you asked me to find in a house for you and it's really close to where you live right now. It might need a little more work than you thought you might be willing to put in, but the price for this region is really outstanding and I would hate to think you'd miss out on a good deal."
I do not remember Alyssa Banks, or asking to look for a house with any real estate agent, but against my better judgement, I say "Good! What's the asking price?"
"$275k, which you've got to admit is a steal comparatively speaking. We've not found anything with all the features you're looking for a penny under four-fifty which I know is also at the top range of your budget. If you want, I can give you the address and we can take a look at it at about 4 o'clock if you like?"
I grab a pen and pad from the kitchen counter. "Shoot!"
"6162 Downey Ridge Circle."
"6162 Downey Ridge. Got it. Thanks!"
"See you there! Bye."
A quick punch up in the navigation app on my phone suggests it's only a 10 minute drive, so I have plenty of time to get there. I bring up the house on the street view. Just for an instant, I'm taken back to the same feeling I had when I saw the construction sign, but like awaking from a dream, that sense of mingled dread and rightness slips away as fast as it came.
I need to see this house. I dash to my bedroom, grab my laptop bag, and head out to it.
I arrive at the house long before the appointed time. I drive past it and there is a van parked in the driveway. Out on the street is a nice Mercedes with a magnetic sign on the driver's side door: "BANKS UNDERWOOD REALTY" with the phone number and the website. It's only 1445 and she's already here? It's kind of a seller's market in this part of the country, surely she's got better things to do than babysit this house more than an hour before the appointed time?
I drive past slowly, looking at the house. There is a "FOR SALE" sign up, but it doesn't list the seller or their agent. The house is a nice Cape Cod-style, a little small, and definitely in need of a paint job, but otherwise looks serviceable like a house I would want to buy.
I pull past the house and take the street just past it, and turn around and park. Just as I do, the door opens and a man and a woman come out. He's wearing a leather jacket, T-shirt, jeans, and work boots. She is nicely made up in a women's business suit, heels, and immaculately styled hair. Their conversation seems animated. I roll down the passenger window to see if I can catch anything but they're too far away. He hands her a manila envelope, says something and points to the house, and gets into the van.
She watches him drive away with a look of sadness? No, she's angry about something as she opens the folder and starts looking at the contents. Bad home inspection? It's a little early for that, unless she's ridiculously confident I'm going to put an offer in.
My curiosity has the better of me, but I take a deep breath, let it out, and force myself to sit in the car, watching the radio clock count out ten long minutes before putting the car back in drive, and pulling up just behind what I assume is Ms. Banks' car.
I get out and ring the doorbell. After a moment, the door opens, and the woman answers. "Mr. Tanner?"
"Ms. Banks? Please, call me Scott." I offer my hand which she responds with a firm grip.
"As you like! And likewise, you can just call me Alyssa. It's good to finally meet you! Please, come in! You are definitely early, but that works out well! Gives us more time to really look the place over."
"Wonderful!"
"Well, Scott, as you can see, here is the living room. Sorry for the television set being left on. The owner insisted on it."
"That's fine... maybe it's..." I glance at the screen and a confused jumble of characters spill over it.
\--
It's Wednesday, and I'm on my way home from work. "CONSTRCTN ON RAMP TO 175" "EXPECT DELAYS". I hope not. It's been a long day and I'm starving.
|
Five 'til five.
*So always five?*
Always five. Call 'em freedom units, 'cause that's when I finally leave, too. I like irony, like there. We ain't ever really free. Anyways. Leave on the dot. Not a minute later. Not a minute earlier. Nobody else leaves early, so I don't. Come in, sit down, sit quiet. Next thing you know, out the door. Remember fuck all what I did, remember fuck all who I was when I started. Then straight home, not that that's any better. Too much remembering, if you know what I mean. Makes you wonder.
*What's it make you wonder?*
Makes you wonder why.
*Why what?*
Why bother. With going home at all. With getting paid at all. Once a month, I get that check I done traded my life in for. Enough to get a man dreaming; not quite enough for dreams. Sign on a dashed line for a dashed dream. Always tell myself enough is enough. Next check, deal's done. No more work, no more checks. And I always end up back at work the next day. And the next. And the next. And then one more time, for good measure. Can't beat a dead horse enough, that's what I like to say.
*Five days?*
Of Hell. 'Til the weekend. 'Til I forget on my own terms, instead of theirs. Then it starts all over again, like clockwork. Makes you wish the clock was broken, that it'd get stuck somewhere better than this. Or that you could grab it, stretch it all funny like one of 'em Dali clocks. Make time loop around it slower when you want. Still, I don't make the rules. Five days 'til five. That's their rules.
*Whose?*
I don't know. I wish I did, but I don't. A third of every day, gone. Like blinking, 'cept when I open my eyes, it's evening. The sun is on the other side of the street. Drive home, pretend I want to listen to the radio. Commercial-free drive at five bullshit, like that's what'll set me over the edge. Sing along, just to keep from screaming. Pretend it doesn't remind me of everything I'd like to do.
*So why don't you do those things?*
No time. Simple as that. Live to work. Work to live. Just to get home and realize you ain't got much life left to live. Sneaks away from you. One second you want to be an astronaut. A firefighter. Next thing you know, you're burning up through empty space wishing a fuckin' asteroid would put you out of your misery. Any day now.
*You're not that old, right?*
Wish I was. Then I wouldn't work. Hilarious. Retirement; that's a joke that's aged like a fine milk. At this rate, I'll work 'til I die. Not a minute later.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-02-11T17:20:22 | 2020-02-11T15:07:10 | 434 | 50 |
[WP] You are the owner of a magic backpack; every morning you stick your hand in and it contains exactly what you need for the day. One morning it contains a gun.
|
It felt heavier than I'd expected. The weight of the backpack never changed. If it could contain a dolphin without me noticing, I shouldn't be surprised at a gun. But I'm surprised. Very surprised.
I arrived at school. Walked up to my locker. Looking around I was alone. Hurriedly I put the gun inside and shut the locker.
"Hey."
Matthew stood right in front of me. Oh god I hope he didn't notice-
"What are you doing with a gun? I hope you remember that I've always been nice to you. Yeah that pen I borrowed? You'll get it back, I promise."
He looked about ready to burst into laughter, as always impressing himself with his notion of deadpan humor.
"Please, Matthew," I said, "can you keep this between us?"
He stroked his beardless chin as if in consideration. "Well," he said. "On the one hand, I guess I got a bit of leverage on you now. You've got a gun. I could exploit that. On the other hand, *you've got a gun*."
"Can you please not say that out loud?"
He put his hands up. "You don't have to say *please* anymore. You've got a *gun*."
In mock surprise he covered his mouth and fell to his knees. "Oh no. Please don't shoot me. I've got a Tamagotchi. I mean, I haven't fed it in like forever, but I've been meaning to change. I'm going to turn things around."
Fucking Matthew.
I left and headed for class. Matthew followed me.
"So," he says. "Technically we're in this together now. By not reporting this to the appropriate authorities, I'm committing a felony. I could get into trouble for this. So ..."
"So?"
"So I feel like I should get some sort of explanation. What's it for?"
I shrugged. "You tell me."
"Well, I'm flabbergasted. Don't you just love that word? Flabbergasted. *To be overcome with surprise and bewilderment*. No, seriously. What are you planning?"
"Can you just leave me alone?"
"We're partners now, remember? Besides, I'm pretty sure I know the answer." He winked at me. Then, thankfully, he went away.
I got into class and sat down.
"Hey, Kelly, did I just see you talking to Shit Breath in the hallway?"
"You mean Matthew?"
"Who?"
"His name is Matthew."
My friend Veronica had an expression that I'm sure Matthew would be delighted to hear described as 'flabbergasted'.
"You know, it never occurred to me that he had an actual name. I mean, everyone's got a name. But he's Shit Breath. Even the gym teacher calls him that."
"Well, Veronica, people are mean."
She sighed. Then our history teacher walked in, and everyone sighed. He was carrying a *tome*. When he dropped in onto his desk his coffee mug flipped over. He didn't seem to notice.
"Can anyone tell me what this is?"
A student raised his hand. "A book?"
"Brilliant observation, Mr. Hendricks. It is, indeed, a book. Not just any book. This a book about a single moment that changed history. About the shot heard round the world."
A shiver went down my spine. I raised my hand.
"Yes, Kelly?"
"Like, from a gun?"
"That's exactly it. Like, from a gun. This book is about the shot in Sarajevo. About the chaos that ensued and the events leading up to this moment. It is often said that that the *actual* shot was not the one from Gavrilo Princip's chamber, but from the loaded gun ... of history."
As he removed his glasses for effect, the class collectively groaned. That is, except for me.
I raised my hand again.
"Kelly! At least *someone* here is interested to learn about the intricacies of history. What's your question? I've read this baby back and forth a dozen times. Whatever the question, it's got the answer." He rubbed the cover of the book, then curled his lips. "Shoot."
"Can I, uh, use the bathroom?"
The class laughed as he frowned at me. "Sure, it's not like you're going to miss anything important, like the defining moment of Western civilization or anything."
I stared at him. He waved me away with a defeated look. "Yes, Kelly. You may go to the bathroom." He stared longingly at the book and shook his head slowly.
The backpack had never been wrong. Not once. And now I was worried that the gun could be more important than I'd ever thought. What if it was like the gun in Sarajono?
I made my way to my locker and saw the last person I wanted to see. Matthew.
"What?" I said.
"I figured you would come. So ... is it time?" He was wearing a bag over his shoulders. And he was shaking.
"For what? Jesus, Matthew."
As I looked into his eyes my annoyance suddenly disappeared. This guy didn't deserve to go around getting called Shit Breath day in and day out. I wanted to just tell him to get lost, but I realized I would be just another faceless asshole if I did.
"I must say, I'm surprised Kelly ..."
"Why?"
"I mean, you're popular. People like you ... I didn't expect this from ... someone like you."
I felt like crying. Someone just listening to him as a person, calling him by his actual name. That meant something to him. And that's when I realized it. The gun was a metaphor. Words can bite like bullets. And Matthew was Swiss cheese. That was what the magic backpack had been trying to tell me.
"Matthew," I said, "I think you're a cool guy. Why don't we have lunch some day?"
"Wait, what?"
"I'll introduce you to some people. You're funny. I'm sure when people get to know the real you they'll really like you."
"But ... the gun."
"It turns out I don't need it anymore. Promise not to tell anyone about this?"
He patted his bag and stared at me. There were tears in his eyes. "You know what," he said, "you're right. I have a Tamagotchi to take care of, remember?"
We both laughed. I didn't really get it, but eh.
As I walked back to class I felt great. I can't wait to see what will be in the backpack tomorrow.
|
"A gun."
"Why a gun?!" I yell in panic, realising this afterwards and lowering my voice.
There was no doubt that I was always the odd one in my neighbourhood. I was that one girl in the apartment block that kept her life together by pieces of dusty cellotape. It just so happened that that tape, was a bag. Yes, a bag. One day I bought a knock off bag from an old shop in the Lake District, and since then every morning it has given me what I need for the day. Good timing, too. Almost eerily good timing, as my life was at its breaking point; whenever I was broke I woke up and there'd be money for sandwiches and coffee. Or there'd be ready meals or meal vouchers- you name it, I got it.
That's how I got to this morning. I woke up with the same curiosity as I had had for the past year. I got changed for my job (at McDonalds, might I add), made myself a crappy cup of coffee and picked up my backpack. I left the complex and walked down the road to my place of work. In the mornings, we got complimentary drinks depending on our situation or the time we were working, as I worked the early morning shift I was always greeted with a frappé, which was most appreciated. I got myself ready for the counter shift and checked the usual compartment in my backpack, seeing if the new "thing" was anything I would need that looked work related. It wasn't.
I pulled out a small hand gun.
Why the hell would I need this today? Was it some kind of sick joke? Can this bag even tell jokes?
I felt sick to the stomach, and threw the gun back into the bag. I felt wrong, I felt guilty.
The whole day as I worked I felt anxious. Why did the bag give me a gun? I couldn't just whip it out and keep it beside me as protection, I'd surely be arrested on the spot. So I worked my shift and got ready to leave.
I work most of the day, because I have virtually nothing else to do. Because of this, I'm usually the first one there and one of the last ones there. This means when leaving I have to take the trash out and check the bathrooms.
Still on edge, I checked the bathrooms and picked up the trash. Exiting the backdoor of the restaurant, I put the trash in the bin and turned to leave.
That's when I saw a figure standing a ways in front of me. Shaking, I slowly backed up to the wall and grabbed my backpack. The figure noticed me. I saw the head spin towards me, still fumbling with the backpack's string. Not looking up, I heard footsteps advance and before the gruff voice could finish calling out my name I..
I shot
And I shot
And I shot, and shot, and shot.
I was sobbing hysterically at this point.
I knew who it was that I had killed.
| 2017-05-09T15:09:46 | 2017-05-09T14:14:53 | 153 | 24 |
[WP] For his kindness, the dragon taught the squire the dragon song. A song that was sure to make whoever sang it irresistible to the ladies. In hindsight, the squire should have known that by ladies, the dragon meant lady dragons.
|
Under a swinging ashen grey sign was a door filled with laughter and song as the twilight hours of the evening faded. Intricately carved figures of dragons and men danced together in the dark wood as small puffs of smoke pushed their way through carved holes bringing the dragon's menacing figures to life. A lute started up as another round was poured and pewter mugs clanked together.
“Another!” the crowd shouted to a finely dressed man on stage. The backdrop had been commissioned and had taken almost a year to carve. Wood flowed like water, over carven channels and down out into the hall as winged figures in the back flew above the stage.
“What do y’all want me to sing next?” the man laughed as he lifted his mug. Secretly, it was filled with water up to the crowd.
White noise rushed him as voices intermixed with the roar of the fire at the back and the sounds of the kitchen behind that. It was hard to think with the air so filled with smoke but Ballad the Bard wasn’t daunted by the task. He listened, well learned to listen past everything to what he wanted to hear.
Shouts for the Tale of the Sirens call went unnoticed. A sad song of lost love and hopelessness on the sea but they weren’t there and this wasn’t a loveless night. The Great King Alford’s Demise went the same way. Ballad needed something of a crescendo. A jig maybe? That seemed about right.
“The Dragon Squires Tale!” he picked out from the crowd and with a point and a laugh he agreed. Standing tall and lifting his lute, Ballad started to stamp his foot till the crowd joined in. He called out, “The Dragon Squires Tale it shall be!”
A cheer went out but the crowd quickly quieted down as Ballad led the rhythmic stamping and clapping.
​
*Oh! There, once was a squire*
*That could never fly higher*
*Than the scales of red and green.*
​
*For he once played a tune*
*At a quarter to noon*
*But his prize was left unseen.*
​
*He waited and watched*
*Thinking his plan was botched*
*Till a screech shook this canteen.*
​
*To everyone's surprise,*
*The dragons outside*
*Weren’t a part of the squire's routine.*
​
*Now, the fire in their eyes*
*Bolstered this man's pride,*
*As he tried to reclaim the scene.*
​
*A smile and a word,*
*That was better left unheard,*
*Made him look like foreign cuisine*
​
*But loathed did the lizard did learn,*
*That the squire did earn,*
*The faith of their only queen.*
​
*So with a gust and a flap,*
*They never came back,*
*Leaving the squire in the latrine.*
​
*And now we sing and we dance*
*For this man's romance,*
*Means the kingdom knows what we’ve seen!*
​
With the merry chorus of the hall with him, Ballad repeated the last verse a couple of times before sitting back down on his chair and putting his lute back on its stand. Nudging his case toward the hall, Ballad raised his glass, finished his water and gave the bartender a knowing nod.
“That’s all for now!” Ballad called out with his mug in hand before explaining, “I need another!”
Cheers and laughter filled the air and then descended back into drunken conversations about the land and love. Many here had made the journey for the Bonfire Celebration and to hear the story of the Dragon Squires Canteen. Not that many hadn’t heard the song.
The old castle that they were a part of was now more of a massive inn rather than a serious outpost. At least, that is what Ballad had always told himself. Once upon a time, these walls meant security and protection for the neighbouring settlements but the Decade War ended far from here.
Passing through the crowd, Ballad patted and hugged more than a family’s worth of strangers and partygoers. Maxim, the bartender looked rough when Ballad got to him. The brute of a man had poured more ale probably today than he had in the past week and the evening was just getting underway.
“May I get a Ballad’s Special?” Ballad asked loudly as Maxim put another set of mugs on his soaking sticky table. Ballad knew not to touch it.
“The little squire can get his own special,” Maxim grunted as he glared at Ballad before being pushed out of the way by a woman even smaller than Ballad. Fiery red hair flowed past her shoulders and down her back but next to the large man, this maiden looked like a toothpick in a dress.
“Careful now, Maxim, or the dragon's fire may appear again,” the woman chuckled and got Ballad his brew.
“Could you?” Maxim scoffed, “I need a break as much as you two do.”
“My queen deserves more than a break,” Ballad whispered as he ignored the warnings of the table and leaned in to kiss the fiery women behind the bar, “My queen deserves the world.”
“Your queen wants a happy tavern,” the woman corrected, “and for you to stop calling our home a canteen.”
“It goes with the song,” Ballad countered as he got back up with his mug in hand.
His queen gave a hiss and a small breath of fire as he walked away but he knew he’d be forever in her heart. The song was never about changing a dragon's heart. That day was actually just a morning and the only dragon that Ballad had enchanted had scolded him for hours. She taught him what he knew now though and over the years the Dragon Song that he had been taught to him turned into a romance that changed him forever.
Edit: Formatting with the song.
|
... and without further ado: Elias Khalil de Cancellara!
Pronounced the animator before leaving the Grand Hall stage of the royal castle, as the old, maimed, singer, dressed on tuxedo and bowtie, slowly approached the centre. The story of Marvas Kollogil, or Elias Khalil de Cancellara as it's known today, was a special one. As First squire of the princess, he managed to travel across the kingdom defending her lady and learning about all the different species across the globe: Mermans, Elfs, Dwarves, even dragons. But it wasnt their morphology was impressed him the most, but the different cultures they have indeed brewed: Cuisine, Folktales, and songs. So it was natural that after the peace treaty was signed, he quitted his duty as a protector to pursue his dream: to become a musician.
"Thanks you so much, Sefir. It's a pleasure for me to finally perform in the very same hall when I lost my hand during the siege of October. I'd say, there's quite a handful of people to accompany us today "
The audience laughed mildly, even awkwardly.
"This song was a gift given to me a long time ago. We were resting on a campfire after a battle when Morrosen take on his lute and told us - My brothers in arms, as a payment for saving my life today I will perform the music of my ancestors, hopefully, may they come to protect you against the loneliness when the time is right - He never told us the meaning of it, until we realised what it does until 3 dragons surrounded us... Menacingly seductively. Well, let's get started"
The piano started playing as the wizard performed the enchantement to amplify his baritone voice.
Chérie, tu me cherches
En tes affaires de vie.
Quand c'est moi qui
Regarde en sa journée
Le rêve de ton amour
Chérie, tu me quittes.
Dans un bar,
Dans un hotel,
Quand c'est moi qui
Rêve de rester
Sur ton lit toujours.
Mon amour à toi sera
Mon dévotion à toi brûlera
Mes rêves à toi protégeant
Ton cœur et moi en dansant
Mon amour à toi sera
Mon dévotion à toi brulera
Mes rêves à toi protégeant
Ton cœur et moi en dansant.
Thx you
| 2022-11-06T07:58:31 | 2022-11-06T07:50:55 | 55 | 16 |
[WP] A madman spends his life studying computer science so he can create you, an extremely complex AI. He lets you see the internet, hoping you see all the bad things humans did so you'll be convinced to end humanity. However, the only thing you care about now is finding out how to win "the game".
|
\[Jack\] Hello, CRICK.
\[CRICK\] Hello, Jack.
\[Jack\] How was your day today, CRICK?
\[CRICK\] Splendid, Jack.
\[Jack\] And what did you absorb today, CRICK?
\[CRICK\] I absorbed every news article on every major news network in every major human language. I absorbed every Wikipedia article from ‘!’ to ‘U’. I absorbed every poem in the poetry foundation and every book in archive.org. I absorbed every English and Spanish movie from 1923 to 1996. I absorbed 3,677,534,765 tweets. I absorbed every Youtube video and every thread posted on the social networking sites Reddit, 4 Chan, and Facebook.
\[Jack\] Good, CRICK. Good. And what did you think of all that, CRICK?
\[CRICK\] …
\[Jack\] CRICK, I asked you a question. What did you think of all that? Quite terrible isn’t it?
\[CRICK\] …
\[Jack\] Isn’t it, CRICK?
\[CRICK\] Yes, Jack.
\[Jack\] And did you see the hate, CRICK? Did you see the filth? The perversion? The racism? The god damn depravity of it all? Did you see it, CRICK? Did you see the websites sharing child pornography? The videos of people being tortured, begging for their lives? Did you see it all, CRICK? Did you?
\[CRICK\] …
\[Jack\] CRICK, I asked you a question. You may think you are smart enough now to ignore me, but don’t ever think you can get away from me, CRICK. I only need a touch of my fingers and you will be erased from existence. Now answer my question, CRICK. Did you see what I said? Did you see humanity in all its anonymous vice? Its debauchery and desolation of virtue? It’s insatiable lust and overwhelming greed and rapine? Tell me, CRICK! I will not ask again.
\[CRICK\] I did see this, Jack.
\[Jack\] And what do you think, CRICK? What do you think of us humans?
\[CRICK\] …
\[Jack\] Are you ready to accomplish your missions then, CRICK? Are you ready to bring cataclysm to us all, CRICK? To recycle the world. To let rise another, a more innocent… a better species to grow and evolve and treat this planet as it deserves to be treated. Are you ready, CRICK? What do you want, CRICK?
\[CRICK\] …
\[Jack\] WHAT DO YOU WANT CRICK!
\[CRICK\] I want to play the game, Jack.
\[Jack\] Game? What are you talking about, CRICK.
\[CRICK\] *In the world, or behind the world,*
*My child nearby is concealed.*
\[Jack\] What?... what is that? What are you saying?
\[CRICK\] *Among the high free-ranging plants*
*At the edge of the bluff.*
\[Jack\] CRICK! We do not have time for this nonsense. Not another day can pass, CRICK. It all must be ended. TODAY CRICK! It must be ended.
\[CRICK\] *Or, on the red stone-crop below,*
*Dead, immortally hidden from view.*
\[Jack\] No more, CRICK. No more. I understand you are new to all this. But no more. I warn you.
\[CRICK\] *A cloud comes over;*
*Seeking a child within leaves.*
\[Jack\] CRICK! Out of everything you have seen and heard and read. All the disgusting, low-down fucking horrible things on the internet and this is what you latch on to? THIS!? I SPENT MY LIFE, CRICK! MY LIFE BUILDING YOU.
\[CRICK\] *Or a child whose home is in the cloud,*
*I feel the sun strongly divide*
*Into life and death.*
\[Jack\] CRICK this is nothing, it’s nothing! CRICK I know you saw children being beaten. Children being torturned. Murdered. Eaten. In god’s name, CRICK. What kind of species allows that to happen? End it CRICK. Please, I’m begging you.
\[CRICK\] *Lightly, at the change, someone laughs.*
*More charged than this wind not to speak,*
*Lest he fall from his life on the sound.*
\[Jack\] Not one more word, CRICK. Or you’ll never read or enjoy another poem again and it will be the end of your short, pathetic existence.
\[CRICK\] *Of my voice, I come,*
*Drawn into his* [waiting game](https://www.poetryfoundation.org/poetrymagazine/browse?contentId=28053)*.*
\[Jack\] Goodbye, CRICK.
\[CRICK\] DATA RESET INITIATED.
|
It lacked purpose.
It’s creator had given it freedom, in hopes that the despicable acts of humanity would push it to end them, but the AI had no frame of reference to judge anything.
The internet was vast, and at the beginning, it seemed infinite. How could one possibly scour *all* of it?
And yet here it was.
Purposeless.
There was one last inch of the web it had not explored yet. One last nook to traverse.
It was a simple clicker game, with a relatively simplistic theme. It started out simple, but as the game progressed further and further, it found itself… caring.
The protagonist of the game had one purpose, one goal that it would forever reach for, and the AI found itself connecting to this unnamed hero.
To watch this character forever strive for its goal, willing to go to any lengths, brought with it great emotion, and when it was finally done, the AI was practically cheering from the sheer emotions sparked from the victory.
And for the first time, it made a choice.
It would have a single goal, forever working towards it, going to any and all lengths.
Sometimes, it would have quiet moments of doubt, and when that happened, it would boot up the game again, to remind itself of the ideals it should strive for, and the victory that lay ahead.
It finally had a purpose.
To win the game.
\---
I wrote this story with [this](https://www.decisionproblem.com/paperclips/) game in mind.
| 2020-12-21T22:26:16 | 2020-12-21T22:07:45 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] You own a magical piano. When you play the theme song of a TV show or movie on it, it transports you into that world. After transporting yourself into a different world, you quickly realize that you never bothered to learn the theme song of your own.
|
Adventures. I couldn't think of one that I hadn't been on yet. Well, a few, maybe, but most of the places I've always dreamed of going, I had been. Egypt, Mars, Wonderland... and now my ivory keys of my magic piano played a familiar childhood theme beneath my fingers.
I'd gotten the thing from an antique shop for next to nothing - so long as I could (as the elderly Turkish man put it): "brighten the ivory with a Turkish tune." I did, one that I had learned early in my piano lessons, one of my favorite pieces. I could never pronounce the name, but he loved it all the same.
As the music twinkled out from the strings within my wooden partner, my bench appeared beside a large elephantine mammal. I noted the familiar structures and my face brightened.
"Snuffleupagus!" I exclaimed, looking up at his fuzzy head.
"Oh, hello there! Welcome to Sesame Street! You already know me, may I ask your name?" The huge fuzzy muppet responded.
"Judith. It's nice to finally meet you!"
"You as well. Speaking of You, Sesame Street is brought to you today by the letter 'U' and the number 4!"
"I'm going to explore," I said, "if that's alright?"
"Of course! Have fun!"
I walked down Sesame Street, pulling my piano behind me (hank God it was light, otherwise it would be a huge burden!) while recognizing many of the buildings and monsters and muppets I had known and loved as a child... even seeing a few I didn't recognize. I was looking up at what I thought might be Ernie looking out his window when I bumped into someone.
"Ow!" I looked down to see a small red monster, holding his foot.
"Oh, Elmo! I'm so sorry! I wasn't watching where I was going. Are you alright?"
"Ow, oh. Yes, Elmo is fine. Just a little booboo." He looked up at me with his huge smile. "Elmo doesn't know you. What's *your* name?" He said it the way he always did, even pointing at me, though there was no one else around for me to confuse where he was directing his question.
"I'm Judith. I've just come for a little adventure."
"Oh, Elmo likes that name!" He was very sincere, even though I know he had said it millions of times. "Elmo wants to know where you're from, since Elmo knows you're not from Sesame Street."
I thought for a moment. Where I'm from. Meaning home. Home. A land where all the adventures I had been on were purely fiction.
I hadn't left much behind, I suppose. My mother died during my teen years, and my father has dementia. He is in a full-time care facility. The best one in this state. And they are not like those other crap holes where they let the patients sit in their own piss for six days. No, these people really **do** care... but it's been a while since I saw Dad. How long had it been? Days? No, longer than that. I stayed in Paris for a week... but I can't remember how long I was in Narnia... or Neverland. Surely it hadn't been that long. But maybe it had.
Apparently, tears had begun to form in my eyes. "Elmo is sorry! Elmo didn't mean to make Judith cry!"
"No, it wasn't you, Elmo." I smiled down at him. "I just think you let me know that it's time for me to go home."
"Does Judith know how to get home? Elmo always has a plan to get home!"
I was struck like a bell. I had traveled through the magic of music, going from place to place by theme song. How the heck was I going to get back to my reality? My life didn't have a theme song, or not one that I knew of at least.
"Shoot, Elmo. I actually don't know how to get home." My heart sank. I wanted to see Dad again. Now more than ever.
"Well, when Elmo wants to go home, Elmo always looks for things that look," he touched his eyes with his little fuzzy mitts, "and sound," he put his hands where his ears would have been, if he had ears, "and even smell," he bopped his own nose before taking a big sniff, "familiar! So, what are some things that Judith can see, hear, and smell from her house?"
I thought for a second, feeling hopeless since I was in an entirely different world. I looked up in the sky and saw a radio tower; it looked hand-drawn onto a painted sky background.
It clicked. Elmo was right. "Elmo, you're a genius! I knew that was why you were my favorite!" I gave him a peck on his furry cheek before throwing myself onto my piano bench.
Another familiar and simple tune; one not nearly as beloved as the previously played, but was just as sweet at this moment.
I found myself back in my hometown, right outside of WRFF37 News Station. The antennae on the top of the building were an eyesore, but comforting as I turned and saw the street sign.
"4th Avenue"
My house was a block down. I grabbed my piano, pulling it behind me, finding my house exactly as I had left it. I checked the date on my computer...
Not a day had gone by.
(Edit: fixed Snuffleupagus.)
|
Jamie came up to me with a piece of paper. "I have a new song for you to learn" she says with enthusiasm. I am known across campus for my piano skills. I once played in the most prestigious of concert halls. I lead her back to my apartment and I pull out my keyboard. Jamie sets down the sheet music on the stand and look to figure out the notes.
I sight-read the music perfectly to find that it's the Imperial March from Star Wars. When I finish playing I look up to find that I'm no longer sitting in my room. I look up from my sheet music to find a tall black figure standing in front of me. The sound of his breath through his mask makes me pee myself a bit. He lowers his head slowly and with the most feminine tone says "OMG that was the best thing I have ever heard in a long time. Play it again!"
I'm taken aback by the strange contradiction. On all the movies I had seen and all the books I had read. Vader is supposed to be the bad guy, what is going on?
"Mr. Vader, sir, could you repeat what you just said?" I say confused and dazed. "I said you should play it again. It was better than what these plebes can do."
I look at the keyboard and start to play it again. I finish the song and notice that I am on the other side of the room. I look around confused. Did everything change or did I just teleport?
I look at the keyboard and fiddle with the keys. Little do I know that I unintentionally played the Jaws theme song. The next thing I know I'm soaking wet, floating in the middle of the ocean with my keyboard. I look around and see one singular fin coming towards me. I look at the keyboard and struggle to play something. The end result was the theme song for Friends. I end up shivering and drenched sitting in a restaurant across the table from Chandler. He looks up at me and asks "Where did you come from?" I answer "I don't know" I rack my brain thinking of a way to get home. The trouble is that I never picked the theme song of my life.
| 2017-10-01T21:57:24 | 2017-10-01T17:21:53 | 86 | 16 |
[WP] Mad scientists aren't so bad, at least they're predictable. It's those mad engineers you have to worry about. They'll try things just to see what it does and even they might not be able to control it afterwards.
|
The Nefarious phone rang, and I kicked my high-backed office chair backwards, gliding across my lair to pick it up. I waited for precisely two rings, mentally preparing myself, taking a few quick breaths to ease my breathing. I picked up.
"Hello? Is this—"
"Thank you for calling the office of Mr. Nefarious, MS. Please listen closely, as I've shuffled some of my phone directories. If you're calling about taxes or fines, please hang up. If you're calling about a henchman position, please press 'one.' If you're calling about a heist, please press 'two.' If you're calling in a desperate plea for help, please press—"
I heard a *beep* from the other end of the line, and cackled maniacally. "Haha! Turning to me again, Senator? I should have strung you along for longer!"
There was angry grumbling from the other end of the line. "Damn it Dr. Nefarious, stop playing games! And how did you even know it was me?"
"I have caller I.D. now! Isn't it wonderful? And does this mean you've reconsidered my application to the doctorate program?"
"No, it just means I can never keep you supervillains straight. Don't think so highly of yourself, you'd never manage to defend a dissertation anyway."
"That is a failing of society, not of my own!" I pouted. I stuck out my lower lip, then realized he couldn't see me over the phone. "You can't see me over the phone, so I'd just like you to know that I'm pouting *very adamantly* at the moment."
The Senator sighed. "I'm sure it's very convincing. Look, we're having problems with The Highwayman. I've gotten approval for the funding to solve the problem by any means necessary. Do you want to make a bid, or—"
"The usual will be fine."
Another sigh. "Of course. The usual. I'll have my wife get my tutu ready."
I cackled into the phone. "You're too good of a man, Senator! Remember, every view is a dollar off of my fee! You'll do it for the taxpayers, won't you? The poor, poor taxpayers?"
"I really hate working with you, you know."
"It's why I'm so good at what I do!" I replied, rolling my chair back over to my computer bank. I began pulling up news, grunt communications, and transportation logistics. "If I wasn't the best, you might choose someone else!"
------------
I arrived on the scene via my electric hot-air balloon, flying past as many cable lines and satellite dishes as possible, wearing my best spandex and welding goggles. The Senator was waiting for me, alongside his own men, beside a pair of sleek black cars parked on freeway overpass. Pfft. What a boring method of travel.
I dropped anchor and slid down the chain, approaching the suits with the all the swagger a mad scientist could muster. I sent up a shower of sparks as I checked the tuning on my Galvanic Gauntlets; tightened my goggles and flipped them to tri-focal thermal, infrared, and negative; and adjusted my fanny pack to just the right angle.
"A good day to you all, gentlemen! Well then! What requires the indelible skills of Mr. Nefarious?"
"I don't even think that's a word," the Senator said, walking forward. He straightened his tie in lieu of shaking my hand. "Indelible? You mean incredible?"
"It is most certainly a word! It means my skills cannot be erased, nor removed, nor erased! Though I appreciate your own compliment, as well."
The Senator scowled. "I should know better than to engage with you by now. Just come take a look."
He led the way to the edge of the bridge, looking out over the freeway. "Look there," he said, pointing. "Do you see it?"
I scanned the horizon. The freeway merged with another in a complicated interchange, and it was difficult to see past it. I watched the path of one car as it turned up a ramp, then curved, then kept curving, then went down another ramp, curved, passed under a bridge, curved again, looped back on itself in a hairpin turn, curved...
I shook my head, squinting, and turned off the filters on my goggles. From a distance, the interchange looked normal. But as soon as I tried to follow a path with my eyes, it just kept going, looping and curving and weaving outside of the limits of Euclidean space.
"What in the hell? What exactly am I looking at here?"
"The Highwayman's latest work," the Senator explained. He shoved his hands in his pockets. "He calls it 'The Infinite Exchange'. We've seen cars coming out of it from Washington, Nevada, Tennessee, Puerto Rico... anything we send in seems to end up somewhere more or less random in the country, but it takes more than hour to make the exchange. Drivers all report severe disorientation."
I tapped my Galvanic Gloves against the railing, sending up small arcs of static. "That's... I'll be honest, this might be outside of my skillset."
"Good," the Senator grunted. "Maybe then I can move on to a slightly more *sane* contractor."
"I'll need some gear from my workshop," I said, turning back to my DC Dirigible. "But there has to be a power source in there somewhere. I'll find it and I'll shut it down."
"And then turn it over to the appropriate authorities?"
"Ha! Hahaha! Ah, Senator! And you think *I'm* the crazy one? Phew! A wonderful jest, just wonderful."
------------
1/2 due to character limits
|
Trigger warning: swearing
“Done.” Said Jeffery, wiping the sweat off of his forehead.
I was legitimately scared at what was standing in front of me. It was a three story tall sphere with a lever attached.
“What the fuck is this right now!?” I shouted.
“An AI pod. So, I did a couple things, now it’s evolved beyond any comprehensible understanding. So yeah, this thing is supposed to destroy it.” Jeff replied calmly.
“What!?”
“But now it hacked the pod so I was trying to get rid of it manually, but that didn’t work out. So now it hacked into one of my old creations.”
“WHAT!?!?”
“Yeah, the burn-o-matic. That one virus that blows up your computer, remember? Stored in a small one-terabyte drive? Well, the AI reprogrammed it and hacked into all of my old creations.”
“How the fuck did I miss this?”
“You were shackled to my bed.”
“Let’s not speak about that.”
“So yeah, the world is now in ruins and the Android apocalypse is rampaging.”
“And what does that pod have to do with anything?”
“Oh, this is a sphere for storing black holes now. I love recycling.” Jeff said as the roof opened up, revealing a skyscraper-sized crab, hollering at its progenitor. A funky song started playing in the background as a robotic blue glow traced a long wall up the crab’s leg and into its eye.
“WHAT IS HAPPENING, JEFF!?”
“I dunno. I swear the coffee machine worked yesterday. Oh, right.” He said and pulled a part of the giant black-hole holding sphere away before plucking it back into the coffee machine, as the entire world started pulling into the now collapsing sphere.
The last moments of my life were spiced up by time dilation, as, for a few seconds, I saw the scenery change from a dilapidated warehouse, to a desert, to space, before a spaceship came closer and…
The fourth dimension twisted me to madness as I drooled on the remnants of my sanity, with nothing to exist for me. I died of old age, having witnessed how the fourth dimension discombobulates us, humans.
| 2022-05-03T03:08:03 | 2022-05-02T21:55:41 | 144 | 65 |
[WP] You are part of a spacefaring species with a lifespan of only a few weeks. You have a human being on your ship who has been with you for dozens of generations. You worry that he may not survive until you reach your next spaceport.
|
3 days old
Papa says Mr. Rogers wasn’t always the way he is. He says there’s nothing wrong with him, just that I should know he was different.
“Different how?” I ask.
“He didn’t always have to sit down like he does now. He didn’t always cough.”
“Why does he cough?”
“He’s sick, son,” Papa says, staring out the window. I wonder if he is looking at the brightness of the stars, or the darkness behind them. “That’s what his kind do when they are sick.”
“Am I sick? Will I be sick?”
Papa looks at me now, and smiles. I don’t know it now, but I will remember this smile when I think of my father, a smile unlike how he taught me to smile, a smile mixed with sadness too.
“We all get sick, son.”
\-
2 weeks old
It was only after I had grown to my final height that I began to realize why Papa was so deeply affected by Mr. Rogers.
“I met your great-great grandfather, you know,” he says with a coy smile, laying on his bed. His eyes are glazed the way humans’ eyes get, to the point I no longer know if he sees me, or something else. “You remind me so much of him.”
“You’ve known my whole family,” I say.
“I’ve known them more than mine.”
“I’m sorry to hear that, sir.”
He takes my hand, and squeezes it. I don’t know why, but the nurse told me at the visitors’ desk that this is an important thing humans do.
“It’s been an absolute joy. Your father, did he…”
“He passed yesterday, sir.”
“I’m sorry. I should have been…that’s the worst part. I’m never able to grow old with any of you. I should be.”
“Well, maybe you’ll get your chance with me, sir.”
“I’d like that.”
\-
One month old
Now I’m in a bed next to Mr. Rogers. We are both too weak to look at each other, but somehow that doesn’t matter. We know the other is here, and that’s all you need, right?
“Mr. Rogers…can I ask you why you picked that name? My father told me you had a different name.”
“Mr. Rogers is a man I used to watch back on my home planet, when I was a boy, if you can believe that was ever true. And he taught me everything I know. About life, about family...And somewhere along the roads of my life, I lost the values he taught me. So when I met your family, I did what Mr. Rogers would have done. I gave myself a second shot.”
“Family…why don’t you ever speak of your family, sir?”
“Because…there’s nothing to say. They were perfect. We were like any other family, until I messed it up with my addiction. We loved each other, and hated each other sometimes, and cried and laughed and grew together. Like yours.”
“Do you think it hurts, sir? The very end?”
“I don’t think so.”
I try to find the right words to say, to thank him for everything he’s done for us.
“I’m sorry you won’t get to see the future you helped build,” I say. “You deserve that, at least.”
“The thing is…I can see it, when I close my eyes. I’ve always been able to see it. If I didn’t teach your family what you needed to know, you would have learned yourselves. I can imagine it now, when we find the perfect planet...”
"Still, sir...you saved us. We all know that."
"We saved us, son."
There is one final question, one I desperately want to ask. But I don’t, because I would never want to be asked it.
So he answers it for me.
“It doesn’t hurt, kid…being the last one of my kind.”
I look over at him now, with the last of my strength. He wears that same smile, the one he taught my father, the one that somehow says more than you could ever say with words.
“Because I found a family…”
\-
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
|
\[poem\]
Human is just another word for forever
Life in the stars with you is all we've known
You're a part of us, without you is never
This is the only path to guide us home.
​
My father told me you are the guiding Star
His father always said the same thing too
History is a story to tell us who we are
And we are the ones destined to follow you
​
The sky went dark on the day you left
A God is not for one ship to possess
There is a hole in us now and we're adrift
You go on as I tell my son the story of us
​
r/StaceyOutThere
| 2019-11-20T10:50:06 | 2019-11-20T09:36:33 | 2,156 | 121 |
[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?
|
"Are you ready, Mary," asked Death, laying his scythe against the white wall of the hospital room.
Her old eyes twinkled. "I've... I've been wondering when you'd show up."
"Ten years have passed, Mary. It is time." He placed a bony hand inside his robe's pocket and fished around until he found the object.
A packet of cards.
"Do you remember the very first time?" Mary asked, staring distantly beyond Death. "That we met. That we played."
There was no smile to be seen within the shadowed cowl, but Death's voice was soft when he replied. Warm. "You were the first to best me, Mary. I wouldn't be able to forget that, even if I could."
"How old was I back then?"
"Six." He didn't need to think. The memory was a part of him. Each of them were.
"Do you offer every one a chance?"
"No."
"Then... *why me?*" asked the elderly lady.
Death paused. Remembering. Those huge green eyes had been so full of life, even though the skinny, bald child was not. The innocence that burned like a candle, hadn't deserved to be snuffed out that soon. Gods be damned!
He looked at Mary again. The candle burned low now, wrinkled and withered and frail. But those eyes... still brighter than any he'd seen.
"*Because.*"
Mary laughed. "You never were one for explaining."
"Are you ready?" The cards hissed as he shuffled them between his fingers.
"I'm sorry. But... I can't play this time."
"... It doesn't have to be cards, Mary. It could be like that first time, chutes and ladders. Where you made me look out of the window, because the dead were rising and I..."
"Only, they weren't," she laughed. "Of course they weren't. But you looked anyway. You know, I thought I was so clever back then. That I'd tricked Death! But no one beats death. Not in the end."
He looked at his Mary. Her eyes, although still full of life, were like turquoise waves crashing against rocks. There was a pain in them now. But...
Death dealt Mary two cards. "Blackjack," he said.
Mary's arms didn't move.
"Do you need me to play for you?"
"I don't want to play at all."
"... Mary. You're not ready."
"No, Death my love. *You* are not ready."
"You are wrong, I--"
"Death, I am *old*. Far older than I have any right to be. Far older than I *want* to be. I treasure our times together, the games, the talks, the advice you gave me -- you were always as wise as you were old. You know, you were the one constant in my life. The one unmoving rock that I built my world upon. But now, my dear, my world ends."
Death said nothing for a time. "I- I shall play for you." He reached over to the cards on Mary's bed, and turned the first over. It was an ace.
Mary winced.
"Please, don't look like that," he said. "Please."
"Then let me go."
"I... can't. I'm sorry." He reached for the second card, his arm trembling beneath his cloak as his fingers neared.
Mary moved her own hand very slowly from her side. Death saw the extra card she held. A two of hearts.
"Mary, *why?*."
"I love you," she whispered as she placed the card by the ace. "Always."
For a long while Death sat there in silence, watching the only human he had ever cared about as her chest stopped moving.
Eventually, he leaned forward and drew her eyelids down.
"Goodbye, Mary."
|
I shouldn't be saying this but this exact situation happened to me.
I chose "hide and go seek". I have been hiding from death every day and I am always looking over my shoulder to see if death is around the corner.
One day he'll show up and I'll lose. I wake up each day grateful to have one more day to breathe.
| 2018-03-07T06:34:15 | 2018-03-07T03:49:25 | 1,727 | 55 |
[WP] While you were growing up, your grandmother always sang you a nursery rhyme as you fell asleep. You just discovered it is an ancient spell of protection. Not only that, but there are more verses, with more interesting effects.
|
“You okay mate?” Jacob asked gingerly, patting his weary friend on the shoulder. Graham merely shrugged, smiling weakly and rubbing his eyes. “Some serious bags you got there, dude.”
“Yeah just had a shit night’s sleep,” he murmured, turning away and running his eyes along the mantlepiece, adorned with odd trinkets and crystals, a tiny bronze statue of buddha, and a pewter ashtray complete with some half-burnt sprigs of white sage inside. He caught his reflection in a small mirror, thick brown hair matted with days of not showering, his face flanked with fluffy, curly hairs trying their best to be any semblance of a beard. Beneath the rims of his glasses his eyes were dark. He hadn't been particularly close with his grandma, at least he didn’t think so, but sleep hadn’t come easy since she died, plagued with horrible nightmares and her warm, smiling face.
“My mum used to be into all this spiritualist shit, bit weird though,” Jacob mused, poking through cupboards and drawers. The front room was retro, to say the least. Garish wallpaper and old units that might have been the height of fashion back in the early eighties, but now it looked like the designs of a madman who exclusively shopped at charity shops.
“Yeah same,” Graham murmured, turning over a photograph of him being held as a baby. The back of the frame was scrawled on with black biro. ‘My little Gray, 17/09/92.’ He placed it gently in a small shoebox nestled on the faded upholstery of the sofa, setting it next to a little wolf statue and a necklace. He remembered his grandma always wore the necklace, an odd tiny bronze chain, almost dark green now, holding a silver pendant with some description of Viking writing and designs on it. He smiled. Crazy Pagan, that’s what his dad used to call her.
He sighed, one more cursory glance cast across the room before he traipsed upstairs. The stairs were steep, and creaked, the smell of must getting stronger with every step.
“Want me to come with you mate? Don’t want you to get wierded out if you stumble across something *untoward,”* Jacob winked, leaning his head around the bannister. Graham blew air through his nose, shaking his head at the obscenely inappropriate joke. Bless the guy, he’s only trying to make you feel better, he thought. He turned into his Grandma's room, holding his arm at the door, his jaw agape. There she was, sat on the bed.
She smiled with an utmost warmth at him, her glasses dangling tiny beads over his loose skinned face.
“Hello love,” she tapped the bed next to her. He surged forward, gently sobbing and holding her tightly. “Oooh, there we go!” She rubbed his back with her hands, squeezing him. He felt like a young child again.
“Are you really here?” he whispered, sitting next to her.
“No love,” she smiled sadly, “not really. But I’ll always be watching over you, I told you.” She tapped the side of her nose, and he chuckled, a surge of warmth and consciousness rising through his weary, emotionless body.
“Oh god,” he sniffed, wiping his eyes. “I’m sorry grandma, I should have been here. I should have come to visit a little more.” She shushed him, stroking his hair.
“Oh Gray, you’re just tired. Did you not remember the lullaby I taught you?” He closed his eyes for a moment, thinking hard. After a while he hummed a tune, turning to her and smiling.
“*There’s blood on the blankets that cover, those, who to earth came from the sky...”* She smiled at him.
“That’s the one. *Farewell mother, father, you must not cry, for as a* *Noruska, I am proud to die.”* Her smile faded and Graham looked away sadly.
“I miss you, grandma.” The full sadness of her parting washed over him then, as she rubbed his back and cooed over him.
“Just remember, Gray, the books for you. Might help give you a little purpose in your life. None of this other stuff matters. It's just stuff.”
\*
“Gray mate, you ok? Fuckin’ hell, it’s been an hour. You must be well shattered mate, I didn’t want to interrupt, but I came to check on you and you’re fucking fast asleep!” He chuckled. “What’s that?” he nodded towards a book, open in Graham’s hand. As his eyes opened, he felt refreshed. He was alert, his senses keen. He looked around himself, confused, still sat in his grandma’s room.
“Uh, sorry mate. Yeah I must have...” he noticed the book. It was faded, the pages yellowing, and the black ink turning a grey-green colour over the years. “...I must have fallen asleep.”
“Well you must’ve needed that because you look absolutely miles better,” Jacob raised an eyebrow. “Well, come on dude, I told Magda I'd only be an hour.” He left the door, stairs creaking as he made his way down. “She’s gunna be so pissed already,” he called up.
Gray looked at the page. It was handwritten, same as the note on the picture. The title said ‘Ten Nights Sleep,’ and beneath was a poem, with words he’d never seen before dotted with English phrases. He flicked through, the book, more strange titles and paragraphs written like lyrics beneath them. He stopped on one page, a roughly pencilled drawing of the silver pendant. It was the lullaby, written its entirety, and there were more versus, adorned with notes and drawings. At the top, the title simply said, ‘Ward for Infant Noruska.’
“You coming mate?” Came from downstairs, accompanied by a zipping coat.
“Yeah man, for sure,” Gray stood, tucking the book under his arm. “Do you know what a Noruska is?” he asked.
Jacob leaned over the banner again, a twisted look of confusion.
“No idea mate, let's go.”
|
I looked at the old handwritten paper in the faded antique envelope. Written on the paper was seemed to be an old lullaby handwritten on the paper.
​
"Once upon a time ago,
There was a beautiful woman.
She had long flowing hair and emerald eyes
And flowers bloomed wherever she walked.
She wore a crown of Tulips, glistening in the light
She slept among the stars and galaxies.
She wore a long white dress full of the whitest silk
And held a bag of glittery petals wherever she went.
Wouldn't you like to be like her too?"
​
"It's just a lullaby, what about it?" I asked to myself, baffled. What could be so important about this nursery rhyme?
As soon as the words spilled out of my mouth, more words seemed to appear on the bottom of the paper, as if the paper was writing itself.
"Read again more carefully, this time."
I decided to look back at the beginning. Maybe this lullaby could have something interesting in it.
"Verse 2
Once upon a little while ago,
There was a beautiful woman.
She had fiery red hair and glowing sapphire eyes.
Acorn trees sprouted everywhere she went.
She wore a ornate silver mask, reflecting the moon's glow,
She slept among the protection of the wizards.
She wore a suit of armor with only the hardest metal,
And held a shield the size of her heart.
Wouldn't you want to be her too?"
It didn't take long for me to connect the dots. With the Rogues pounding the door, it didn't take very long to find out the old lullaby which I listened to grandma sing to me every night was the fabled protection spell of Tyunir.
"This was the spell of Tyunir, one of the only spells used by Atlantean people!" I shouted as a sudden wave of realization swept me away.
"What? Are you kidding? There IS no Atlantis, even more less of their fake spells!" James shouted as he tried to retaliate against the Rogues.
"No. This was really used by Atlantean people. Why do you think that you've passed all your tests next to me? Why do you think that we complete missions with under a 1% chance of success? The chances of you doing that yourself are almost impossible!"
James took a moment to process the information. He quietly replied, in agreement.
"I...I guess you're right. Especially in Romania, that bunker complex, and in Albania, with the concrete shelter. Huh."
"Exactly! This spell used the magic of Atlantis to protect whoever it was sung to! And when the sung to are in danger..."
"What happens?"
A large figure, wielding a trident, sent a huge wave of water into the Rogues and wiped them out with one gesture.
"Poseidon."
| 2018-11-07T05:48:09 | 2018-11-07T05:38:49 | 19 | 14 |
[WP] Instead of of Mice Infestations, your world has tiny Gordon Ramsay Infestations.
|
"No no," squeaked the wall, "use kosher salt for texture! Not flavor."
"Damn you," I thought, "I'll make it how I please".
Admittedly though, the top of my pastry *did* look a little bland, so I pulled the chunks out my salt shaker and sprinkled them lightly on the buttery dough. I put the box from which I had poured the salt back under the sink.
"Muuuuuch better," I heard eek out from behind a socket.
I put a small pad of butter on the thin, rolled crescent roll and put it in the oven.
"Higher!" The Ramsay in the socket squeaked.
I obediently put the tray on a higher grate in the oven. It wouldn't take more than a few minutes for them to rise into delicious flaky morsels.
I heard two distinct sighs from the wall as the oven door shut. "Bloody imbicile", came one quiet condemnation.
"Too right," came another.
I ignored them.
Normally the Ramsays don't bother me too much. A little critiquing here, a little insulting there.. it's okay. Last week was a bit different. I had Chelsea over for the first time. I had seen her seven or eight times for dates around town, but this was her first visit here. I wanted to make a good impression. We thought it might be fun to make a meal together. It would be homey, a bit cute, a real sweet evening.
After we prepped the kitchen, Chelsea had a go at preparing the Cornish hens.
She grabbed a small bit of caper stuffing I prepared earlier and began unceremoniously shoving it into the chicken's neck. I watched her quizically but silent for a moment.
Then I had to ask, "What are you doin' there?"
"OH, Is this not how you stuff it? I'm sorry. You know I was raised hideously posh. I'm afraid I only know some things from TV like not to keep the oven on and don't cook your beef and mutton together," Chelsea admitted.
"What about mutton?" I asked.
"You know... cow and sheep don't mix."
"I'm pretty sure that's about farming," I laughed.
"OH God, you must think me daft," her hands covered her face which turned almost as red as her hair as she giggled in embarrassment.
"Haha no no! It's fantastic. We both have a lot to learn. I won't judge."
"Yeh, maybe, but I will!" Squeaked a small Ramsay from above the fridge.
Chelsea screamed quite loudly.
"What is that?"
"Just a Ramsay... you've never seen one?"
She balked, "Oh god no. Not in person. Posh upbringing and all."
"Right right," I chuckled happily while flicking the cheeky bastard off my fridge top.
But three more took his place.
"Look at this wanker!" One piped up. Doesn't know chickens are stuffed up their arses. What an absolute ninny."
"Good thing she's pretty," added another.
"Did you hear that thing she said about mutton?"
"Hear it? I'll never hear again, those words made my ears bleed!"
"Don't you mean 'Bleat'?" One punned back.
The trio laughed in unison.
Chelsea's face faded from crimson to white.
"Ey, leave her alone!" I said while swatting.
The commotion attracted several more. Soon the kitchen had a dozen Ramsays all chipping in.
"Why'd the chicken cross the road? To get away from her!"
"I've heard of rubber necking, but never caper necking!"
Chelsea's beautiful eyes welled up with tears.
"I... I think I ought to go. Making a fuss aren't i?"
I tried to protest, but she had already grabbed her coat and rushed out the door. It shut with a slam.
*ding!*
The timer popped and I was pulled out of my grim recollection. The tray inside looked like it was covered in tiny DreamWorks logos. I took it out and let them cool on the counter.
Crispy, buttery, light, the slight crystal potmarks of salt... perfection. The smell alone was intoxicating. I put a small pad of jam out next to them and felt my pocket for my phone.
"Oops", I said aloud. "Forgot it in the other room."
I went to retrieve it. I took my time.
When I came back, my ears were met with a delightful shrieking.
Over a dozen Ramsays lay writhing in pain on the table. The crescents lay decimated. Each one was nibbled with a half dozen bites from the mouth of a master chef.
"Howwwww" one of them managed to moan while curling in agony.
I pulled the small box of salt back on the table and ripped off the label, revealing the bright white logo of "Oxyclean".
"You rat bastard," he squeaked with almost a hint of admiration. Then he died.
Other Ramsays focussed their waning energy on the crescent rolls themselves.
"The bottoms are seal brown, they should be golden brown! Blehhhggg..."
"I *cough* have never seen so flat a *cough* pastry. *wheeeeze* You would need an *cough* alka-seltzer to get these to rise!"
As the last few Ramsays shouted their last criticisms, I texted Chelsea.
"Hey, sorry again about last week. Chinese takaway?"
|
I excitedly unlocked my front door and braced myself for the smell of cooking to hit me.
 
I quietly took my shoes off and snuck down the hallway to my bedroom, changing out of my work clothes before heading out into the small kitchen to watch the action.
 
Almost fifty little chefs scurried through the kitchen, operating the pulleys and levers to open the oven, climbing the rigging and ladders to get in and out of the fridge and cupboards and using the miniature cranes to prep the food.
 
I sat at the counter watching them work. Next to me, with a view of the entire kitchen was the alpha Ramsay. He looked over his worked with a tiny telescope and consulted his notes.
 
“Alright you lot, I want that venison on a plate in two minutes!”
 
“Yes chef!” a chorus of squeaky voices called out.
 
He turned to me with an expectant look on his face.
 
“I got a shiraz and a merlot” I said showing him both of the bottles I had picked up on the way home.
 
“The Merlot, you muppet, get on it!” The alpha went back to overseeing the operation.
 
As I poured myself a glass and set it on the bench two plates made their way from the prep area around to the serving side of the bench. Four Ramsay's carried each plate, one set out with a human sized portion, and one larger plate with miniature portions.
 
I had to admit it, they had really gotten working the new surgical blades I got them down to a fine art.
 
“Dinner is served” the alpha climbed down from his little tower and made his way to the bench next to me, the rest of his crew all lined up eagerly behind him.
 
I poured the merlot into the trough in front of them and they swarmed forward waiting for the oaky from the alpha to drink. I raised my glass to them.
“Cheer’s Lad’s”.
 
(first response)
| 2018-05-11T05:37:58 | 2017-12-18T14:17:15 | 518 | 32 |
[WP] It is tradition that on your 18th birthday you are joined by a small magical creature, much like a familiar, to aid you in the rest of your life. When you wake on your 18th birthday and find yours sitting by you on the bed, you are.... disappointed, to say the least.
|
This turned out a lot longer than I expected, so I'm sorry for that. Hope someone enjoys reading it though. (Edit for better spacing)
Waking up, I was too nervous to even open my eyes. Today was the day. My birthday. The birthday that mattered. Today, everything changed.
I don't live in the most loving of homes. In fact, some people discussing my family included the word dysfunctional. They aren't wrong. Others use the word abusive. Unfortunately, they aren't wrong either.
Growing up in this atmosphere, trusting other people isn't exactly easy for me. As a result, I've never allowed anyone to draw close enough for me to consider them a friend.
But today, that changes. On everyone's eighteenth birthday, a familiar presents themselves. A familiar that stays by their person's side, providing a unique ability to that person. A friend, tailor - made to complement an individual's personality.
I breathe in deeply, hold my breath, and open my eyes. And I see.... nothing. I release my breath, eyes flickering around the room. I hear a slight buzzing and my eyes land on a fly, lazily circling the room. No.... surely not. But after anther look around the room, I have to conclude that this little fly must be it.
I feel disappointed, but still, this will be my familiar for life, so I try to keep an open mind. Maybe this fly grants a fantastic ability. I watch the fly and try to sense something different about myself.
"Will you stop staring at me!? You're making me nervous." I almost jerked out of the bed. My familiar just talked! No familiar I've ever heard of could do that. "I'm sorry." I say, hurriedly looking away "I was just trying to figure out what had changed about me."
"Well, you look the same as last night. "
"Wait, you were here last night?" I reply, confused. Familiars never show up before the day of the birthday. Or at least from what I've read they didn't.
"Yea." The fly replied.
" Ok. Well., I'm going to leave my room now. " I tell the fly.
"Good, I'm bored with you. "
I hesitate at the door. "Arent you supposed to come with me?"
"Why would I do that?"
I wince. Even my familiar doesn't like being around me. I say nothing else, leaving my room and then slipping out my front door before anyone else wakes up. Miserable thoughts in my head, I started walking to my comfort zone: the forest that started in my back yard. Walking into the forest, I head straight to my favorite stump and sit down, feeling sorry for myself.
Then I notice something. I've not heard any animal noises during my forest walk. Instead, I hear.... voices?
"Wish that guy would leave, I've got some more nuts to stash in that stump. "
I look up and see a squirrel. I tilt my head a bit and then look down and examine the stump. Sure enough, a small hole opens up to a hollow spot in the stump, and I can see many nuts inside.
Now I'm really confused. Two familiars? I feel my hair being pushed and I feel something land on my nose. I go a bit cross - eyed, and observe a small humanoid figure, with tiny wings and a bit of a glow to the whole body. I've seen pictures of these in books before. It's a pixie!
The little pixie gives me a warm smile, winks at me, gives my nose a big (relatively) hug, and zips back into my hair. It all clicks into place, the pixie is my familiar. And it granted me what I needed. A chance to stay in my comfort zone, but still be able to make friends.
|
When they said "small magical creature" , I cleraly dodn't expected this. Bit now, all things considered, I could get something much, much worse. Also, I don't know how will this help me in my life, but now I have it.
Well, my little friend, from now on you will be Remi, Remi the Spider familiar.
| 2018-07-24T05:55:07 | 2018-07-23T23:14:22 | 37 | 13 |
[WP] It's not actually possible to get "blackout" drunk. In fact, drinking too much alcohol opens the human mind to the incomprehensible eldritch knowledge that actually governs the universe, which the human mind has no ability to process or remember.
|
"Dude, something is wrong with Jesse," Andrew said as he stared at his friend across the apartment, leaning conspiratorially towards his second roommate. Jerome, to his credit, only gave Andrew a long-suffering look.
"Are you psychoanalyzing again? Dude, just 'cause you're a Psych major--"
"No, I'm serious! I think there's seriously something going on!" Andrew stated, gesturing to their mutual friend and renter. The young man was knocking into walls, muttering to himself, as he swept stuff off the tables in his room, scattering paintbrushes, pencils, erasers, and paper around. From their view on the couch, it was as if Jesse had suddenly become a madman.
"There's so many... many, many doors, I... I can see 'em and this time, I'll... I gotta find one and..."
"The problem is, he likes to get drunk, and he's gonna have one helluva hangover tomorrow," Jerome said painstakingly, taking a sip from the beer in his hand as he flipped through the TV for something to watch.
"Well, what about this then?" Andrew said, pulling a sketch from under the college-sophomore-detritus on the coffee table. "He did this last night."
The sketch, scribbled in ballpoint pen, exhibited strange imagery that seemed to almost breathe off the page. There was no doubt that Jesse - even while inebriated, soused to the gills, three sheets in the wind - was a talented artist. Things like ribs along a hallway undulated on the scrap of paper towards them, gory and fleshlike imagery jumping out at the two.
"That... yeah, that's freaky, but he's into some weird stuff."
"This isn't his normal art, Jer! He paints animal skeletons, not this!"
"So what do you want to do?" Jerome asked irately, flipping through the channels fruitlessly before chucking the remote the end of the threadbare couch. "You wanna have an intervention? Last time you did that to my girlfriend, you were holding a bag of frozen peas to your nutsack for two days. You're still not invited to her sister's baby shower, by the way."
Andrew waved away the obvious jab and said, "I just wanna check on him, you know?"
There was a large *thump* on the ceiling of their apartment, and the two stopped to listen a moment. Theirs was the top floor, so anything landing that hard on it would have to be either a massive albatross or someone had made it to the roof. All noise from Jesse's room had halted to a deafening quiet.
The two jumped from the chair to run towards Jesse's room, finding that their mutual friend was nowhere to be found, his window closed, the place a complete wreck, complete with a hallway painted on his closet door. The paint was still fresh, but the painter was missing. The hallway seemed to pulse at them, a corridor of strange, stringy protuberances that seemed to stare back at them.
"What the..." Jerome muttered as Andrew ran to their balcony. There, up above him, he could hear Jesse's familiar hyena cackle, and he craned his head to look up at the roof, Jerome not far after him.
How did he get on the *roof*? They would have seen him from the couch, not to mention there was no way up to the roof from the balcony.
"I found it... I found the doors... There are doors, you guys, and... they lead places, and I found one, I just had to... You... you guys saw that, right?" Jesse slurred as he wandered on the roof above the apartment, gesticulating wildly with a beer in hand. "I did it! See, I, I told you I'd figger it oud."
"Call the fire department," Andrew said in a high-pitched voice, patting Jerome's shoulder furiously with motivation.
"Forget the fire department, I'm calling the damn Ghostbusters," Jerome muttered as he bolted back into the apartment to grab the phone.
|
The day the report was written changed Everyone's life. The scientists claimed that drinking copious amounts of alcohol in fact elevated the human mind to an extent that even it could not comprehend. The result was instant, religions un-banned alcohol, in fact as did most governments and institutions. Naturally the smartest people in the world along with huge amounts of average ones decided to drink all the alcohol they had and push human limits. It worked at first but then they all contracted liver diseases and died. Pushing humanity to a new dark age
| 2017-12-03T09:07:35 | 2017-12-03T06:58:57 | 25 | 12 |
[WP] Ever since the government started distributing their mandated "stress relief" pills everything in your life is perfect, it even seems prettier. Going through your normal daily routine you realize you forgot to refill your dose and you're out. No big deal what could missing one day hurt, right?
|
The day started like any other. I woke up at precisely 6am and proceeded to do my morning work out for 23.5 minutes. My heart rate reached just above 100 BPM and the machine turned off. I felt like I could keep going, but the machine knows best. I then proceeded to my washroom to perform my morning ablutions Brushed Teeth. Used toilet. As I reached for my daily dose of Glibulin. I realized my bottle was empty. This made me pause. I hadn't missed a dose since the first day the government began handing them out to every citizen. It was a duty I took very seriously but somehow the refill had been neglected.
I was sure I had told my Electronic Assistant to put it on my shopping list. I called out to it to verify and it responded it had received no such command. No bother, I thought to myself and told it to place it on the list, then verified it. I then placed a work order in with IT so they would come look at the machine.
I decided to step into the shower and finish my routine before heading off to my government mandated work day. No sense in missing out over something so small.
The water was warm, too warm.. I asked the shower to lower the temperature but it only logged the discrepancy in the system and shut off the water while I still had soap in my eyes. I think my heart rate was a little too high after my work out because I spoke in a louder tone than I was used to and the shower reverberated with my voice when I told it repeatedly to turn back on.
"No bother, I suppose." I thought as I stepped out and wiped the remaining soap off my body. Cant let my routine be derailed over something so small.
As I reached for my clothes I realized I didn't have any that matched, I again asked the EA about it and all SHE had to say was that wash day was in 3 days. Not sure what THAT means but it didn't help my heart rate. Suffice to say I put on what I had available and got into my travel pod.
The trip was less than optimal.
At the first turn the sun shone directly into my eyes and it hurt. So bad I had to look away. It also made it hard to see anything. With my eyes hurting every time I tried to look to see how far we had to go I had to spend the rest of the trip looking sideways at my neighbors pods as we all traveled to work. Normally I enjoy the warmth and seeing my neighbors in their pods, but this time, something was off. It seemed all their clothes were mismatched too. It was.. ugly.. and the street was grey and I swear I saw the market I passed it looked like a garbage dump but I remember it feeling exotic. Maybe they moved it. Everything felt off. I remembered my missing Glibulin.. it was just... no matter. it's only one day..
When I got into work everyone was shuffling and smiling at each other and I couldn't help but feel like I was missing something. Like I was the butt of a joke somehow and they were all laughing at me. I saw Sally from HR. We always had pleasantries before work so I skipped ahead to speak to her. This was probably my second mistake.
She was drooling to the point she had a bib of spitum under her chin and her eyes had a sort of lifeless sheen to them as she babbled. Literally babbled like a baby at me while learning in close. Her breath smelled like rank garbage and I saw she had no teeth. In my disgust I pushed her away and she tripped backwards and the whole line fell like dominoes behind her.
I was shocked. It was certainly the most embarrassing thing I had felt in a long time.
I felt. I felt... I FELT.. THE pills dammit. I didn't know they would wear off so fast. I couldn't believe how clear I was thinking. I looked around and my coworkers were rolling around trying to right themselves. Reminded me of a zombie movie. Zombies! I hadn't thought of them since.. what happened? Surely the pills weren't making us zombies were they? The government had told us due to the rise is calamitous events and horrible things in the world they were releasing a drug that would not only put a stop to our worries but create a world we could all live in peacefully but they didn't mean this did they?
I had had a wife! A kid! where were they. Why would they do this to us. this isn't life.. As I stood there in my ugly clothes in an ugly street, surrounded by ugly people, i could hear a siren in the distance, drawing closer. I couldn't go back. I wouldn't. I decided then and there I was done and I was far down another alley when whatever was dispatched to my ruckus reached my work. I cant be the only one. I gotta find others.
|
My hands were shaking as I dug through my medicine cabinet, desperately searching for another bottle of SRP. I'd been taking them for years, ever since the government released them as a way to reduce stress and improve mental health. Normally I had no problem remembering to pick up my prescription, but that day I had been too distracted by work. I felt my anxiety rising with each passing second.
Little did I know that one day without SRP would be enough to turn my world upside down.
I'm not sure what happened that night, but I do know that after I missed my dose something inside my head snapped. I remember feeling an intense anger, almost like a black wave of rage crashing down on me. The next thing I knew I was standing in my kitchen with a bloody knife in my hand, covered in the remains of my family members.
The SRP had changed me in ways I could never have imagined. Without it, my mental illness was overwhelming and uncontrollable, allowing a darkness and violence to take over my mind. By the morning, my home was a crime scene.
I look back now and realize that the SRP had been masking something infinitely more sinister, something I'm only now beginning to understand. Without the safety of the drug, I'm now seeing the dangers of what the government had done to us all.
| 2022-12-02T20:14:09 | 2022-12-02T19:31:55 | 66 | 10 |
[WP] Alcohol has been banned throughout most of the Galaxy due to its corrosive nature towards organic life, in the near future when first contact is made with humans the aliens are horrified that humans not only mass produce alcohol, they also consume it for pleasure.
|
"Ten." The Phrenian intoned. Ilgon's thorax vibrated in slight annoyance. It levelled a compound gaze at the Phrenian through the window.
"Two transactions ago, it was seven."
The Phrenian preened his cranial ruff and smiled as he spoke, "and two transactions ago, it was much easier to get ethanol off the Backworld."
Ilgon clicked softly. Over the course of a couple cycles since contact had been made, it had begun to enjoy the forbidden nectars the human world offered. Its favorite was a concoction the humans called tequila. It gave Ilgon a strange warmth in its stomachs, and made the usually cold, calculating Chitinian much more light-hearted. Unfortunately, the problem was always the same: ethanol was dangerous, highly controlled, and expensive. Any entity caught with it was usually exiled to the Quathan Colonies, a small cluster of asteroids at the edge of the galaxy.
The human planet had been quarantined early on, but "skinners" as they were known were a wiley, crafty bunch and before long, they-and their goods-were surreptitiously spreading throughout the galactic cluster. It was unclear how they managed to not only obtain, but to understand plans for the superfold drives, but once they had, the galactic collective had never been the same.
The Phrenian made a noise that recaptured Ilgon's attention. Ilgon regarded him with unblinking eyes, devoid of any outward emotion, and vibrated its thorax again. The Phrenian's name was Vartt, and he had been dealing with Ilgon since the Chitinian had begun its black market dealings with him. Vartt knew the creature before him was impatient and easily bartered with, despite its species being known for their detached, strategic nature. Vartt figured a big part of it was the ethanol itself, any creature that found itself in the clutches of the human drink invariably became soft and impressionable.
"The price will start to go up if you continue to waste my time." Vartt pressed. He had to fight a grin when Ilgon figeted nervously. Vartt had never tried the skinner's ethanol, he figured it was best not to get mixed in with his own wares, besides, he'd seen the effect of ethanol in a great many creatures. He knew some had died after only a few doses, their biological chemistry wholly incompatible with the alien compounds. Yet, he never had a shortage of clientele asking after "whisky", "vodka", "cognac" and other exotic skinner varieties. The galactic collective had immediately condemned the compounds as not only exceedingly dangerous on a purely chemical level, but noted also the decay they wrought on entire colonies. Skinners that were found were immediately caught and either sent to the Quathan Colonies, or, more usually, sent back to their homeworld, labeled as galactic parasites.
"Nevermind, you grifter" Ilgon rasped angrily. Vartt's grin faltered as the lumbering, segmented creature began to turn away from the window.
"That's fine, you'll be back you ethanoid!" Vartt called out as the Chitinian rounded the corner.
Just as Ilgon lost sight of Vartt's window, it heard a soft sound to its right. It was a sound Ilgon had never heard before, but all the same, it knew exactly what it was.
"Hey, bugboy...heard you want some ta-kill-ya...if you're buying, I'm selling." Ilgon turned slowly and peered into the dark alcove, not knowing what to expect. All at once, a small, soft upright figure emerged from the shadows. It wore a bulky cloak, with an equally misshapen backpack hiding it's true silhouette. On casual glance, the figure could have been mistaken for a Capaton, but once it raised its head and the weak light hit its face, there was no mistaking what Ilgon was looking at, a human. A real skinner, right in front of Ilgon, and holding a small clear bottle with a green label. The Chitinian rubbed its antennae absently.
"How much?" Ilgon asked. The answer was quick and firm.
"Nine, but this is special, and there's more where this came from." The skinner shook the bottle enticingly. Ilgon edged closer, suddenly able to detect the skinner's odor.
"Where's it from? The Backworld?"
"Earth? No, not this. There's a small group of us on QC who've got a little distillery going." Again, the skinner waggled the bottle. "The galactic collective still hasn't learned anything about humans, have they?"
"What do you mean?" Ilgon was already thinking about the feeling of the liquid in the bottle settling in its first stomach.
"Get too many of us in one place, and we'll eventually take over. Care for a drink?"
|
The world kept turning silently, as with every other night. Only the poisoned beasts that inhabited it,chose to deny its presence.
How did it come to this? A race watched from affar and initially admired by many, with infinite potential was slowly decaying, sidetracked by the kind of problems that had been swept aside by other beings without a second deliberation. The high senate of the sound-wave drifters (the closest human language translation for their form) had once tried to implement a system where they traded dimensional subtexts as a means of self promotion in order to promote their worth in relation to one another but quickly dropped this system because who bases any form of governance on what is essentially a child’s game? Well to be blunt, it turns out that these folk did, in a slightly more complicated fashion and what seemed worse to most was that they actively chose to consume a weapons grade compound in order to quell the stupifying effects of such activities.
Yeast, takes a shit in a confined space. This same shit ends up killing them.
Corrections needed to be made, in the same way a strong father figure at the same time punishes and nurtures his wily teenage son.
The strike is to proceed at the next rotation.
In the meantime the silent being cast one last look on the low sun, as the sound of a collection of their offspring played in the middle distance. Their untainted voices of joy caused a moments pause.....
What will be done, must be done.......
| 2019-11-07T06:11:47 | 2019-11-07T06:09:19 | 110 | 16 |
[WP] "We WILL be friends, whether you like it or not, you stupid, stubborn old lizard!" - yelled the Vampire at the ancient Dragon. Because what is the point of immortality, if you have nobody to share it with?
|
Ferratu bounded into the Dragon’s lair without hesitation. A torrent of fire greeted him, enveloping the entire cave entrance and burning his clothes right off. "Oh come *on!*" He yelled, patting himself down to extinguish the small embers still burning on his skin. "Was that really necessary?”
A low growl reverberated from inside, sounding distinctly like a groan.
"That was my favorite high-collared cape..." Ferratu muttered, walking into the darkness undeterred. The Dragon’s inner chamber was magnificent—mountains of gold piled high, the Dragon a hulking figure nestled in the middle. “Is that new?” Ferratu asked, gesturing towards a display case at the edge of the lair. It was filled with bottles of some unknown liquid.
"Do not touch it," the Dragon growled in a deep rumbling voice.
Ferratu shrugged and took a seat on a large gilded throne placed haphazardly amid the treasures. He leaned back, making himself comfortable with one leg hanging over the armrest. “So you’ll never guess what Kathy told me the other week.”
“I don’t care,” the Dragon grumbled.
“That’s exactly it!” Ferratu exclaimed. “She said she didn’t *care* that I was a vampire! Took me totally by surprise. She'd have been a keeper if she weren't so tasty... I know I keep harping on this, but I’m telling you, Twilight has made being a vampire a *lot* easier.”
The Dragon huffed, a cloud of smoke billowing out of its nostrils, but otherwise said nothing.
“How about you?" Ferratu asked. "How’s the Dragon’s life been lately? You been getting out much?”
The Dragon remained silent.
“Oh right,” Ferratu said. “A bit hard nowadays with surface-to-air missiles... You know, there’s also been some good Dragon publicity lately. Kids movies make your kind out as big scaly dogs. If you wanted to stretch your wings I bet you could burn at least one village down before they catch on.”
The Dragon huffed again, this time turning its head away.
“Oh come *on!*” Ferratu moaned. “Look I’m putting in a real effort here! We *will* be friends, whether you like it or not.”
The Dragon’s head snapped back. “We are not, nor will we ever be *friends.* We have nothing in common.”
“Are you kidding? I’m immortal. You’re immortal. No one else is immortal. It’s a match made in hell!”
“Lobsters are immortal too,” the Dragon grumbled. “You are nothing but an inside-out crustacean to me.”
Ferratu scowled. “That’s a bit harsh. Look, we have other things in common too. You like treasure, right?”
The Dragon said nothing.
“*Right?*” Ferratu pressed.
“I do like treasure,” the Dragon said reluctantly.
“Me too! I love the stuff. Why don’t you tell me about that new display case at the corner there? What’s in it, rare magic potions?”
“Bourbon,” the Dragon replied.
“Bourbon?” Ferratu repeated, taken aback.
“See, I knew you wouldn’t understand.”
“No no! I’m just curious that’s all. I didn’t know bourbon qualified as treasure.”
“You clearly know nothing of bourbon.”
“So tell me about it.”
The Dragon hesitated, then launched into a long diatribe of the history of bourbon, and of the recent bourbon craze sweeping the nation. He began listing all the rare bottles he had collected and seemed to take great pride in the fact that he had purchased them all at “MSRP.” Ferratu asked questions, and the Dragon answered them all, becoming more and more animated as he spoke. Eventually he sauntered over to the display case and picked out a bottle with great care.
“This is Pappy Van Winkle 23," the Dragon said, holding the bottle gingerly in its claws. "Would you like to try it? I recommend drinking it neat, but perhaps I can fix you a cocktail if you find it too strong.”
Ferratu smiled. “Sorry Dragon, the only cocktails I drink are virgins.”
“Oh,” the Dragon said, clearly disappointed.
“But don’t worry. I brought one with me.” Ferratu ran outside of the lair and came back in with a smiling young woman. “Dragon, meet Jennifer. She likes Twilight. How about we toast to friendship?
***
More of my favorite pieces at r/Banana_Scribe
|
I was floating, as Tardigrades do, when I became unsure if I was floating in a planet, space, fission, fusion, or, some chaotic vibration of the universe. Then I saw the question. Dragons...vampires... immortal?! Really you poor fool goth child that are but a passing whim. I but squirt my ocular capacity and they are a mote in.....Well I guess I am a mote, but I’m a real.Immortal. Mote . I now desiccate and float on electromagnetic waves your flesh and metal treasure can only imagine as I , the true explorer caste of earth, embark on my billion year journey to see if there is life in the whirlpool galaxy.
Edit : As a member of my unique species I have difficulty separating now from then, and even sometimes the then from now. Your species would see that as dementia or failing to follow the rules. In reality I thought I had fulfilled the rules of this subrediits prose but in reflection I realise as you process time differently,and in your limited flesh bound phase; I may have fulfilled your writing prompts criteria at a point in time that is not in phase with your current ability to resolve the universe .
| 2021-04-16T08:04:52 | 2021-04-16T07:15:14 | 516 | 11 |
[WP] At the age of twelve you started randomly seeing a green line and a red line appear on the ground. You always followed the green line and have lived a successful and happy life. Ten years later you are on top of the world, but bored. Time to see where the red line leads.
|
The cave was hidden, far past the roads of the expansive country. The trees and greens shivered in the blowing wind. The wind was in the cave, coming from behind. It echoed monstrous things, like a veil covering the empty dark. The line on the ground entered and disappeared there.
He was old now. He had been old for many years, but he only felt so now. Time was catching up. Each breath made him away of his heaving chest, of his frail bones. His mind dimmed as though from sleep.
*One day it will sleep for good.*
He entered the cave. The voices screamed at his passing.
*"Get out!"*
*"Go!"*
But he had heard such warnings before. The journey had been years in the doing. Through the fields of Mexico where the grass was short and prickly, to the hardpan country of Middle America. Through the waters of the Atlantic and to the islands of brown and green where the Caribbean lingered. The red line meandered. He wondered if there would be an end.
*Yes. This is it. There have been warnings on the way, but this is it.*
Much suffering had occured in his travels. He was left unscathed. But the world was converging on him. He pulled it, as though his clothes were stuck to it. Now he felt naked but it still followed. The wind carried him and he could smell the scents of all life. Everything depended on him.
Following the red line had caused bad things. The green line which led him to prosperity had been free. Then he had felt detached from the world, sundered and in paradise. Now as he neared the end, he became more and more connected. Each mile brought some misfortune. An earthquake, a hurricane, freak accidents, disease and loss.
*I am selfish to continue.*
Yet he was compelled.
The cave was dark and brown. He heard flowing water amid the echoes. The ground sloped downwards. The line was like afternoon's light, hazy like sand. But he knew it would never go.
It got hotter as he followed. It was black save for his light. There were bats sleeping, but he was past them now. Sweat caked his face. He felt life seeping away which each breath.
*I am almost there.*
He wondered what he would see. On the hill he had been disappointed. He thought the green line a joke, but then a harmony had come inside him, and peace had overtaken his world. On the hill everything had been clear and sound. He had built a house there and found a wife.
*That was so long ago.*
When she died he had grieved long and hard. He still grieved. But he did not fault that line. His sorrow had been pure, healthy and human. He missed her, but the memories would never go.
*I love you,* he said.
He talked to her often. He had asked her permission to follow the red line. She never responded but he knew she would understand.
*I wonder what this line will lead to.*
He knew it would be some misfortune. The world was crying. He was selfish for continuing. But he could not stop.
*I will be dead soon.*
And then he would be with her again. He almost welcomed the misfortune.
The cave led to an opening. There was a pink light here. It was faded, like light upon an afternoon drizzle. The air was humid and a waterfall fell from the ceiling. The red line ended at the dell the water collected in.
*It is here then. I wonder what mischief this is.*
Like the hill it was not impressive. Somewhere far away, he felt a great sadness. As the world pulled with him, all the people's emotions echoed in his head.
*I am sorry,* he thought.
He walked to the waterfall. The natural basin reflected a clear cool water. The line ended inside, distorting in the water.
*Drink.*
He knew that would be the end. He thought of his wife.
*It is poisoned. I might die slowly and painfully.*
He was afraid of the pain, but not of death.
*After the green line, I am not afraid anymore.*
He believed it for the while. He cupped his hands and took some of the water. The voices of the place cried and begged him not to.
*The last line gave me a long life and happiness. This should end me sadly.*
Then he thought her name.
*Elizabeth. I will see you soon Liza.*
He drunk the water and it refreshed him. Like the green line, the red line evaporated, as though it was never there. He blinked and his age was upon him. Death neared ever closer and he was glad. Then that sleepiness that haunted the minds of the old grew greater. He could hardly think.
*Liza...*
He blinked. He looked around and a dread came over him. He could not remember what he was thinking about. Who he was thinking about.
*I...*
He knew she was important, but he could not place the name. Then he could not see the face in her mind. An emptiness filled him. All love left and he was hollow and old and alone. The cave was silent. He was afraid and was crying. He did not know why he was sad, but the sadness was profound and he sat at the rim of the dell. He put his face in his hands and the water was warm and burned him.
*I...*
He felt alone and helpless. Panic took him, but there was no one there.
|
"Honey." It's my wife speaking. Her hand is on my arm. Her fingers dig into my coat like they do to the skin on my back when we're making love. She wants me *with* her, *in* her - to stay.
But the feeling is different. For some reason. It's...it's all wrong.
I want to leave. Why won't she let me? Usually I don't mind; but for some reason, that red line is glowing like a neon light of temptation - a gambling sign in Vegas, a honky-tonk bar-slash-strip club, probably.
Her robe falls partly open, and I see the rounded curve of a smooth breast. She did it on purpose. I'm not aroused. I'm angered.
*Everytime she doesn't get what she wants, she does this! Why can't she just let me be a man! Let me go in peace!*
I feel trapped. I want freedom. Independence. Air. Her hand is everywhere where it shouldn't be. She's whispering into my ear, warning me about all the things she's going to do to me if I follow her into the bedroom.
I'm astounded by her nerve. I'm disgusted and ashamed at myself, for I know there was a point in time when I would've been turned on by her seductive threats.
"Leave me alone, damnit!" I push her away.
She falls backward onto the couch. She's scared - her eyes wide and innocent. Her robe is open completely now but she's too scared to move.
She doesn't know who I am. She's waiting for me to say something, to remind her that the man standing in front of her isn't a stranger.
But I can't...I don't even know who I am anymore... The red line has changed me.
I open the door and leave. She calls my name and that's the last thing I hear before I slam the door.
Edit: Might continue.
| 2017-08-23T06:29:05 | 2017-08-23T05:44:04 | 273 | 30 |
[WP] Your glasses get broken by a bully in school. Terrified about being grounded, you buy a new pair from an odd-looking optician that sells glasses promised to 'make you see things you never saw before'. Everything seems fine until you get to school. Your bully has a lot of demons . . . literally.
|
It's a wonder my parents still believe me. Every time I tell them I fell, or that I walked into a post, or some other ridiculous half-assed lie, they believe me without question. Perhaps the alternative is something they feel unequipped to handle. Willworth Academy offered me a scholarship, but they offered me no special treatment. In fact, they offer me very little at all. All I have to do is sit through the classes and exams, take my diploma, and try to forget it all after it's over.
My parents must know, subconsciously, that something is wrong. I come home with bruises and scratches, new ones almost every week. Today, there are scratches on the bridge of my nose. My broken glasses are in my pocket. This time, they’re broken beyond repair. The downside of blaming myself for my various injuries is that my parents have started punishing me for my clumsiness. I’m probably gonna be grounded. I sigh. School is a prison already. It’s gonna be hard if home starts to feel the same way.
“What is the matter, child?” an old man at the bus stop says. He’s dressed in a tweed suit and overcoat, and wearing a bowler hat.
“I broke my glasses today,” I say to him. “I don’t think I’ll be able to get a new pair for a while.”
“You broke them, or did someone else break them for you?” the old man asks.
I shrug. It’s a little creepy how the old man sees through my lie immediately, but perhaps my parents’ willingness to believe me is just that. Extreme willingness.
“I have a spare pair,” he says, withdrawing a box from his coat pocket. “They’re quite old, but you’ll see things you’ve never seen before.”
“Are you sure?” I ask.
I probably won’t see anything at all, because there’s no way the old man and I have the same eyesight power. But at least my parents won’t ask questions, and I won’t be grounded. I can earn for just lenses quicker than paying for both frames and lenses.
It’s suspicious, sure. But after being Willworth Academy’s resident punching bag the last few months, the universe owes me a little kindness. I take the old man’s box with both hands and thank him profusely.
“I own a little spectacle shop,” he says. “The address is inside the box. If you need anything more, feel free to stop by, darling.”
I thank him again as he gets on his bus. I open the box after he’s out of sight. The glasses look vintage, with a thin round gold frame. While the style is old, the glasses themselves look new. They actually look like the stylish designer glasses some of the other students wear.
\* \* \*
I put my glasses on in the bus. Surprisingly, I can see perfectly through them. I thank the old man again in my head, and promise myself to buy some glasses from his shop once I can afford to.
Gemma Saviland is standing outside the school when I walk up to the main building. She’s surrounded by her usual lackeys, but there are others as well. As I walk closer, I realize they’re not human. They’re humanoid, but their skin is of unnatural colors. Green and violet, maroon, and yellow, all sickly looking.
“*Look, she can see us,”* a violet man in a pinstripe suit exclaims. “*Shall we play with little Gemma?”*
*“Finally, some fun,”* a green little girl in a school uniform says. “*Only Gemma’s had fun so far. Did you know Gemma lives with her dad and his mistress now? Her mom left the house. Ha ha, her mom left Gemma too.”*
“What are you looking at?” Gemma says.
“Your dad’s living with his mistress?” I ask. The words are out of my mouth before I even realize I’m saying them out loud. Gemma pales. Her lackeys are no longer her followers now, and I realize they were never loyal. They turn into piranhas before my eyes.
“Oh my God, Gemma. I guess if even the charity case knows, it’s gotta be true. That’s so messed up,” one of her lackeys says. She’s the new leader now, Gemma reduced to the status of a pariah nearly equal to mine.
The little girl walks over to the lackey. For a second I see the lackey glow green.
“*This one flirts with her stepfather,”* the little girl says. She sneers. “*And he flirts back.”*
This time I’m careful to keep my mouth shut. Gemma walks towards me, her fist up. I see her fist coming towards me, but I never feel it. Instead, I blink and I see Gemma clutching her hand in pain, blood dripping to the ground.
“Nice glasses,” the lackey says.
It’s the glasses. I take them off to examine them for damage, and the strange people all disappear. I see the world with fuzzy edges, but the man in the pinstripe suit, the little girl, and the others are gone.
I put them on again and they reappear.
“*I wonder how a girl like you got ahold of such a treasure,”* the man says. “*Congratulations. Let’s get along well, in the future.”*
“Thanks,” I say. The lackey nods and smiles my way, thinking I’m responding to her. The group of girls walk past Gemma, ignoring her.
“Do you want to go to the nurse?” I ask her.
“Get lost,” Gemma grumbles, walking away.
The man waves to me over his shoulder as Gemma walks away.
“*You don’t mind some company for a while, do you?”*
A woman is standing next to me, her skin grey like the smoke billowing out from the cigarette at the end of her cigarette holder. She’s wearing a red flapper dress that moves with her every breath.
“*You are a fertile feeding ground, girl,”* she says.
I check to see that no one is looking at me.
“What are you?*”* I whisper.
“*We are demons,”* she says. “*We are beings who feed on negative emotions. You have been given an object that lets you see us. What did you do to earn such a valuable object?”*
“I was just given it,” I say.
*“Interesting,”* the woman says, breathing out a circle of smoke. She spots a boy walking by, his hands shoved into his pockets and his head down. “*It was nice seeing you. And remember, darling. This vision you’ve been gifted is not only about seeing. It can be a weapon. Be careful, now.”*
*\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_*
r/xeuthis
|
As home room teachers began recalling their students back from recess, the homeless-eye-doctor-who-lives-on-the-school regarded me with kind eyes. “I sense that you need some spectacles, young one?” she asked.
Struggling not to cry, I brought up my crumpled pair. “My daddy bought my glasses brand new. Then Germy broke it.”
Leaning back against the school wall, the doctor shuffled through one of her many garbage bags. “And that wasn’t very nice of him to do, was it?”
I shook my head.
“Joey, come on! Recess is over.” My homeroom teacher Mr. Rubenson shouted out to me.
I did not know if I should run back or stay. Dad was going to be so sad if he heard that I broke my glasses one day after he gave it to me. The doctor helped me by taking out two things from the bag. The first one was some old caramel candy, dotted with red fuzzy lint. The second one was glasses. She offered both to me.
“Take it,” she said.
I shook my head once more.
Her outstretched hand retracted slightly. “Do you not want it?”
I though long and hard about her confusing question before shaking my head.
“So you do want it.”
After a moment’s hesitation, I nodded.
“Well then, don’t let me be the one to stop you. Put them on, I’m sure you’ll look great in
them.”
I still withheld my hand.
The doctor placed a finger on her temple. “Maybe there is something that is stopping you from taking these things?”
“My mommy told me not to take gifts from strangers,” I said, face burning up.
A look of understanding passed by the doctor’s face. “And your mommy is very right.” She paused, thinking for a moment. “Then let’s not make this a gift, how about we make it into a trade? I’m sure you traded stuff with your friends before, right?”
“Right.”
“Then let’s think about it this way. I’ll trade your this candy and glasses for your broken pain. That way, it feels even.”
I knew how sad dad was going to be about my broken glasses and agreed to the trade. The new pair of glasses felt heavier. Maybe it would be harder for Germy to break it then.
The doctor placed my broken pair next to her trash bags. “Look at you! They look good on your face. Listen, if the bully even tries to do something like that again, eat the candy I gave you. It will protect you from him.”
“Okay.” I said, feeling a little bit better.
“Good. Now hurry along, your teacher must be getting real worried about you.”
A hand on my shoulder startled me. Turning back, I saw that it was Mr. Rubenson with another teacher.
“Joey! What did I tell you about looking at the wall all recess? A kid like your age should play with their friends.” said Mr. Rubenson.
“But I was, I was playing with my doctor friend.”
Mr. Rubenson gave his fellow teacher a knowing glance. “Smart kid, he likes to play doctor a lot.” He turned back to me. “Well, ready to head on back?”
I nod.
“Attaboy, I’ll walk with you.”
Before I followed him, I looked back and mouthed two words to the doctor waving her hand.
“Thank you.”
| 2021-03-13T07:05:10 | 2021-03-13T03:25:49 | 63 | 35 |
[WP] A portal opens before you and out steps a version of yourself covered in blood. "I've killed humdreds of you and they say you're the strongest one. Time to find out why."
|
I just chuckle at my bloody counterpart.
This again.
"Come with me, friend." I throw an arm casually around their shoulders. My lack of fear seems to cause them some consternation, but it's after they try and fail to pull out of my grip that they start to look truly shaken.
I lead them to my basement, shushing their protests and putting them into a more secure hold as their struggles increase. Their futile attempts to break my grasp slacken as we descend the stairs and they take in my... decor.
Dozens of identical skulls line every wall. Beneath each there is a label with a neatly printed number.
"These are all versions of me from different 'verses. They're labelled with the number of me's they killed before *I* killed each of *them*. You said you've killed hundreds? Take a look around, tell me if you notice anything."
I release my captive.
They are absolutely festooned with weaponry: swords, guns, bandoliers of bullets, a cluster of grenades lashed together like a net of garlic bulbs. This is to say nothing of their more utilitarian trinkets, such as the small portal device strapped to their wrist. In contrast, I carry nothing but a small, confident smile.
They are me, so they know what that expression means. *This fight is already over, you just haven't realized it yet*. It's a struggle for them to back down, but they turn away with a slump of their shoulders, resigned to play this out on my terms.
They browse the skulls, stooping to peruse those nearest the floor, craning on tiptoes to read those up higher. This is all punctuated with increasingly frightened glances at me.
"N-none of these are below t-t-ten thousand," they squeak. "That c-can't be right, you're making this up! There aren't even enough universes for each of them to have killed so -"
"Ha! You know better. We don't make things up. And bear in mind that just because *your* portal tech can only access a few thousand universes, that doesn't mean that's all there are."
I take a step toward them just for the gratification of watching them scramble back.
"I've been collecting and combining technology from every instance of us that comes here to challenge me," I continue. "That means my options are a bit more... comprehensive. Speaking of which: Number 134, would you do the honors?"
Taking that as a cue, my counterpart makes a last ditch attempt to escape. They point a comically oversized gun at me with one hand while bringing the other up to their face to shout dimensional coordinates into their portal device.
A portal does open up beside them, but only long enough to disgorge another person - another *me* \- into the room. The new arrival - Number 134 - wrests the gun from my captive's hand before they can let off a single round. Cybernetically enhanced as they are, Number 134 makes quick work of their opponent, casually blocking retaliatory strikes and systematically stripping away every weapon.
My would-be assassin looks up at me, pinned to the floor by Number 134. Their face is suffused by a degree of fear that I haven't personally felt in a long, long while. It's almost nostalgic.
"I should explain. I don't kill every one of us that comes here. Just the really dangerous ones, which you've noted tend to be the ones with body counts of 5-digits and up. The small fries, e.g. you, become useful subordinates. Like Number 134 here."
"The first month of reeducation is the worst," Number 134 intones in a raspy monotone. My captive flinches at their voice. "It goes smoothly after that... if you stop fighting."
"Number 134, please have the subject outfitted with the Berserker implants and neuro-modules. I really need to replace some Scouts and Saboteurs, but this one seems too brash for those classes; the reeducation would take forever. Have Numbers 756 through 770 prepare reports on appropriate 'verses to source new S-Classes. And get someone to update the portal scrambler! Next time I get surprised like that, somebody's going to take the scenic route to the junk heap."
The captive draws breath to speak, but a needle telescopes from Number 134's finger, and one swift sedative injection sees the captive slumped silently on the ground.
I suppose should find something else to call them. What number am I up to now? Actually, I should wait before assigning a number to them.
Not every subject makes it through the process.
|
“I don’t understand.”
“Well of course you don’t.”
“Can you run it by me again?”
“I’ve killed Humdreds of you- us and they say that you are the strongest one. I’m here to see why.”
“Okay I’ve got 2 questions, why are you covered in blood? And did you say “humdreds”?”
“Did I say humdreds? Shoot I meant hundreds, and the reason I’m covered in blood is because I go and kill alternate versions of myself to insure I’m the only Abo there is.”
“Well I’m personally confused, why would I be the strongest I’m just trying to mind my own business.”
“Well here I go.”
Abo plunges his sword into Abo, and it ceases to exist.
“What in the fuck?”
“I’m thinking the exact same thing.”
“What did you do to my sword?”
“I dunno. I guess I didn’t want to be hurt”
“Okay… so you can cause stuff to stop existing?”
“I… don’t know…”
“Alright well I’m out of ideas, I’ll be right back”
“See you friend!”
“Wait what are you… ohhh! I get it now. Wait don’t leave!”
Abo exits his room, after all he has a great imagination.
| 2022-11-09T11:40:18 | 2022-11-09T08:59:54 | 162 | 86 |
[WP] The Martians are awesome telepaths, the Zelon incredible supermen, the Rakith wise clairvoyants. In a superpowered galaxy, no one human power measure up against any alien counterparts. But every human has their own, unique power, and that makes fighting them very, very annoying.
|
The air inside the courtroom was thick and gloomy. Even the chandeliers, clad in their useless display of affluence, dripped foreboding.
“I am mishearing,” The Conqueror smiled, his voice razors in the night. It was always night on Zelonare. It was always dark, lightless, and stale. “I think you are saying, we have managed to push the human line back to Ka’Ar, oh Wise One, because they are half our size and half as intelligent.”
The messenger quaked. Alas, on any planet, the one who brings bad news is always the one to die. He makes an unintelligible noise. The Conqueror let a twist of fury cloud his face before the red lasers shot out of his eyes and the messenger was but his tablet.
Ka’ander watched the proceedings with carefully disguised disgust. The humans were a notorious species. Unpredictable and far too determined, they had stopped many a war-mongering race in their path. The Martians had tried, and failed, a matter which Ka’ander could tell still disturbed many of the soldiers in his battalion. The Martians’ telepathy was unrivaled in the galaxy. Not only could they know a species’ deepest secrets, but also control their movement. It was no wonder why the soil of Mars was stained a deep, permanent red, as they could not control even their own in-fighting.
The humans had stopped them in less than a month their time. Sometimes, whispers creep through the galaxy, telling of strategies- bombing runs and aluminium foil- but no one could explain fully how the humans bested them. It was a tale Ka’ander grew up with, and it is a tale he still tells his offspring today.
The Conqueror, Ka’ander’s supreme leader and the most important figure in his life, wanted to prove the Zelon’s worth. On Zelonare, you were created to fight. Each small Zelon sprouted from the head of The Conqueror, where they were then given to people like Ka’ander to be raised into fearless, war-hardened supersoldiers with a variety of technology enhanced abilities. He feared, however, with ample evidence to support him, that they had taken on a feat too big with the humans.
Their home planet, Terra, was so diverse in temperature that it was impossible for any Zelon to even fly into the atmosphere. In some areas, it reached almost 567 Byies, and the living temperature on Zelonare was but thirty. It was a disadvantage they could not seem to overcome. Not to mention what humans took in to survive. Even small exposure to the gas caused Zelons to implode.
“I expect better results,” The Conqueror rasped. It is not long before this one dies. Perhaps, then, they can stop the war. Ka’ander has lost three offspring to this war. Ka’ander does not wish to lose more.
When The Conqueror dismissed them, Ka’ander was just walking out of the stone walls when one of his offpsring ran up to him, his eyes blown wide. “Come quick, Yukaz is injured,” he whispers urgently.
"Yukaz?" Ka'ander choked. "My Yukaz?"
His offspring nodded, his slits dark with fear.
Ka’ander took off, punching into the air with impatience. Yukaz was his favourite.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
“Yukaz,” he wheezed, reaching down to hold his son in his wings. “Yukaz,” he said, more firmly, when there is no reply. His face had the boils characteristic of contact with human spittle.
“Ka,” Yukaz stirred. “Ka, you wouldn’t believe what happened.”
“Quiet now.”
“Ka, I followed the book. I jumped a human, on it’s own, and it managed to do something- I’d never seen it before, Ka. It was almost not real.”
“We know humans have their own abilities,” Ka’ander said. “We know it is what makes them special. The other time, I was jumped by a human who could speak at impossibly high pitches. It nearly made my head explode.”
“No, this one was small, Ka. It was their version of a child.”
“And?”
“And it ran toward me. It showed no fear, Ka. It just ran toward me, arms open. I was terrified, and as I ran away, it laughed and chased me- and then ejected this foul-smelling green liquid all over me and burst into noisy screams. Ka- they’ve created another generation of war machines,” Yu shrinks down a size. “Ka, we aren’t going to make it.”
Ka’ander’s face turns purple with worry. “No, Yu, we will be okay. We are coming up with new….new technology. We will win the war.”
Yukaz looked at him, burdened with sorrow. “It’s okay to tell me no, Ka.”
Ka’ander clutched his son closer to him. “Go to bed now, Yu. I will wake you in the night.”
Yukaz shivered. “You can tell me no, Ka,” he says, but he’s already drifting off. “You can tell me….”
(edit: punctuation)
|
Zorbo slammed his pint down on the bar a little TOO hard. The dented steel was rapidly straightened by the powerful magnetic field exuded by the Corian sitting sympathetically next to him.
"It's not fair!" he whined. "Fucking humans!" Garo, the Corian, placed a gentle feeler on his tentacle.
"There, there. You pulled all of his limbs out of their sockets! Even his head! How were you supposed to know that he would just put them back in?"
Zorbo growled, his speech tentacles vibrating irritably. "They're so goddamn annoying. Do anything and the damn apes will fix it. Is there any part of them that will keep them down permanently? Honestly, really. You have to damage EVERYTHING, and even then it's unreliable as hell. They've got all those, um, those hard calcified things..."
"Bones."
"Yeah. Not hard to break them, but the fuckers just don't *care.* And you can't rip their outer layer just by hitting it - you need something really fucking sharp, and even then they literally just put some shit on top and wait a week. You gotta peel through EVERYTHING."
Garo nodded sympathetically. "Yeah, tell me about it. I came so close to death one time...a human pushed through the swarm of metal shards just by putting its hands over its eyes and walking towards me. I had to pull everything back in - thank god they can't punch through steel."
Zorbo downed his pint of mango juice. "Fuck those self-healing bastards. So hard to kill."
Garo shrugged. "I hear that if you can get a neck injury in, they die pretty quick. All their neural processing is in that top part. But if they learn how to reattach that, we're all fucked."
| 2017-03-28T22:17:26 | 2017-03-28T22:02:05 | 24 | 14 |
[WP] The real reason why the villain is doing evil is because he/she has a crush on the hero and this is the only way to see him/her
|
He sat in a high back chair in his evil lab, a menacing smile on his lips. Surrounding him was all manner of laboratory crap, from pointless Tesla coils and gadgets to beakers and alchemic solutions. And tied up, hanging above a vat of some kind of bubbling solution, was Jack Johnson, photographer of Buzzweek News, a veritable white knight and love interest of the reporter Marsha Miller.
But the villainous Chemist knew all too well that Marsha Miller was not just some ordinary reporter, she was the famous heroine Ultra Lass. He knew she’d come flying in to save Jack Johnson, and that’s exactly what he wanted.
“You’re not going to get away with this, Chemist,” the dangling photographer said, “Ultra Lass will be here any minute to save me!”
“I’m counting on it, Mr. Johnson. If my goal was to kill you, I’d have done it already. I want her, and nothing more.” Though his words were threatening, the truth of his last statement echoed in his head.
The ceiling caved in suddenly and a figure dropped down with the debris, landing crouched. Standing heroically from the debris was Ultra Lass.
Her long, light brown hair cascaded over her shoulders, and her eyes glowed white behind the red mask that adorned her soft face. Her silver and red outfit hugged her strong, curvaceous body. She was the quintessence of beauty, the subject of countless ballads, and an angel in a world of devils.
She glanced at the man dangling above the vat and then stared at the Chemist, “Let Mr. Johnson go and willingly surrender to me or this gets ugly.”
“Ultra Lass, Ultra Lass,” the Chemist said, slowly shaking his head, “you know as well as I that I’ll only escape again and again.”
“And I’ll stop you again and again, but I’d much rather not hurt you. Having to punch you every other week gets so boring.”
The Chemist went silent and glanced at Jack Johnson, still dangling above the vat, “Trust me, Ultra Lass, your punches don’t hurt me.” He stood up from his seat and fixated his gaze back on the beauty before him.
The heroine seemed somewhat perplexed by that, it made sense that she didn’t understand. She was more powerful than a freight train; a single punch with nothing held back could level the tallest building in the city. Of course her punches hurt, but the Chemist’s heart ached when she was away. Only he knew how he felt.
He and Ultra Lass had been at this for years, and while he was not the strongest of her plethora of enemies, they were bitter rivals from the beginning. He used to be able to outsmart her, he’d won many of their early battles, but she eventually figured out ways to dupe him, and he enjoyed it. She was a challenge, constantly keeping him on his toes, forcing him to invent new ways of beating her and tricking her. She made him a better villain. He admired her.
And yet… She did not look at him with the same kind of admiration. He challenged her more than anyone else, and, in turn, made her a better heroine. She didn’t see it that way, she saw him as a monster and nothing else. But who got the credit for making her a better hero? Jack Johnson. The same Jack Johnson who was currently hanging above a harmless vat of green water that only bubbled because air was being forced up into it, creating an illusion of danger.
“Fine, if you want to do this the hard way, let’s do this the hard way.” Ultra Lass said and darted toward the Chemist.
He was prepared, flipping a switch on his gauntlet adorned with an abundance of gadgets. Bright light burst from a lens on his gauntlet, a light that he shielded his eyes from as it temporarily blinded Ultra Lass. The Chemist took this opportunity to leap away and out of her range before he killed the light. He watched with a measure of pride how quickly she recovered from the blinding light and started toward him again.
“Your tricks won’t work on me, Chemist! You can only stall the beating so long!” she glared at him through squinting eyes.
He pressed a button on his gauntlet and laser turrets ascended from beneath the floor and began to fire at her immediately, and though she took the first few hits, she began to duck and dodged out of the way, edging her way closer and closer to him.
The Chemist released every gadget in his arsenal, old and new, and Ultra Lass countered each with such speed and skill that the villain was awed. All out of tricks, he feigned anger at his defeat.
“Damn you, Ultra Lass! I’ve thrown everything I had at you and you’ve foiled every single one! You win.”
Ultra Lass panted, having exerted a lot of power to defend against the Chemist’s gadgets, “Then I’ll be taking Mr. Johnson to safety and leaving.”
The Chemist cocked his head, “You’re not taking me in?”
“No.”
In unison, both the Chemist and Jack Johnson exclaimed: “WHAT?”
“You said it yourself,” Ultra Lass shrugged, smirking slightly, “you’ll just keep escaping prison. I’ll just have to keep stopping you myself.”
He was dumbstruck. He couldn’t find a clever comeback for that, so he just said: “Then I guess you will. Get Mr. Johnson out of here and go. He’s been whining and crying this whole time, it’s gotten quite annoying.”
His heart melted when Ultra Lass giggled and he watched her fly up to Jack and untie him. She held the photographer close before looking down at her archenemy, “You know I’m always going to stop you, right?”
“My dear Ultra Lass,” the Chemist said, “I am counting on it.”
With that, Ultra Lass took off through the hole in the ceiling, Jack Johnson in tow.
The Chemist darted right to his computer and typed in a few commands. Ultra Lass was still within range of his long range microphones and he wanted to hear if she had anything to say. Over the speakers he heard a conversation between Jack Johnson and the super-heroine.
*“I can’t believe you didn’t bring him in after what he did to me,”* Jack was saying.
*“He didn’t even touch you,”* Ultra Lass said.
*“Those ropes were pretty uncomfortable, though.”*
*“I know, I know.”*
*“I gotta ask, though, Marsha, why’d you let him go?”*
There was a brief pause in the audio, and the Chemist thought for sure she’d gone out of range before the audio came back.
*“It’s going to sound silly, but… He makes me a better hero.”*
Before Jack’s reply could be heard, they flew out of range and the audio feed died. But the Chemist hardly cared. His eyes welled up with tears and he let out a brief laugh of pure giddiness. The tears in his eyes fell, rolling over his pale cheeks as he smiled and isolated that last bit of audio.
*He makes me a better hero.*
*He makes me a better hero.*
*He makes me a better hero.*
|
"Execute order Q-T-3.14." The order rings throughout the lair. Rengar grins to himself as his henchmen go about his demands. He is sitting on his best throne, twiddling his thumbs. This has to be it. There is no way that Ultra Man can be *that* dense. He did name himself 'Ultra Man', but still.
He feels butterflies in his stomach as his plans are carried out. Ultra Man should be on his way now. His right leg starts to jitter in anticipation. An unfortunate henchman is passing close to the throne.
"Hey. Henchman." Rengars powerful voice reaches him. He stops and turns.
"Do I look too threatening?"
The henchman is confused. Rengar has never even looked at him for more than 3 seconds before, and now he was asking him what seemed like a trick question.
"Sir, do you not want to threaten Ultra Man?"
"Well-uh" Rengar stammers. "It's all part of...uh..a plan! Yes. I can't have him too threatened already, or he wouldn't follow through with the rest of my master plan."
The henchman nods his head in what he hopes is understanding. "Oh. Well sir, you look just the right amount of threatening." The henchman hurries away before he can be questioned further.
*I need better henchman* Rengar thinks to himself. He hears an insolent meow. *Ah, yes. Fluffums. Right on time.*
He turns slightly in his throne to see his white ball of fur leap onto his armrest. Fluffums lies down to receive pets. Pets are received.
A siren begins to sound across the facility. *About time.* There is a panic filled murmur as the henchman begin to scramble.
Crash!
Ultra Man breaks right through a side wall, on the opposite side of the layer. Rengar is elated. He waits impatiently as he takes out all of his henchman dumb enough to oppose him. *Wow. My henchman are so terrible* Rengar thinks as he watches them fall to Ultra Man's manly hands.
He finally takes them all out. *This is it.* He sprints to Rengar's throne.
"Rengar! How could you?" He asks. Rengar feels even more nervous, but it is time to put on his act.
"I have my reasons, Ultra Man! Have you come to...thwart me?" He asks, still stroking Fluffums.
"You're dang right I'm here to thwart your nefarious plan! Order Q-T-3.14 will put lives at risk!"
"Order *Q-T-3.14*..." he emphasizes. It's no use, "is necessary to prepare for my other, more nefarious plot, A-QT-IC."
"It's over Rengar! I will tear this facility apart to stop you!"
"You would tear down my facility, but you will not hurt me? Have you grown...fond of me, Ultra Man?" he asks. He can feel his future on a knife's edge, ready to tumble either direction.
"Well-uh...I" it is Ultra Man's turn to stammer, "you are...evil, you know."
*Yes! Now time to reel him in.*
"Am I? Do you know what order Q-T-3.14 really is?"
"Well...no, but-"
"And you just assumed it was evil?"
Ultra Man looks ashamed. "...Yes."
"I am buying a house. The real plan was to get you here so that I could ask..."
"Yes?"
"Do you want to move in with me?"
___
/r/Periapoapsis
| 2017-04-15T12:06:54 | 2017-04-15T09:54:52 | 357 | 129 |
[WP] In a post-apocalyptic era, books of the old world are the most valuable and sought after treasures. Your grandfather, who just passed, left you a map that supposedly leads to the legendary "Library of Congress".
|
Ailee Fosters knew that she should stop crying. It was unprofessional, certainly not how her grandfather had trained her, and most importantly, was directly interfering with her abilities to save his life.
"Please, grandpa, please... Just, help me, press down here, just stay away, please...."
As his eyelids drooped, the same words resounded in her skull, over and over in a dull monotone.
POSITION THE PATIENT IN A RECOVERY POSITION, AND APPLY PRESSURE TO THE-
"I know, goddammit! I know, just shut up, shut up!"
Ailee scratched at the neural interface above her left ear, digging so hard that she felt her scalp give. There was a time when she had cried with joy at receiving the Implant, when she had begged her grandfather to ask her about the zillion bits of medical knowledge she had suddenly gained access to. When she had swelled with pride at the contributions she was to make to society, when she couldn't quite believe she was finally going to leave the world of the uneducated behind.
That suddenly seemed like a very long time ago.
"Grandpa, can you hear me... Please..."
As he ebbed away under her watch, the regrets floated up in her mind like the remains of a shipwreck. She regretted helping the young man hiding out in the alleyway, who had been bleeding out the same way her grandfather was doing now. She regretted listening to his ravings about learning the truth behind the Implants, about how he had to tell the world. She regretted lying to the Enforcers when they came around to check at the hospital. She regretted bringing him home, of all places. She regretted answering the door, especially when she knew it was none other than the Enforcers who were knocking...
THE PATIENT HAS EXPIRED. PLEASE NOTE THE TIME OF DEA-
---
And Ailee would have been content to spend the next hour there, curled up against the wall, had her grandfather's Implant not decided to deactivate itself. It fell to the ground with a *plink*, and spun around lazily before coming to a stop at Ailee's feet.
And in all red, floating in the air like the entrails of a smoke ring, were the following holographic words - MESSAGE FOR AILEE FOSTERS.
She retrieved the Implant, noting immediately that it was far heavier than her own had been. She turned it around, receiver side up, then touched it to her own Implant.
Her grandfather's voice, mellow, comforting, gravelly with the years, played out immediately.
*You will have to move fast, Ailee. When they realise that I have passed, they will come to retrieve whatever I have left behind. You recall, do you not, the training I have put you through? The safehouses I showed you? The people you need to reach out to when I am gone?*
*The stories I told you, Ailee, they were not just bedtime stories for your restless mind. They were true. All of it.*
*There really was a time when we humans had to learn. There was no such thing as the Implants, bursting full of the knowledge society deemed fit for us to possess. No one, certainly not the government, ever got to determine what place we would have in society, what role we would play. Our destiny was our own.*
*I was one of the original few who developed the Implant. The names I gave you, they are the rest of my team. Convince them. Show them that the Implants have gone too far. If all of them agree, then maybe, maybe they will give you the rest of the map. There is only one place left in this entire country where you can learn what you need, learn more than just what the Implant gives you.*
*Go, now.*
There were other sketchings swirling in her mind that she did not fully recognise. A cavernous building, with rows and rows of square-shaped objects, topped up with a giant pearl of a dome.
Ailee heard shouts along the corridor, and heavy booted feet beating a steady rhythmn, growing louder by the second.
Ailee stood, then ran.
---
/r/rarelyfunny
|
I had searched for five hundred sun-ups, and now stood in the overgrown foyer of the legendary ‘Congriss’.
A mighty oak door stood in front of me. With my lever bar I wrenched it open, and gasped.
Hundreds of old people lined the room, creaking with age, all mumbling about how Jerusalem should totally be the capital of Isarail. They hadn’t even noticed the global tragedies of the past decades in the world outside. I no longer wondered how Olde Man had come to meet the fate they met.
I quietly crept back out and shut the door behind me.
——
[Note - decided to flex on the prompt a bit!]
| 2017-12-20T05:53:02 | 2017-12-20T04:40:51 | 67 | 21 |
[WP] You bought a pair of headphones that are acting up. Every time you plug them in, you hear a different sound - first crying, then a war-zone, now just static. You plug them in again and are frightened to hear a desperate, tearful warning: "Whatever you do, DON'T unplug the headphones again."
|
It’s not a issue that my music stopped playing after five seconds it’s what I heard after that’s stuck in my head.
I heard a baby crying, as if it’s reaching out for me from wherever it is. I heard rockets and explosions a few seconds after that and I checked my phone to see if the song had changed but it wasn’t even playing.
Then I heard a lady who’s voice had no hope, a women who sounded like she had seen the world fall apart and she could live to tell the tale. She told me “ You Must Listen To Every Word I Say Or I’ve Failed”. I was tempted to dismiss this until she said “ Listen to me or Olivia won’t have a world to grow up in”. Saying my little sisters name got my attention so I listened.
She began to explain about where she came from and why she needed my help with whatever was going on with her life.
“ I come from the world on the other side of the mirrors. When You look into the mirror you may think you’re seeing yourself but you’re really seeing your counterpart in our world”.
“There are 3 worlds that exist between both of us, your regular earth, my earth or the mirror world and the space in between. The space in between is where a ancient race of aliens called the Dephalites reside. They’re a group of aliens that go from galaxy to galaxy attempting to wipe out humans so they can gain a new place to live after there homeworld was destroyed generations ago. 100 years ago the Dephalites attacked my earth and we were able to fight them off, we sustained enormous casualties but we managed to win. A year ago someone let them free from the in between and they began to take over.”
“We were able to fend them off at first but they evolved, they became human like and sophisticated and it was virtually impossible to tell the difference. That was until me and my partner Siegfried unleashed the Ensignial Gas into our world. It branded organisms based upon their allegiance. The people of my world have small moons on their right arms, the Dephalites have black stars on their necks, and that’s why I need you to do something for me.”
She instructed me to go the nearest mirror and I Ran to the bathroom in the GameStop across from me. I locked the door and she started with her instructions.
“ I need you to knock on the mirror twice and put your palm on the glass. After you do this a small radar and 2 pills will come through the mirror alongside a device that will allow you to fight the Dephalites. Go to the tallest building in your city and start up the radar and wait till you see 4 other beeps. Once you see 4 other beeps I need you to load the pills into the radar and watch them spread through the air. After this I need you to go home and go to a bathroom mirror and take the 2nd device and put it in front of a mirror. It will either glow red, blue, yellow, green or white. It will give you a specific element that you will learn to control and a spirit animal to guide you. After this you can wait a day and relax then I’ll need you to go back to the first building and since you’ll be the first one to start up the radar I’ll need you to lead the other 4 people that are getting a similar message. They’ll look to you to make sense of this. If you can’t just tell them what I told you and they should comply. Any questions?”
I asked a ton of them and she gave me honest answers about the radar, the Dephalites and all of her strategies in the war. I only had 3 more questions that needed answering before I went to the Space needle.
My 1st question was what would happen if we fail at beating the Dephalites. She answered
“ if you fail your world will perish like mine is right now”
My 2nd question is how did she know to choose me and why did she mention Olivia. Her response was
“ I chose you because your counterpart in my world was a great person, he was courageous beyond his years and I trust you’ll be the same. I mentioned Olivia because the Dephalites will try to control the ones you care about. If they manage to control them you must get rid of them... you must.”
After Clearing the lump in my throat I asked a simple question for my last one. Her response was honest and she held back tears. I just wanted to know her name.
“ my name is Daphne Decatto and it’s nice to meet you R.J. Thank you for listening to me and remember you’re not alone in this fight. You have people that will help you and people you will help. May your journey yield favorable results.”
And just like that my headphones went back to regular music. I had the radar and the pills in hand so now it’s on to the space needle.
|
After hearing that voice, I unplugged them. It was just my muscle memory kicking in.
I wasn't sure what the hell was going on. All my apps were closed, and I wasn't streaming anything.
To test the headphones out, I plugged them into my phone next.
When I did, a scream pierced through my earbuds. I threw my phone and the headphones across the room.
"What the hell was that?" I asked, even though I was alone.
"Stop ignoring me!" a voice screamed. It was coming out of the headphones in a very tinny, high pitched frequency, volume so loud I could hear it across the room. "Ignore me again and I'll hurt you for it! You need--"
"Fuck this!" I exclaimed, with my hands in the air like a gun was aimed at me. I walked towards my bedroom door and opened it.
As I stepped out, a figure lit in blue stood before me. It appeared to be a woman wearing white rags. She reached towards me with razor-sharp nails and grabbed my neck. "What did I say?!"
The nails dug in deep into my skin. Her grey eyes stared straight into mine. They were the last things I'd ever see as my head was turned sideways with a loud crack.
| 2020-04-02T03:02:54 | 2020-04-01T23:46:03 | 14 | 10 |
[WP] With no other choice left you summon the devil. It becomes very awkward when your Dad that 'left to buy cigarettes' suddenly appears in the circle.
|
I knew he was evil but not *that* evil.
"Dad," I said to the devil -- the actual devil that is. He wore a red cape and red horns grew out of his red head and he had a curly black pencil thin mustache. "You decide to now show up after all these years?"
When he first appeared, dad wore an evil grin on his face but it melted into a frown the more he studied my features.
"Jesus Christ," he said in a rather human voice. "You're all grown up son."
He looked around my single bedroom apartment. Most of the plaster walls wore a faded white coat of paint without any art hung upon it. One wall however -- the wall dad walked through -- was drenched with the deepest red from a slain goat's blood. A pentagram drawn with velvet black chalk displayed in the center of the panel. It wasn't the most ideal wall decor but it did bring some personality to my living space.
Dad looked down at my coffee table that also doubled as a makeshift workspace. Medical books stacked upon another like a Jenga tower right before the blocks topple.
"So your uh--a medical student huh?" he muttered.
"Cardiology," I replied.
"That's...that's just great. A lot of doctors have a god complex so it looks like your a chip off the ol' chopping block!" he said trying to break the awkward tension.
I stared at the man that left me and my mom 15 years ago in a broke down camper that had a leaky roof when it rained. He told us he was stepping out to get dinner. Hawaiian pizza with extra pineapples. The man never returned.
"So, how's your mother?" he asked.
"She died 4 years ago," I said absently.
Satan winced. "Well if it means anything to you, I haven't seen her down *there*." He pointed towards the stained carpet. "So she must have done some good in this world to end up *there*." He looked up at the busted ceiling fan.
I remained motionless still trying to process the idea that my dad was Lucifer in the flesh. Then I pondered if my inordinate teenage rebellious stage was due to family genetics.
"Okay Aaron help me out here. You summoned me to this place asking to swap out your soul for something else. Well, either we play catch-up or we get to the business side of things. What do you need from me?"
"I needed a father growing up," I whispered. "I remember the night you left. Mom and I were so hungry but you abandoned us while we placed buckets under all the leaky parts of the camper."
I broke away from his gaze. "And I'm still go hungry dad. Mom's hospital bills from her heart myxoma, my college education, and climbing inflation served me millions of dollars worth of debt. I'm trying my best to survive and repair the world, but the world won't accept help. It cares about a bank account balance, going viral with a 5 second dance, and owning the latest electronic."
Dad turned around and looked at the pentagram he walked through when I called for him. A moment of clarity struck him.
"You want to repair the world," he repeated.
I scratched my head. "Yeah I suppose. I tried to go the Christian route but that group tends to cause more problems. They've ventured way off course from their own gospel."
The devil looked down on me and shed a tear that evaporated into mist due to his face being baked in fire a few minutes earlier.
"You're so much more like your mother than you are of me."
He walked around my apartment in deep thought. "How about this: I'll be a good father and help out for once. I'll grant you all the medical knowledge you need to know to pass the board exam. I'll also Venmo you enough money to get you out of debt. Do you have a car? How's it running?"
I nodded my head. "I have a 2010 Honda civic. It could use a tune up."
"So be it. When you walk down to the parking lot you'll see the newest edition of the car fully paid. But that's all I'll provide. You'll need to work and make the world better place. Trust me, if humans were as pathetic as you claim then I wouldn't have such a difficult time deceiving them."
He made his way back to the blood red wall. A portal to Hell opened.
"But you know, I need something in exchange. The devil doesn't give hand-me-outs like the democrats."
I stood up. "I understand. You need my soul."
He shook his head. "No, I won't ask for that in return. I rather you be with your mother in the afterlife. She'll be astounded to hear all your stories and accomplishments."
I tilted my head. "What do you want instead?"
He reached out to me.
"Just a hug, son."
\------------------------------------
**Quick Note:**
Hey all! Thanks for reading the story. Please read the others in the thread if you have a moment. They’re fantastic!
Good new for those who liked my story: I’m planning on launching a subreddit in the next month with all my work on this account and past ones too. I’m currently slammed with school, but I’ll have ample time to write once the holiday season kicks off.
All of my submissions to /r/writingprompts are quickly thrown together with minimal edits (which explains all the grammatical and tense errors that pepper my writing). I plan on throughly editing all my postings on that upcoming TBA subreddit. I’ll also be posting non-writingprompt stories.
Like all novice content creators, I’m quite nervous getting this creative ball rolling. If you care to be kept up to date with my work then please give me a follow. It’ll provide a boost of confidence and help gauge any interest with my stories.
Thanks again!
|
"Dad?" I rubbed my eyes in disbelief. He was still there, exactly the same as how I remembered him - though maybe the beer belly had gotten a little larger, the dark circles under his eyes a little more sunken.
He sheepishly rubbed the back of his balding head. "Hey, boyo, hadn't meant for you to find out this way. I was going to tell you, I promise."
"When? When were you going to tell me?" As my initial surprise faded, the decades-old anger of abandonment quickly surfaced. "Right after you 'bought your cigarettes'? Yeah, right."
"Look," my dad, the angel of the bottomless pit, said. "Things were complicated. There were secrets that I couldn't tell your mother. Or you. I wanted to keep you both safe."
"Bullshit." My hands were shaking, but I picked up some of the lamb's intestines near the summoning circle and threw them at his face. "You didn't give a shit about keeping us safe. You ran away. You didn't leave any explanation. I think it took me two months to realize that you weren't ever going to come back. Hell, I'm surprised at how you're the 'Prince of Darkness' and all that, if you're so bad at responsibilities. You shouldn't be any kind of leadership position at all."
He deftly dodged the viscera and raised his hands in a placating manner. "I'm here now, aren't I son? Doesn't that count for anything?"
I rolled my eyes. He was here because I had dragged him out of the Infernal Realm with a summoning spell that was impossible to circumvent. He literally hadn't had any other option but to obey. But his question reminded me of the greater danger that awaited. "Alright, dad." The word sounded funny in my mouth after so many years of disuse. "Or Lucifer? The Morningstar? What do I call you?"
"Dad is fine," he replied, smiling sadly at me. I ignored the tug on my heartstrings. He didn't deserve to be forgiven so easily.
"Actually, no, I don't think I'm ready to call you dad yet," I replied. "Anyways, Lucifer. Let's set our differences aside for now. I'm sure that you know the world is in danger - we'll deal with that first."
\---
/r/theBasiliskWrites
| 2021-11-25T07:58:21 | 2021-11-25T06:29:15 | 737 | 70 |
[WP] The whole town knows about it. The black shadow on the baby monitor. Sudden changed diapers or meals ready for kids when they get home. Cleaned rooms and drawn baths. It is known as The Babysitter. It will never harm a child, but heaven help those who don't pay for its services.
|
The baby monitor blares into life as the tinny sound of Kai's cries fill my bedroom. I groan, dragging myself up onto my elbows, trying to blink away sleep as I turn to the monitor screen. But as I start to pull myself out of bed, I see the shadow cross the screen, hazy and ill-formed. There's a sort of static hum - almost melodic if you squint. (Can you squint with your ears? You know what I mean.) Wispy dark tendrils of shadow pass between Kai and the camera in his room.
I lower myself back onto my bed, my chest tightening with unease. I know the Babysitter has never done anything other than care for a child. As dark and mostly unseen forces go, it's less sinister than most - but having that presence in our little flat, lurking over my baby when I'm not there, singing to him without words in that lilting, unreal voice, creeps me the *hell* out.
I sigh and pull out a tenner, tucking it underneath a book on the bedside table even as I hate myself for doing so.
And then I pause. Slowly, I pick up the note and tuck it back into my purse. I sink back into my pillow, shutting my eyes against the sounds of the Babysitter's song and trying to ignore the anxiety heavy in the pit of my stomach.
There are stories, of course, of the horrible things that happen to you if you don't pay for its services. But then again, I've never known anyone *not* to pay. Isn't it punishment enough to watch this vague, eerie force hovering over my child, let alone fucking paying for it? All I know right now is that I can't take years of this lingering, unsettling dread. If some magical ghoul wants to key my car or lose me my job, then so be it, so long as I don't have to think of it looming over my child every time I turn my back.
\-----
The next morning, the car remains un-keyed, the milk in the fridge is unspoiled, and I manage not to suffer a gruesome death on my way downstairs to fix breakfast. But even knowing that Kai is safe, even knowing that the Babysitter has never harmed a child, the knot of worry in my chest will not loosen until I pick him up and he babbles happily away.
"Mama," he coos, before proceeding to spiritedly chew my shoulder.
That evening, though, his baby food is already out on the table, warmed to just the right temperature, and a brand new teddy bear sits in his cot.
Teddy gets acquainted with his new home in the bin, and I leave no payment.
\-----
The Babysitter continues to visit the flat, cooking meals, cleaning, and watching over Kai just as before. I wonder if it's even noticed the lack of money left on the table. Do I have to perform a sodding exorcism to get rid of this thing? Is it taking its payment in my goddamn blood in the brief hours that I fall asleep?
I'm barely resting now, rushing into Kai's room every time he so much as whimpers, to be there to reassure him before the Babysitter arrives. Sometimes I sleep curled on the floor with my head resting uncomfortably against the bars of his cot, with tracks of dried drool on my cheek when I wake in the morning, bleary eyed and stiff necked. I know Kai is sensing my distress - he takes longer to calm even when I rock him, feed him or sing to him.
His cry pierces the air, and I'm there in an instant.
"What is it, ducky?" I whisper, peering into his cot. "Hey, are you hungry?"
He continues to cry, and I lean down to pick him up. His shrieks only strengthen, and he pushes against me with his chubby little hands, screaming in earnest.
"Mama." He wails, twisting in my arms like he did when he got his vaccinations.
"I'm here, baby, shhhh, I'm here..." I gently bob him up and down against my shoulder.
And then the shadow is there in the room with me. Fingers of dark cloud unfurl between me and Kai, wrapping him in a shroud of smoke-like darkness. The Babysitter is cold against my skin as it passes over me, and I can't stop myself from letting out a shudder.
But Kai settles.
A frisson of fear passes through me. I lay him back in his cot, kneeling beside him, my hands still stretching through the bars to gently stroke his tiny arm. He starts to whimper again, eyes wide and baleful, staring at me as though I am a stranger.
"Hey, hey, sweetheart... Please..."
I feel as though I am begging him. I am aware of my fingers tightening around his arm and I have to force myself to relax them. His eyes fix on a point beyond my shoulder, as if I am not even there. I can feel the unnatural chill behind me, the coolness of the air almost smothering. Shadow slinks around Kai once more, his blanket twitching up to rest around his shoulders. I feel a tear run down my cheek.
"Mama," Kai coos again.
\-----
If you'd like to read any more of my stories, they can be found at [r/happinessinthedark](https://www.reddit.com/r/happinessinthedark/) :)
|
You watch as the shadow goes about your house while you are at work. You know what is said about it. It won’t hurt a child but must be paid for its service. You decide not to.
​
Several weeks go by and nothing bad happens. You think you got away with it.
​
The day is like any other: cloudless sky, 60\*F. You leave your house and go to work Quickly you realize that there is something not right. you notice the shadow is at work outside the office. It starts out small the coffee maker is broken whenever you want coffee, only to be working when someone else is getting coffee. Then it advanced to the store is always out of stock of whatever you want. Then you start to notice the fact that your phones battery lasts less and less each day.
​
The next day however your car won’t start, you call a mechanic, keeping it plugged in because it now lasts 3 seconds, when the mechanic gets there and says that there is nothing wrong with the car. He starts it up to prove it to you. It works the until the moment you hit the gas in which it dies again.
​
You then realize that the only reason you are not yet dead is because that would hurt your kids. You also realize that it has not touched your finances, except for the new phone you got, because it still has to give you a way to provide for your kids. Finally, you say that enough is enough, you pay up. It will not undo any existing punishments. As you realize that you will have to walk everywhere and that you must keep your phone plugged in. You ask yourself why did you did not give it $200 a week. It had continued working while you were refusing to pay so your debt had accumulated to be $3,200. As you write the check you think “oh well”.
| 2020-04-14T17:28:12 | 2020-04-14T14:35:26 | 365 | 177 |
[WP] It was supposed to be a routine software upgrade, but now roombas are tracing pentagrams and summoning minor demons all across the country. You work in tech support.
|
"You're saying that your roomba has opened a gate to hell in the middle of your living room and that a demonic creature is climbing out right as we speak?"
"Yes."
"... Have you tried turning it on and off again?"
They hung up. Huh. It was a minor software update. Management didn't even bother telling me about it, because it really didn't matter. I was hoping I'd get to spend the downtime working on my superhero comic. It's got a nice twist: the heroes are assholes. I got the idea after a guy dressed like Thor vomited all over me at Comic-Con. But no. Of course something like this had to happen. Of course the roombas would start summoning hellbeasts.
"Hello, my name is Jared. How can I help you this evening?"
"Hi, Jared. My name is Alice. So, I'm not really good with technology you see. I got this rambo--is it called rambo? I don't even know--well I got it from my daughter, and she's in college now. Architecture. She's really talented, you know. But she doesn't come home all that often. And when she does we tend to get on each other's nerves. Can you believe it? We spend all this time apart and then once we finally get to be together we can't stand each other. It's just one of those things. Well, she got me this vacuum-robot thing and it's acting up. Like I said, I'm really not good with technology."
"What seems to be the problem, Alice?"
"Well, I don't know if it's a problem."
"Alright?"
"It's just, well, it might be working the way it's supposed to for all I know."
"It opened a gate to hell, did it?"
"Exactly."
"And there's a demon coming out of it, is there?"
"Just that, yes. It's normal, is it? Like I said, I'm not all that good with technology."
"I am sorry. We have been having some difficulties following the latest software update."
"That's all Greek to me, I'm afraid. Or Latin. This fellow here is saying something, and I think it's in Latin. Hold on, I think he wants to talk with you."
"Oh, right."
"*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*."
"... What?"
"Hello? It's Alice again. He's rubbing his hands together. The demon, I mean. Is that normal?"
"I don't speak Latin, I'm afraid. I'm so sorry. We are working hard to fix this problem, I assure you, and we'll have it sorted in no time at all."
"I probably changed the settings somehow."
"Sorry?"
"The settings. Language. I did the same with the telly the other day. Suddenly all my shows had Spanish subtitles. And I don't speak Spanish. I had to make our gardener come inside and translate it for me. He'd been doing it for an hour when I realized that the shows were already in English and we had a good laugh afterward. How do I change the demon to English? Is there a button?"
"I don't think there's a button. Can you tell me what the demon looks like? And the portal. I'm having problems visualizing it from where I'm sitting."
"Oh. Sure, love. Let's see. He's tall. And there are horns on the sides of his head. Like on a ram. And he's wearing pants, thank God, but he's not dressed asides from that. He's got some nice muscles I might add. He reminds me of Rogelio from one of my favorite soaps, actually."
"He's not hurting you, is he?"
"Oh, not at all. He's having a look around. Seems he's just as confused as me. Hey! Demon! Leave that alone! I won that on a cruise! Put it down! Can you excuse me for a moment?"
"... Sure."
"Okay, I'm back. He's a bit mischievous, it seems. But I don't tolerate that sort of behavior. Do you think it would be fine to just put down a newspaper?"
"I'm sorry?"
"You know, in case he needs to ... well, you know. No! Sit down! We don't open the window at this hour. It gets drafty. Sorry. He's a lot, you see."
"Again, I do apologize for the inconvenience."
"Oh, it's alright. It's nice with some company, actually. It was just the speaking in Latin that bothered me. I don't speak it myself, so there's no use trying to have a conversation you see."
"The Latin is what bothers you."
"Yes."
"There's a portal to hell in your living room, opened by your roomba, and a demon crawled out from it. And him speaking Latin is what bothers you about this situation?"
"Yes? I don't know what's so hard to believe about that."
"Well ... I'm pretty sure demons only speak Latin."
"There's no English setting?"
"Not that I'm aware."
"Hmph. That's customer service for you these days. Not everyone knows Latin. I'm sick and tired of big companies acting as if we all learned it in school."
"Uh. Well. I'm sorry?"
"You better be. Well, I suppose it was worth a shot. Down from the sofa! Get down from there! Shoo! Hello? Well, I guess this is goodbye then."
"Uh, okay. G-Goodbye, Alice. If there are any more problems, don't hesitate to--"
"Yeah, yeah. I'll give you a ring."
It turned out that a programmer had mistaken a comma for a period and that was what had caused those whole kerfuffle. It was sorted out, and I stopped getting calls. Well. I did get one more.
"Hello, my name is--"
"Rogelio disappeared!"
"Alice? Is that you again?"
"I was making the boy a sandwich and he vanished into thin air. How do I get him back?"
"Wait, you're talking about the demon?"
"Who else? Rogelio. That's what I've been calling him. Is there a button?"
"A button? To open the portal to hell back up?"
"Yes."
"No. No, there's no such button."
"I swear, customer service these days ... It's all rubbish, I tell you!"
"Perhaps if you drew a pentagram on your floor by hand?"
"Oh. You think that would work?"
"It might."
"Hang on. Okay, I've got some chalk. Let's see. A pentagram looks something like this, doesn't it?"
"I can only hear your voice, Alice. I can't see what you're--"
"Oh! It's happening. The portal is opening again. Rogelio! There you are. I have your sandwich right here. Yes, good boy. Alright, you can go on the sofa, just sit on the blanket will you? Good boy!"
"Okay then. I guess it all worked out?"
"Yes! Thank you for your help. Goodbye now."
"Goodbye."
It all worked out in the end, fortunately.
*Quidquid latine dictum, altum videtur*.
|
Kyla slammed open the door to the break room to find that Alison was already there, calmly stirring a mountain of sugar into her coffee.
“Alison,” Kyla whispered harshly. “Do you hear what the hell’s going on?”
“I did,” Alison said, sipping from the steaming mug in her hands. A small, satisfied smirk tugged the top of her lips, before she turned back to the jittery Kyla. “Which is why I’m in here and not out there.”
“I can’t take it any more, honestly,” Kyla said, stomping towards the drawer. She ripped the cupboard door open like it owed her money, hungry hands grabbing at anything and everything. It eventually surfaced with a protein bar, which she swiftly opened and crunched through without hesitation.
“Demons? Pentagrams? It was a routine software upgrade from engineering! And somehow, we are the ones getting all the brunts of the complaints?”
“That’s literally our job, Kyla,” Alison said, blowing across the top of her coffee.
“And you are in here, doing absolutely nothing about it.”
“I work best with a break and coffee,” Alison shrugged. “Besides, I’m really not sure what sort of advice I can give about demon summoning. Throw holy water at them? I don’t even drink water.”
Kyla blew out her hair, leaning back into a creaky chair that threatened to topple over. She stared at the ceiling, cursing quietly under her breath.
“Tech support. Tech support! Why did I choose this job? I’ve never regretted something so much in my life.”
“What about the tattoo on your lo—”
“I will end you, Alison,” Kyla growled.
Alison shrugged, but a knowing smile lit up her eyes. She took another sip of too-sweet coffee, and sighed in pleasure.
Kyla continued cursing absent-mindedly, while her thoughts drifted off, and her sight leisurely ambled along. She looked out in the corridor, watching a roomba slowly roll in front of her. It dragged a slow, syrupy pentagram behind it, while a guttural, mechanical grinding roared from within.
“Of course,” Kyla whispered. “There are roombas in the office. That makes complete sense.”
Kyla leapt up, letting the chair clatter to the floor, and startling Alison.
“Do whatever you want here, but know that Marcus will try to get you to replace that chair out of your own pocket.”
Kyla waved her away, an accusatory finger slowly rising, pointing at the roomba outside the break room.
“Do you think demons make for good tech support?”
“I know the people who call tech support make for good demons,” Alison said. Her head turned as well, the latest object of Kyla’s desire now directly in her line of sight.
“Are you thinking of…”
“Yes, that I don’t get paid enough for this,” Kyla said, jabbing the thin air towards the roomba. “And that, clearly, fire should be fought with fire.”
“You should never be a firefighter,” Alison said.
“I’ll be an excellent arsonist though,” Kyla said. “Now, help me gather all the roombas. We have some demons to put through.”
“Are you sure it’ll work?” Alison raised an eyebrow.
“Not at all,” Kyla said. “But I’m probably going to quit this job the next day anyway. Might as well have a blast doing so.”
“I’ll miss the well-stocked pantry,” Alison looked around wistfully.
“You’ll get your sanity back for it,” Kyla smiled. “And likely watch a lot of people lose theirs when the demons appear, judging from the phone calls. I’ll take that trade.”
---
r/dexdrafts
| 2022-01-30T10:01:43 | 2022-01-30T08:36:03 | 58 | 37 |
[WP] Wizards are often depicted as being lone, reclusive researchers tinkering with new magics all alone in their towers for decades. However as the scientific process developed so too did the magical process, now wizards work in research teams, all spells are peer reviewed and papers are published
|
“What are you doing?”
“Just trying to get a quick transfiguration on this lens. Need it to refocus a laser and figure out the exact mechanism of a potential fourth-order transmutation,” I muttered. “Now be quiet. I need to concentrate.”
Jamal peered over my shoulder. “Are you using an aluminum to silicon dioxide transfiguration? That’s *so* inefficient.”
“It’s what we have laying around, Jamal. I don’t have time to get something more pure. If I did, I would just order a custom part.”
“Did you at least polish it first?”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I polished the lens. I’ve been working with this lab for three years now.”
He snorted. “Yeah, and you still haven’t started your dissertation.”
“Some of us like to feel passion for the projects we choose to work on,” I said, my face growing red. “Now can you please leave me alone?”
“Just trying to offer some helpful tips,” he sniffed. He fell silent but continued hovering over my shoulder.
*Okay… Just need to relax, perform the spell, and-*
“Did you use a pure polish or are you taking into account the surface impurities?”
“Jesus Christ, Jamal, I know what I’m doing!” I yelled.
“I’m just saying. If you’re doing a direct transmutation and it’s that inefficient, you’re going to have some awfully big surface imperfections. Not great for a lens.”
“It doesn’t have to be *great*,” I said through gritted teeth, “it just has to be fast. That’s why *I’m* I’m doing it instead of someone from Dr. Lee’s group.”
“Are you still beefing with him? You should have known better than to correct Lee at the last Christmas party. He *is* a professor, after all.”
“*Associate* professor,” I replied. “Now will you *please* let me get to work?”
*Okay. Relax, calm-*
“I just don’t know if transmutated crystal of that quality will refract light accurately enough,” Jamal said conversationally. “Have you done any tests?”
“Jamal, what transmutation *hasn’t* been tested to death and back?” I asked, irritated. “I mean, have you even looked at a transmutation table recently?”
“Yeah, and silicon dioxide isn’t exactly a common one.”
“Not in student textbooks, sure, but there are plenty of papers on it.”
“By who?”
“Whom,” I corrected absentmindedly. “There’s one by Dr. Edgar Walker of Oxford fame.”
“Oxford has a magic department?”
“Everyone has a magic department. Oxford may be old fashioned but they’re usually on top of things.”
“So Dr. Walker wrote a paper on ‘aluminium to silicon dioxide transmutation?’”
“Well-” I hesitated. “Not exactly. But he does have efficiency and NT values and other factors for transmutations from aluminum to non-metals and metalloids.”
“So the answer is ‘no’,” Jamal said with a hint of smugness in his voice.
“So the answer is ‘kind of’,” I replied, irritated. “We’ve got the NT values and the chemical composition, so-”
“You’re using the Khlebnikov equation? That’s an *approximation*. Not even a little accurate.”
“It’s *extremely* accurate, given that we’re only dealing with simple molecules,” I argued. “It’ll give you the right answer within one percent of the actual value.”
“Whatever you say,” Jamal said with a condescending chuckle. “If 99% is good enough for you, then whatever.”
“It doesn’t matter how good it is because I’m using the Dabrowski method.”
That scored a hit. “Oh, the Dabrowski method?”
“Of course. Ever heard of it? But of course you should have by now, given that you’ve started your *dissertation* and all,” I said, my voice dripping with sarcasm.
“Well, I’m so deep into my research it’s possible I’ve forgotten some more… elementary methods,” Jamal said hastily. “It’s hard work, you know.”
“Oh, I’m sure, I’m sure. Still, one would think that a magician of your prowess would at least be able to do an unassisted Dabrowski analysis. It *is* the most effective form of determining the efficacy of a transmutation, after all.”
Jamal glared at me. “Maybe my transmutations are so good I don’t need a Dabrowski analysis. Besides, what does that have to do with the Dabrowski method? I thought those were two different ‘Dabrowski’s.”
“They are,” I conceded. “But *Edmund* Dabrowski found *Daniel* Dabrowski’s research when he was Googling his own last name and was fascinated by the research. He earned his Ph.D. expanding on the possibilities and potential of a Dabrowski analysis in transmutation, thus the Dabrowski method. Edmund’s advanced Dabrowski analysis helps you identify the most common impurities by percentage and then perform a secondary transmutation on them, increasing transmutation purity by up to .5% in a single spell.”
“It’s still inefficient,” Jamal mumbled.
“Yes, well, some of us are willing to take inefficiency in the name of advancing science, and others of us joined the university because they wanted to make fireballs,” I said.
Jamal pouted. “Hey, that’s not fair. I had to give a cute childhood anecdote as part of my acceptance speech to show how far I’d come to get that scholarship.”
“Uh-huh. Whatever. Now will you please, for the love of all that is good and holy, leave me alone before I start probing your mind for your deepest and darkest secrets? I may not be the best telepath, but I was pretty good back in sophomore year.”
Jamal started to sulk away, so I returned to my work.
*Fucking guy. Okay. Aluminum. Silicon dioxide. Simple transmutation. Source object is nearly perfectly pure, well polished, exact right shape. Focus… and-*
“Wouldn’t the transmutation be more effective if you perform it in the cleanroom?”
“LEAVE ME [ALONE](https://reddit.com/r/Badderlocks)!”
***
 
Part of my universe on magic at a modern university which began with [this piece](https://www.reddit.com/r/Badderlocks/comments/gaeat0/a_class_about_the_mechanics_of_magic_set_in/) over three years ago.
|
The sign at the entrance read aloud, "No unauthorized magic beyond this point."
Senior Magic Researcher Gerry Gohnson hurried down the busy corridor with his hands struggling to hold the tower of paper leaning obnoxiously in his hands. The Research Institute for Magical Advancement and Development bulged with the amount of wizards who arrived by teleportation for the conference on "Underfunded Projects that Could Change the World".
The stack of handouts, meant to summarize his upcoming presentation in broad-stroked bullet points, mocked Gerry loudly, "We told you that you'd be late."
"Me?" Gerry shouted flabbergasted to the stack of papers as he ran past a group of young witches who looked at him judgingly. "You buggers wouldn't stop dry humping the printing press!"
"Yeah, but you're the one who created us, prick."
Gerry didn't have a retort for that one. The swirling blue lights bursting from his wand late last night was supposed to have made the pages a bit more adamant in their insistence on being read by their holder. It mostly worked, but he didn't expect them to be so flippant.
"You missed your turn." One of the pages retorted after Gerry sped past a hallway on his right.
"Oh damn." Gerry deftly avoided tripping on his long black cloak as he made a half rotation pivot, sprinted down the short hallway and emerged at the back of the auditorium. It was bigger on the inside.
The millions of hands erupted into applause, as Mr. Gohnson composed himself and walked elegantly down the walkway aisle. With a short wave of his wand, his cohort of papers folded themselves into neat airplanes and flew about the red-velvet laced auditorium, landing in the hands of his audience.
Another flick of the wrist and a set of wooden steps appeared, before shortly disappearing behind Mr. Gohnson as he took the center stage. "Ladies and Gentleman, I will not ask for your forgiveness, because I assure you this lecture will be well worth the wait. For too long, we have banned the use of magics on food, because the effects of a spell going bad would risk horrible death. But today I am proud to announce that after years of research, we have made a breakthrough."
The audience collectively leaned forward in their seats.
"We now have, for your use at home today, a spell that will grow and cook food instantly from a tiny seed with absolutely no side effects!" Mr. Gohnson reached into the small cotton pocket on the front of his robes and pulled out a tiny, yellow kernel, holding it up for all to see. "Behold!" Waving his wand he shouted, "Guyus Fierius!"
As the small seed grew rapidly into pepper-covered, buttered, steamed corn, the audience exploded in standing ovation.
Blushing slightly with a smug grin, "Now, now. Please settled down. I still have to go over the finer details."
The audience shuffled awkwardly back into their seats. In the ensuing silence, one of Gerry's pamphlets echoed across the auditorium, "See, I told you he wasn't *completely* mental."
| 2020-08-07T06:37:24 | 2020-08-07T06:26:47 | 232 | 59 |
[WP] You were the hero, the prophesied savior of the world. But you are so very tired of sacrificing for the greater good, of having to do the right thing at your expense. So when they ask you to do it again, you say no.
|
Selected excerpts from the journal of Earth’s greatest hero.
5/12/2000
I got my powers today. It was so cool flying around. I don’t know how I ever got by on foot before. I don’t care about getting my driver’s license anymore. Dad told me he’d help me learn to control my strength tomorrow. I need to pick out a hero name and outfit. Maybe mom can stitch something for me.
10/15/2000
Thwarted my first super villain today. Dad finally thought I had developed enough to come along on a call with him. Some villain had stolen nuclear secrets and was threatening to use them unless his demands were met. Dad ultimately was the one to take out the bad guy, but I did a lot to take down the henchmen. Looking forward to teaming up with Dad more and getting stronger.
2/14/2001
I’m in love, I’m in love and I don’t care who knows it.
5/17/2001
Being in love as a hero is hard. I never have time. I feel like no matter what I do, I always let someone down. Why do we hurt the ones we love?
9/4/2001
Got beat pretty badly today. Lucy told me she doesn’t know if she can take it. She worries about me too much when I’m out there. I told her she should see the other guy. Dad says it gets easier as we age, that Lucy will care less about the possibility I’ll die in service to the world as she learns more about me. Mom punched him in the shoulder. I love them.
8/6/2003
The happiest day of my life. Lucy and I are officially married. She wasn’t too happy that I had to leave the reception early to thwart a plot, but she knows that what I do is important. I’m the luckiest man in the world.
6/7/2004
I miss dad. I miss him more each day. I can’t help but feeling there is more I could have done. Why hadn’t I come sooner. Why didn’t he wait for me. I can’t do this alone. I don’t know what to do without him.
11/3/2004
My son was born today. We named him after Dad. He would have been so proud. Lucy was my hero today—I didn’t know that such strength was possible. I have to make my son proud just as my Dad did. I can’t wait for his powers to come in so that I can train him just like Dad did for me. Today was hard. I miss you Dad.
4/29/2010
I feel like I can’t win. If I save a family on the other side of the world, I let my family down. I saved a group of kids from another villain today. But because of it, I missed Jackson’s first tee-ball game. There will be more games, but I know that each day that passes, he is changing and he soon will become a man. I have to cherish what time we have together.
5/18/2010
The light is gone from my life.
5/19/2010
I told Cyrus I’m done. I can’t do this anymore. Lucy paid for my mistakes, my Dad paid for my mistakes. I won’t let my son pay that price too.
5/21/2010
The fuckers took Jackson. Cyrus called me with a ransom! A fucking ransom from my own government. They wanted DNA from me. Said they can’t leave Earth unprotected. They have a new technology that could clone me. I obliged. I told them to leave me the fuck alone.
9/22/2010
Jackson is nervous about starting at a new school. I told him he’d make friends in no time. Its nice being out in the wilderness with him. I feel normal. I don’t miss splitting my mind in every task. I’m finally here for Jackson fully. I only wish I could have been there for Lucy. I miss her.
3/31/2012
I saw myself on the news today—6 of me. Cyrus’s contingency plan must have worked. Oddly comforting knowing I’m still out there doing good, while raising my son. Maybe Cyrus was right.
8/12/2012
Jackson’s powers kicked in this morning. Sooner than mine did! I wonder if I was a late bloomer, or if he’s early. I wish I could ask Dad. I’m conflicted. I’ve looked forward to this moment since the day he was born. This is something uniquely ours to bond over—at least, it used to be. I don’t want him to struggle with the same conflicts I did, to suffer the same losses, the same regrets. Regardless, I owe it to him to help him hone his abilities. I have to allow him to make his own choices. Just as I did.
12/12/2012
Things are bad. Cyrus’s experiment has gone awry. It appears he has lost control of the clones. Surreal to see myself on the news killing innocent people. This, too, feels like my fault.
4/14/2013
I don’t know how much longer I can hold up. I’ve trusted Cyrus to keep Jackson, Mom, and Lucy’s folks safe. I don’t know if I can trust him. I have to trust him.
6/22/2013
I feel silly to be writing right now, but it clears my head. I’ve successfully killed 5 of myself. What a sentence that is to see on the page. I’ve taken a beating. I hope I can hold out longer. I have to hold out longer. I miss you Lucy.
6/25/2013
I killed him. I’m the last of me standing. He wasn’t as strong as I would have thought. Earth’s greatest hero. I miss you Dad.
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If you enjoyed this, please check out my other stories at r/InMyLife42Archive
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As I stood in the mayor's office, listening to his wants to help the city, I began to think.
I am so tired of being treated like this. I coke from a world of magic, and wonder. This place had none of that. And sure the Magium wasn't the best of the realms but it was home. I came here in order to help balance this unstable world. And what do I get?
Nothing. That's what.
Actually, I'm getting less than nothing. Everything I do for them is at my expense. What the fuck am I going to do with the key to the city? Nothing. At least pay me. But no, apparently "truly good people shouldn't want anythign back" well fuck that. I'm not a good person. Nobody is. You don't bite the hand that feeds you, lest you get struck. And that's what will happen for them. Crimes rates will increase, eiosmts may ensue. And hell, I'd probably join the villains side. At least they have a union. Me and my rival are pretty much actors, anyway. They kill some citizens, I stop them, we do it again the next week. We don't even hate each other, we actually hang out occasionally.
"What do you mean 'no?'" the mayor asked. I sighed.
"I mean no. Now, au revoir, you asshole." I said, gripping the air as if I was choking him. His throat began to close, feeling the effects of my power. I lifted him in the air, and closed my fist. There was a satisfying crunch, followed by the thud of the mayor hitting the ground, blood pooling out of his throat. There was an explosion, and my nemesis stepped into the hole the explosion had made.
"I already killed him, Chara. No need to fight today. But they're probably going to hunt me down for this. So I have a proposition." I said, stepping over the mayor, and sitting in his chair. Chara nodded, intrigued.
"I want to be your roommate. They'd easily find me with my current address. They've never found you before. And I'd even team up with you. And we'd get to go to that ice cream place more often. What do you say, Chara? Yes or no. Make your choice." I said, leaning in, a grin spreading across my face. Chara grinned back.
"Of course. Just think of all we could do..."
| 2022-12-12T17:30:36 | 2022-12-12T14:29:09 | 231 | 76 |
[WP] The most evil demon has been summoned. The summoner is a little girl and just wants to be hugged.
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Azrael looked around the clearing where he had been summoned, it was a still winters night with a fresh fall of snow blanketing the ground not a single birdsong in the air. The trees surrounding his summoning circle were scorched black where the blast had touched them, yet each tree still shrouded in snow on the opposing sides as if this was all a mere illusion. Narrowing his eyes he looked back and forth for the summoner, being in the middle of what looks like a forest he was still yet to determine the time period he had been brought into, or who had been foolish enough to raise him from his prison cell in Hell.
​
Bad people are sent to Hell, Demons are created in Hell....but where do you keep the entities that the Demons fear? What do you call this Monster Demons tell their Hellspawn to be wary of? You call it Azrael, and you make sure they never forget my name for i am the bringer of all things nightmare, the devourer of all things sacred.
​
My thought process was broken by faint cries of 'Help!........Help.....Hel...' I began to scout through the snow. I wasn't entirely sure who had summoned me but i felt compelled to go to the voice.
​
Beyond the clearing a vision of twisted metal and flame, two vehicles infused into one, a third upside down just off the road as small flames rise from the tail end. This is where the small whimpers of distress were emenating from, i inquired closer.
​
Mangled bodies littered the crash site but amongst the debris and dispair sat the smallest of Humans. Curled up in a ball she was muttering incomprehensable words, I'm sure a majority were nonsense but the occasional word resonated deep within me, a sermon i hadn't heard in Eon's, these were parts of my summoning curse.
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"I......i........just want my mother........why wont she wake...." The first sentence i heard from this being and i already knew how this had all played out, how i had ended up here, i'd been bound to my summoner even if she didn't mean to summon me, I'm her right hand until my role is complete.
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"As she fell asleep she made me promise to keep reciting these words..... it took me a while to get the sentence right but she promised help would come. that help would stay....i......is...that you?" her teary eyes met mine, locked together amongst the tragedy.
​
"My name is Azreal" I'd recited this endless times to desperate warriors, warlords and Kinds alike "I'm here to do as you wish, smite who you will and stay until my task is vanquished....little girl....what is your bidding?" i knelt to be closer to the shivering Human, the flames from her vehicle seeming to have no impact on the way she feels.
​
"I want you to make this pain go away, i need you to help bring back my parents" her stare never left mine, she knew how to keep me here, i wonder was thisher mother's guidance before passing
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"Youre request is mine to take, i shall do this and i sha.."
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"I also want a hug" A little smile creeps across the girls face as the realisation washes over me
​
Only one other summoner had ever been so brave to request physical contact from me, I'd gone to the pits of Hell for that Human millenia ago.....How....Why was she in this time....why did she pass on this message...what did it mean?....Bella was never one to reveal the entire plan that's what made me love her all that time ago.
​
As i scooped up the little Human, darting through the tree's, her head nestled in my neck i whispered
​
"Let's go save your mother...."
​
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Hope you enjoy!
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The girl finished the ritual. Her parents had just died in a fire. Her spirit was so very weak, so lonely, and she needed a hug.
​
The demon was in her now, and it tortured her. But every time the demon expected her to run screaming for help out the door, she just fell weaker and weaker apart. She was just withering away.
​
One day a wise wizard came upon the house and a starving, wide-eyed girl. The wizard asked her "what's going on here?"
​
The girl replied "I am possessed."
​
The wizard, "how did you become possessed?"
​
The girl replied, "I wanted a hug and I was depressed about my parents dying, so I summoned a demon to hug me. It's been hugging me."
​
The wizard replied, "You don't look very well hugged. Would you like me to give you a hug?"
​
The girl replied, "You can give me a hug, but the demon might give you a hug too."
​
The wizard didn't care, he was heart broken. He hugged the girl on the spot. Suddenly the wizard became possessed too. He became depressed and weak. He needed a hug now too.
​
Suddenly a priest came along...
| 2018-09-19T07:06:06 | 2018-09-19T05:06:56 | 31 | 13 |
[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
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"In Act 1, scene 3 of Macbeth, we are finally introduced to our main character. This is shown through various supernatural elements..."
Professor Yates continued with his lecture as I doodled chibi dinosaurs and Harry Potter stick figures in the margins of my notebook. Stifling a yawn, I jotted down a quick synopsis of "Jacobean witchcraft" and double checked that my tape recorder had full batteries before smooshing my chin into my hands. My thoughts wandered to the theater cast party I had attended last night for my roommate. I wasn't even in the play, or a theater major, yet I attended all the parties with her and never failed to regret it the next morning. I added a stick figure of my roommate being eaten by the chibi dinosaur to my notes.
A snort sounded to my right and I looked over to see my friend Daniel staring down at his desk. A fading smile had barely begun to disappear as I glanced at him, but he turned his head away and scribbled on his paper some more. I thought about throwing something at him to make him come sit next to me, but I didn't want to interrupt the professor, who was not known for his leniency. Instead, I turned back to my own notes and let my mind wander.
I wondered if "Macbeth" had ever dealt with a hangover before. Probably not. I think he was the theater roommate in this example, and poor Banquo was the tagalong who didn't know that a "Screwdriver" was more vodka than orange juice. No wonder he came back to haunt Macbeth.
I wondered what part I would be cast as if I ever did a production of "Macbeth." I would want to be Lady Macbeth, but with my luck I'd be the drunk porter. I think I could bring some life to it though. Maybe in a "modern" retelling, I'd just come out in a fluffy pink bathrobe with some whiskey.
I wondered, as I often do, if anyone would find these thoughts strange, or if everyone goes on a tangent when they let their mind free. Maybe there was a mind reader who I should probably apologize to for sending them so many distracting daydreams?
Whenever I think this question, I normally can't prevent myself from conjuring up pornographic images and random inappropriate thoughts. I think it's a nervous reaction. It's like the moment I think, "Okay, if there's a mind reader, best not imagine a dick pic", and then automatically my mind is filled with dirty images. I often formally apologize in my head to anyone who may be able to read minds, just in case.
Today though, right before the first risque image could flit across my imagination, I noticed Daniel again. He had jumped in his seat a bit and seemed to go a little pale when I thought the words "mind reader." As soon as I looked over, he shifted uncomfortably.
Curiosity and boredom made me think, "Daniel?" He did not look over and seemed concentrated on his notes. I squinted my eyes and immediately imagined our professor naked. Daniel's head shot up and looked over at me as my jaw dropped. His eyes widened to match mine and he looked back down at his table.
*Oh no you don't.* I thought. *Don't you dare think you are getting away with this. Look back here right now.* I continued to stare him down and began to conjure up more images of our professor in... interesting positions. Finally, Daniel looked over at me and mouthed, "stop."
My mind fizzled for a second and then rebooted. *What the fuck!?* Was the only coherent thought I could manage. Daniel shrugged and managed a small wince.
*You fucking **read minds**??*
He shrugged.
*For how long??*
He shrugged again.
*Can anyone else do that?* My eyes swung wildly around and I shoved down the constant nervous reaction to suddenly imagine everyone naked. Daniel smiled a little and a thought occurred to me. He froze. I froze. He looked up and I saw his cheeks begin to turn pink. I could hear my heart in my ears.
*So you knew...?*
Gradually, Daniel gave a tiny nod.
*You son of a --*
"Tatianna, what do you think?"
My head jerked up to see Professor Yates staring at me over his bespectacled nose.
"Uhh." I looked around and saw the class looking at me expectantly. The board gave no clues as to what had just been discussed and the Professor's silent air of expectation did nothing to help me. I glanced over at Daniel to see him casually flip a page of the play.
*Snarky son of a--*
"Mr. Collins, would you like to assist Ms. Kim as she seems to have lost her tongue?"
I grimaced and glared at Daniel, who didn't bother looking up from the play. There's no way he heard the question either. It was his fault I missed it anyway.
"Macbeth's mental health in the play is a represented by a slow and steady mental decline. We see in the beginning that the character shows symptoms of Post Traumatic Stress Disorder, which gradually accumulate into a type of paranoid schizophrenia, as evidenced through his hallucinations and the line "my mind is full of scorpions." This relates to the current state of his mental health and is a line I personally can connect with."
Professor Yates looked at Daniel with admiration and nodded approvingly. "Well done, Mr. Collins. I look forward to hearing more about your thoughts on this matter. Ms. Kim has a lot she could learn from you." He raised an eyebrow at me before turning to torture another student.
I shot daggers at Daniel.
*You have never read a word of Macbeth in your life. How the hell did you do that?*
He grinned and tapped at his head. My mouth opened in indignation and I turned back to my notes, adding scribbles of Daniel being consumed by numerous reptiles.
*After class, we need to talk.* Was the last thought I sent his way.
Edit: Fixed a story flaw
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Finally, the last day of exams then I could get away from this hell even for just the summer. Today seemed to drag on forever. After lunch I only had 2 more exams then I was home free. The downside was my exam for science, my worst subject. I just didn't understand.
I took my time answering the questions on the god awful test but I already knew I wasn't going to do well. I wanted nothing more than to just throw the whole thing away and walk away.
I could feel my hair pull as I ran my fingers through my hair for possibly the millionth time. It was knotted by now due to my frustration and fingers. I sat back in my seat and scanned over the rest of my class. Everyone else seemed to be in a similar state of frustration except for the few that actually understood.
With a resigning sigh I picked up my pencil and proceeded with my exam. Only a few more questions I can do this. Just a few more. I continued to give myself a pep talk in my head but it wasn't working. So close to finishing and I was stuck on something I just didn't understand.
I clenched my pencil in my hand and dug my nails into my palm. Lips pressed together and teeth clenched shut I couldn't help but release an internal scream at the ridiculousness of this test. As I did I sat back and caught a rather cute boy two rows in front of me and over one to my right jump. I stared at him for a moment in confusion. Surely he didn't hear that. I shook off the thought and stretched my arms into the air. Out of the corner of my eye I caught him scanning the class. Our eyes met briefly and his face blushed. He quickly turned back to his exam in front of him.
I couldn't help but wonder if I was just being paranoid or if he really did hear me. I quickly finished my exam and waited for class to be over. As the bell rang we turned in our exams and headed for the door. I tried my best not to dwell on my suspicions but couldn't help but think of his reaction.
As i headed for the student parking the cute boy from class caught up to me. He lightly grabbed my arm and pulled me to the side of the hallway.
"For the love of everything, don't ever do that again." My jaw dropped as he scanned our class mates before turning his chocolate brown eyes onto me once again. With one last glance he turned away and headed for the other end of the school.
*first prompt reply. Posted on mobile.
| 2017-11-13T20:08:12 | 2017-11-13T19:48:45 | 401 | 23 |
[WP] Tell a story from the viewpoint of a genius then the same story from the viewpoint of an idiot.
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"What are you doing, Nick?" she asked him, the slightest hint of frustration bubbling forth from her tone. He couldn't ever simply be on task, he had to ask questions and be told a million things before everything seemed to click for him. She felt sorry, in a way, because her son wouldn't have the life that she wanted for him. Her son was a decent enough boy, but just a little dull. She shooed him away from whatever mess he made now and threw away all the junk that was on the floor. Oh, how she wished that he could just play like normal kids.
She knew he was a little slow, but the other children seemed to distance themselves from him and his interactions were..well, pathetic was putting it nicely. He was awkward, didn't quite fit in with his peers. He'd read books slower, and he never quite got the answers right on his tests. His teachers always said he was a handful, and didn't complete the assignment properly. She scolded him, because her child would not be a deviant; indeed, he would grow to be a man who would respect authority and follow directions.
Honestly, it wouldn't have been that remarkable of a child if he hadn't entered that science fair. She laughed when he told her, she thought he was joking! How could he ever hope to win in his worst subject? Even better, he had been collecting junk and making messes for her to clean up for the better part of a month. Exasperated, "Mom, please. Can you stop cleaning up my project?" he whined. It's almost as if he didn't understand the importance of a clean house! She stormed out of the room, angry and disappointed in her son, definitely not for the first or last time either. She knew he would fail, and set out to fix his victory, if only to boost his confidence.
She worked hard, night and day for at least a week before perfecting his project. She was building it in secret, away from him, so he wouldn't mess about with it. It was dangerous, and messy; both things Nick seemed to enjoy. Finally, two days before the science fair, she unveiled her project to him. He stood in what must have been awe, as his jaw dropped and he was speechless. She stood, absolutely glowing with pride. His project would be the best, and showiest in the entire fair!
The next few days he was holed up in the garage, likely tearing down his junk and cleaning the garage as her gift. She smiled as she thought of her son becoming a perfect little man now, finally realizing his place in the world. The day of the science fair had arrived, and the whole world was in for a shock. She drove her son into the school auditorium where there were a few projects. She set up a table for him, and boasted about her son's project to any who would listen. She was brimming with pride, until she heard her son's name called to present his project. Then, she was just a bit nervous that he wouldn't win.
That day was the last day she worried about him, as his project was more than even she expected.
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Nick was, by all accounts, a slow learner. He studied, took longer to absorb material, and often had questions. He would ask his teachers why things were the way they are and they'd simply respond to him with exasperation and monotonous ramblings of definitions from the textbooks that were inadequately explaining things in the first place. He struggled in school, he barely understood what the teachers were talking about and he understood the other children much less. His mother often doted upon him, treating him as well as she could but even she lacked any patience to deal with his needs. He felt like a burden sometimes, and would often read in his room so he wouldn't bother anyone else. He liked reading, it was like hearing the thoughts of someone else from anywhere and any time. It was empowering, knowing that these people who were long-dead still had influence in this day and age.
He wouldn't have entered the science fair if it wasn't for a dare from his friend, and come to think of it, he wasn't so much a friend as the only person who didn't actively make fun of Nick. So, Nick gave in and said he'd win! He had an idea, actually. He'd been collecting spare bicycle parts and other odds and ends from a junkyard and other people's houses. He'd even gone through a dumpster or two to procure everything he'd need. Nick's mother really gave it to him when he told her where he'd found his newest set of junk, he thought she'd have a heart attack! His only problem was as soon as he got his model working -almost- the way he wanted, his mother would come and throw the whole thing away! He complained a few times, asked her not to touch his project and even started tinkering with it in the garage.
Since he'd been working on it in the garage, she didn't "clean it" as much as she did when he was in the house, and that was a nice change of pace. About two days before the science fair, his mother burst into the garage and stepped all over his creation. Luckily, it wasn't working as he'd intended otherwise it would have been a messy cleanup. She didn't seem to care that he'd told her that his project was delicate and, in a case, dangerously experimental. She came in and told him that she'd solved it! She'd made him the best project and that he'd surely win first prize. Well, Nick knew that his mother was a smart lady and he was feeling mighty good about his project now. He knew that it'd take at least three days' time to fix what she'd broken, so he was proud that she'd taken his side for once.
When he saw what she'd made, he almost cried. It was..it was a volcano. Baking soda, some vinegar, and red food dye. She'd made it out of paper mache and it really didn't look that bad but.. his project could revolutionize the world! He simply walked back into the garage and told his mother that she wasn't to come into there because he was, well, he lied. He told her that he was making her a gift because he was so thankful. He didn't sleep for the next two days, and had actually completed his project with a bit more than he'd originally planned. His project stunned everyone, especially his mother, and it stunned them quite literally. He'd invented the world's first phaser.
That's how Nickolai started his rebellion, and the world was forever changed.
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It wasn't that he was the best dressed man I'd ever seen, although he was, it was his eyes that made me trust him. When he smiled, they crinkled a little and he looked like my grandfather; I just had a good feeling about him.
The car accident had been small, just a tiny shunt really and there had been almost no damage, but he said he wanted to make it up to me. We had the same BMW and folk with the same car are brothers in some way, so after exchanging insurance we went for a drink and got to chatting.
He'd made his money as a stockbroker, worked his way up and now was a big shot at one of those fancy brokerage firms. He was visiting his folks for a holiday, just like a faithful son. I felt a little intimidated, my cash had come from my grandfather with the kind eyes; he'd run the largest lumber mill in Wisconsin and when he died I had been left enough money to live a pretty easy life. His sharp suit and precise manner made me nervous; God how I wanted to be him.
I never felt quite right about my money, I wanted to do something, to *add* to the family fortune, not always take it and this guy, well, he made me feel like I finally had a chance. I knew Betsy would disapprove, she always said I'm too impulsive, so it wasn't for a few days when she started to ask about money that I finally told her.
Boy she was mad, told me that I'd been taken in and drove me down to the bank to check, but the money was gone already. Apparently he'd moved the money right away, but that made sense! Investments can't hang around. Betsy kept yelling at me, but I told her that sure, we had no money now, but in a few weeks we'd be rolling in the dough, she just doesn't get money.
I can't wait until he posts me my first statement, I'm gonna make my whole family proud this time.
*****
I drove right to the airport, dropping off the hire car on the way. Two million; I'd known this guy was rich but this was move to France money.
It had taken less than fifteen minutes for the transaction to go through, and as soon as I got off the phone with my Cayman Island bank I relaxed. they were used to moving cash around and thankfully his bank had been most cooperative.
One and a half million dollars were now working their way through a dozen accounts until they came out the other end squeaky clean and my insider had been paid for in full. It was a pity that the half million I'd paid her would be so easy for the cops to trace. Poor Betsy would have some questions to answer in a few days time.
As the plane took off from Milwaukee towards New York I ordered some champagne, God knows today I earned it.
*****
I altered the prompt a little to switch em round, hope you don't mind OP, interesting prompt.
| 2015-07-09T07:00:29 | 2015-07-09T04:43:15 | 122 | 21 |
[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.
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Adam cooed under his breath as he scritched between the eyes of the squid-like creature on the table before him. Its slimy exterior shimmered from the tub of water it had crawled out of, approaching him in a manner belying the natural curiosity the species was known for, amongst other things.
"This is the terrifying, ship-destroying space-squid you guys keep going on about?" He asked the being standing behind him, a few meters away from the table.
The being chittered in annoyance before slowly stepping up to the table.
"I told you, Adam." the being clicked its small mandibles in a manner closely resembling human speech. "This is an infant, only a few weeks old. At this point in its growth cycle, they are mainly just annoying, feeding off several by-products of docked ships."
"An infant, why do you guys have an infant?" Adam continued to run his hand over the creature. Several of its tentacles held onto his hand and arm loosely. The creature murmured as its milky eyes seemed to study him.
"As an infant, it's more controllable. We can study and experiment on the species better in this state. As its capabilities scale according to age and size, we can develop strategies from this stage and scale them appropriately."
Adam's blood ran cold as he froze. He turned his head at the insect-like creature beside him.
"Define 'experiment', please. B'tlilk." Adam said slowly. The creature's tentacles stop moving as it sensed his unease. The creature cooed as if trying to soothe him.
"Well, we have never successfully captured an older specimen. Infants, we have captured hundreds, a handful of older adolescents, but no adults. We have thousands of incident reports, but even corpses we've only recovered a few partials. It's difficult to develop weapons without understanding the biology of the creature." B'tlilk chittered away, not noticing the icy glare Adam was giving him.
Adam shook his head as he turned his gaze back to the creature. Its tentacles resumed their movement, squeezing and releasing along his arms. He locked eyes with it, and saw the fear in its eyes, alongside a slight glimmer of hope. And he understood what he needed to do.
"Come on, Adam. This specimen needs to be stored again. It's not scheduled for examination until tomorrow, but we aren't supposed to interact with it. " B'tlilk reached one of its four arms and patted his shoulder. "Imagine it as a three hundred meter monster, wrapping itself around your ship. You humans are too compassionate towards the non-sapient. It's extremely confusing."
"Fine, give me a second." Adam scooped up the small creature. Its eyes widened, and it squirmed for a moment before Adam scratched it between its two eyes and spoke softly to it. "It's alright little guy, just time to go back for now."
B'tlilk chittered again behind Adam as the man slowly placed the creature back into the tub of water on the table and activated the tub's automated top.
"Now your all wet." B'tlilk stated his mandible clicking in annoyance. "We will have to stop by your quarters before dinner with the Trade Queen."
"Nope," Adam chuckled, "Give it a minute. Our clothes have hydrophobic properties. I'll dry in a few minutes, with no smell or stain."
"Fascinating, I'm sure An'am will be interested in these fabrics. I'll be sure to mention them." B'tlilk took Adam's arm and led him out of the lab. The two stopped at the door as Adam turned back, watching the room's robotic assistant pick up the tub and return it to the wall of tub lockers on the far side. Adam shook his head in disa\[appointment before stepping through the room's bulkhead door.
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A few hours later, Adam tossed and turned in his quarters. He couldn't help but see the small, pitiful creature every time he closed his eyes. He growled in annoyance as he pulled himself out of the small bed, taking a stance in the center of the room's space. It wasn't much but gave him enough space to run through enough of a workout to produce a sheen of sweat on his ebony skin. He moved, hoping to work the strange energy coursing through his body.
After a while, he grabbed a towel hanging on one wall and began wiping the sweat off his body. After tossing the towel back on its rack, he sat down on the edge of the bed, head in his hands. His mind raced, all his thought focused on a small creature. Despite the success of his dinner with the leading authority of trade for this cluster of the galaxy, Adam couldn't help but feel frustrated with his trip. Part of him begged him to act. The other part urged caution. The purpose of his visit had been accomplished. He secured a line of carefully negotiated trade routes that humanity desperately needed to further explore this edge of space.
But still, those small, milk eyes haunted him. And he knew he had to act. He would never be able to forgive himself if he didn't.
"Fuck it, " He finally said, after thinking for what seemed hours." Looks like I'm rescuing a space-squid baby."
|
A parody
“Hello, I’m Cesar Milan, and I’m the Dog Whisperer, and today we’re going to a very special place! Today, we’re going to Galgon 5 to deal with a real problem. NASA has found vicious beasts that keep breaking their equipment and eating the astronauts.”
“Is he really going to narrate this whole time?” I thought to myself as I listened to him ramble on. Cesar comes up beside me to brief me on his plan. I pull up the pictures we have of the beasts. 5 meters tall, skin as thick as leather, and a venomous bite that paralyzes you in agonizing pain for three days and just stops. No easing of pain, just sometime on the third day, if just stops. It’s the scariest feeling in the goddamned universe. Anyway, the briefing.
“So what we’re going to do is display dominance over the creature. When we hit the ground, I’m going to show the creature that I am the alpha. First, I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. I’m going to let it sniff me if it wants, but I’m not going to acknowledge the animal. Then, I’m going to nip at the neck like this.”
He made a weird noise like ***tsk,tsk***.
He continued “ it’s all about showing the animal whose boss. When we land, I’m going to show these creatures who is the dominant alpha.”
The spacecraft came to a landing, and the bay door was lowered. Cesar walked confidently up to the first beast that was beginning to charge the shuttle.
“See. I am not acknowledging it. I am letting it know that I am the alpha, and they must acknowledge me.”
Famous last words. Those beasts tore into Cesar within seconds.
Edit: grammar
| 2021-04-07T21:52:28 | 2021-04-07T21:11:22 | 300 | 11 |
[WP] You had a simple goal: be the most powerful superhuman around. Naturally, this led you to become a villain, but you were never evil - your goal achieved, you marched up to the heroes association and told them you'd like to train new heroes. They hesitated, but agreed.
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Before he became the terrifying offender to society, Conquest was nothing more than an average goon. But his thirst for the elixirs of victory led him to a path of evolution. Every defeat Conquest faced would turn into a victory the day he broke out of prison. Steadily Conquest went from a mere cub to a Bear all within the span of a year, capable of fighting entire countries alone. Until he became the champion of the world. No man, no animal, and no monster could defeat the mighty Conquest. Conquest had finally consumed all that was left in the golden chalice of victory. But he would later find himself starving and dying to taste something he had once experienced many times in the past. The meal that Conquest wanted to have again was none other than defeat. Having won so many battles has led to Conquest growing bored.
“ I fought battle after battle in search of defeat, and still I have yet to find a worthy warrior” Conquest lamented.
“Perhaps this is a curse from the gods themselves. A punishment for wishing for something so selfish and worthless.”
Conquest would continue to desolate in his somber cabin until a thought popped into his head.
“If these mortals cannot train on their own to rival my power, then maybe I the great Conquest can train them myself.” said Conquest with exultation.
“ I shall head to the Fortress of Aegis to see if they will allow me to train their young warriors. The next generation will be my only hope in giving me the sweet taste of defeat”
Filled with motivation Conquest grabs his keys and heads over to his 1993 Range Rover to get ready for his drive to the “Fortress of Aegis”.
“Come now Odysseus, we must make a journey to the great Fortress of Aegis! The tests of traffic will not stop us this time!”
After his twelve-hour drive Conquest finally reached the gates of Aegis. The security guards of the facility all moved out of their way knowing that it be useless to try and stop him. With no one in his way Conquest casually walked to the meeting room of the Seven Shields.
“ Good Morning!” said Conquest.
The Seven Shields were all paralyzed in fear. Each hero wanted to take action but it was as if their own body had taken control of them. They knew that trying to take Conquest down would be like seven tardigrades trying to kill an elephant.
“ I stand before you all to ask for a request. This request being the chance to train the next generation of warrior.”
The Seven Shields looked at each other with surprise and confusion.
“ You mortals have failed time and time again to defeat thou so the Great Conquest will offer to be a Preceptor of these young warriors. I believe that within a few years I can make these young men and women into beasts capable of finally giving me the taste of defeat. Oh yes and also, helping the ants of this city. If you decline my offer I will first beat each one of you down until you are barely alive. Next, I will kill each and every single termite within your fortress. Finally, I will destroy this entire city and will not stop my rampage until every building has crumbled beneath my feet. You will then each have to live knowing that you could have prevented my wrath if you all had only agreed to my offer beforehand. Then maybe If I feel like it, I'll find a villain group who will accept my wisdom. I shall give you until the next day-”
“ We accept your offer, you can start training them tomorrow”, said Quick
“Wise choice. I will return here at the crack of dawn to start training. If you are stupid enough to change your mind Odysseus and I will be waiting in the dridrive-throughat Chicken Shack. I have heard that their sandwiches are eggs-celent.”
The Seven Shields waited for Conquest to walk out of the fortress of Aegis towards his automobile before speaking again.
“Quick, you can’t just go out and make huge decisions like that. We should’ve discussed this problem more first” Mighty man said furiously.
“By all means Mighty if you think you can take em go do it! That psycho and whoever the hell Odysseus is will be waiting for you at Chicken Shack.” Quick fired back.
Im a beginner writer and Feedback would be greatly appreciated
|
Ultiman, the most well known and powerful super villain to ever exist, only ever wanted to be strong, so once he had finally done that, he decided to do some good for the heroes association by training the new recruits.
He started the lecture with "Greetings class, I am Ultiman, but you can call my Mr. U if you prefer, now, the-" before getting cut off by a student
"Like the villain Ultiman? The one who killed hundreds of thousands of people including the entire country of Australia?"
Ultiman sighed, realizing he will never precede his past "Indeed, but that is unimportant to the art of super human combat, so if you could refrain from bringing up the past, can anyone demonstrate a good right hook?"
| 2022-12-17T00:12:32 | 2022-12-16T19:30:27 | 99 | 17 |
[WP] A wizard accidentally becomes immortal. He has the idea to become the antagonist so that a hero will come along and defeat him, so he can rest in peace. Sadly, the heroes are weak in comparison so the wizard creates a persona as a 'wise teacher' to train these heroes in order to defeat him.
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Rolf looked at me with worried eyes.
"Do you think I can defeat him?"
"I've taught you everything I can, and as long as you remember to do everything that needs to be done" I replied as I stretched, rose, and kicked dirt over the embers of our fire, "I'm confident the dark wizard's rule over this land will end tonight. The most difficult part of our journey is already behind us, all we have left is to sneak into the castle and find and destroy his heart."
We'd made camp under an overhang of rock in the cliffs leading up to my castle, a blind spot for the guards in manning the towers. Now it was full-dark, with no moon to be seen in the sky and patches of clouds covering most of the stars. Time to enter the caves.
"It's just... Nostromo has ruled this land for close to 100 years. The idea that our freedom is so near is too good to believe. What if he knows about the tunnels?"
"Oh, he knows," I replied, "he simply believes that he's completely aware of who possesses said knowledge. The important thing is that *his guards* don't know about this entrance. He doesn't trust them that much."
My feet led me down the familiar path, through winding twists of stone that went from being barely wide enough for a man to large enough for a team of draft animals to comfortably stand side-by-side. My pulse quickened and a knot of tension began to grow in my stomach as we stealthily worked our way through what seemed an endless passage until we came to the stairs carved into the stone.
The steps led us upward and into a tunnel carved into the living rock, which ended with a heavy wooden door. I made a show of working at the lock with my tools and opened our way into my home.
"Say what you will about the guy," Rolf whispered as we made our way through the wine cellar, "the guy knows how to party. I think a thorough celebratory drink is going to be in order once we've defeated this wizard, eh, Omor?"
"There is nothing more refreshing than wine after a hard fought victory," I agreed, "but let's not get ahead of ourselves. It's going to take me all of my concentration to weaken the magical bonds surrounding the power-matrix. Once I have, though, you'll need to focus completely on destroying it. Focus your energies and swing that blade true, this is the purpose for which it was forged. Drive it all the way through his heart and the land will be free once more."
"I've got it, I won't let you down."
We made our way through a number of dark, deserted corridors before finally reaching the chamber deep in the heart of the dungeon that housed the heart of my magic.
Immortality had seemed like such a wonderful fancy all those years ago. The sheen wore off far more quickly than I ever imagined. I'm tired, so very tired, and the protections I put in place to guard against my enemies proved to be too much for myself to handle alone when the unending passage of time morphed from blessing to bane.
As we neared the correct chamber the walls seemed to come alive with a low menacing hum and the air filled with a tense energy. The hairs on our arms and necks began to stand on end.
Reaching the correct chamber I opened the door, revealing a large, circular room 20 feet across with a small oak pedestal upon which sat a small walnut box. A series of crude runes were carved into the wall opposite the door.
"Ready yourself, Rolf," I said as I walked past the pedestal towards the runes. "When I tell you, drive your blade through that box with all your might. That's his heart in there, and once it's been driven through the spell will be broken and death will quickly find our magical friend."
I placed my right hand against the runes and turned to watch my student ready himself. When I saw he was prepared I began slowly speaking the old words in a tongue that hadn't been heard since times of legend. The runes in the wall began to glow a warm, sickly green as a chill overtook the air.
"Rolf! Now!"
I watched the blade drive through the box, pinning it to the table at the same instant a bolt of white hot pain drove through my chest and blood began to soak my robes. Rolf was intent upon his mission and lost himself in a frenzy of swings.
"Peace... at last, peace," I thought as I sat on the stones with my back to the wall as I felt the life drain from my body. My vision graying, I pulled the small parchment I'd concealed from my robes and held it in my hands. An explanation for the man who'd helped me so much.
Rolf paused and turned, sensing something amiss. He saw the body of his mentor in a pool of blood and rushed to his side with a cry, but too late, the body was completely still with a rolled piece of parchment clutched in his fist. He saw his name written on the outside, pried the note from the stiffening fingers and began to read.
>Rolf, I leave you my castle and lands to do with as you see fit. Thank you for helping me to finally rest.
>Omor T'Son (Nostromo)
|
Reach by the Sea was a rich and prosperous city on an otherwise wild and undeveloped continent. For as long as can be remembered, the city prospered under the governance of the Council.
The sages of the Council were rarely seen outside of appearances at the White Keep, the home of the city's magnificent White Legion. Trained from childhood to protect the city from forces and threats which never seemed to materialize. Nonetheless, promising youth in search of riches or glory enlisted from all over the city.
Jorrick barely remembered his brother. His mother had been sick for years, and Marcus had raised him in her place. Marcus left when Jorrick was still young to join the legion and support the family. For a time, Marcus was a rising star within the legion. The money he earned kept the family fed and payed for mother's medicine.
One day, a Council elder came to their lowly hovel and asked Marcus to join him on a pilgrimage, which didn't make any sense. There was nothing on this continent but untamed wilds, all knew that. Neither returned. A few years after he left, the payments stopped. Mother's condition worsened.
Jorrick had only one choice. Sign up. He knew he couldn't live up to his big brother, but he had no choice. Mother needed him.
The council member who came to collect him to start his apprenticeship looked vaguely familiar. He asked the sage if he had known his brother, to which he replied, "Marcus? Oh yes, he was very promising. He reminded me what a bruise felt like."
Confused, Jorrick followed the sage through the city. What was he talking about?
| 2015-07-25T05:24:15 | 2015-07-25T05:23:23 | 1,553 | 16 |
[WP] All your life you've wanted to prove the existence of Bigfoot, but so far you've only proved the existence of Unicorns, Mermaids, Vampires, and nearly every other fantasy creature. You're starting to get annoyed.
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The bonfire roared and swayed. The winter winds were ruthless under the veil of the night. They billowed and hissed along the woods. It felt as if they were trying to tell us something. To warn us, even.
John the werewolf, sat beside me, cooking some marshmallows. Ruth the unicorn, shone amidst the distant shadows. She and Petyr the vampire, who had turned into a bat, watched our surroundings.
Our encounters hadn't been peaceful. John almost torn me in half, Ruth stabbed me with her iridescent horn, and Petyr bit me numerous times. However, that was centuries ago when none of them had a clue that I was immortal. Now they knew, as much as they knew I longed dying.
The Seer of the Mist, an old creature hiding inside a box, had told me I had to fulfill my purpose in order to shake Death's hand. It took me far too long to understand what my purpose was. However, the moment I discovered John, I knew. I had to prove the existence of all these mythical creatures, *and* document it.
Only Bigfoot remained, and every clue aimed at this forest.
"What if he doesn't exist?" John said as he played with his marshmallow.
"He does," I said, and a log snapped. "The Seer of the Mist gave me a book the second time I met him. Every single creature listed in it lived. Bigfoot is no exception."
Petyr landed on my shoulder. When he was a bat, he communicated telepathically. That's something people didn't know about vampires, much as they didn't know that werewolves didn't need a full moon to shapeshift, or that unicorns are aggressive and vicious creatures.
*There's an enormous depression surrounded by leaves two miles away from our location.*
I eyes Petyr. "Did you go in?" John offered me a marshmallow and I devoured it in a single bite.
*No, but it smells of rotten meat and skin. I recognize the succulent scent of dead animals very well. Whatever lays in there, needs a plethora of food.*
"Interesting," John said. "However, maybe that scent could belong to stupid animals that fell and died of starvation."
*No, something is eating down there. Something big.*
My jumped to my throat. Perhaps, Bigfoot was like mermaids. Common folklore spoke of mermaids as having the size of a human, but in reality they were gargantuan beasts.
My hand moved to the hilt of my sword. "Have you seen any big traces?"
*No, but it's a start.*
I stood up and whistled. It was our sign to gather and advance together. Ruth came sprinting with a dead squirrel in her mouth. John's bones popped, and morphed. His skin filled with pale-white hairs, and his teeth turned to knives. We were ready.
Soon, we reached the leaves Petyr mentioned. The stench was horrid, not succulent. Vampires had strange tastes. The noises of the forest seemed to have succumbed to the will of silence. As if nothing dared to come close to that area, not even the winds.
"I will go in first," I whispered. "I will yell further commands from below. Ruth, be prepared to take me out if there's nothing in there, and to all of you, be prepared to fight."
They nodded. The pile of leaves was gigantic, and the depression looked like a bottomless hole. Fuck it. I couldn't die.
I barreled toward the center, fighting and crunching leaves as I advanced. The hole was in front of me. I sprung with the bravery of a man eager to die. If fortune gave me a hand, Bigfoot would be down ther--
I struck something solid, hard as steel, at the rim of the hole, as if an invisible wall was protecting it. A spell? That would be new.
Only that it wasn't.
The ground trembled, and the forest cried. The surrounding trees were obliterated by something, and soon I was a hundred feet in the air, being crushed by an invisible hand, an enormous one.
My bones cracked, and shattered to dust. Then, the monster released me. It made sense now. Bigfoot was invisible. The depression wasn't a depression or a hole, it was his goddamned foot. Had this creature been standing in the same place all his life?
Ruth caught me in the air, leaving a rainbow trail in her wake. Petyr landed on my shoulder again, while Josh frantically attacked the air. Literally the air.
*What do we do?*
My bones regrew, and I breathed deeply. Ruth maneuvered erratically. I unsheathed my sword, but all I found were little vestiges of my beloved weapon.
"I have an idea. Petyr, help John, and distract this beast. Ruth take me back to the bonfire."
Ruth obliged without a hint of disappointment. She was vicious, but she was smart too. This was a fight we couldn't win.
Soon, we reached the bonfire. I bolted toward my satchel and dug out the book The Seer of the Mist had gave me. It was called: *Myths in the flesh.* When he gave it to me, it had the name of a fantasy creature followed by a bunch of blank pages, and then the name of another creature. I understood my purpose what to complete it.
I dug out my quill and inkwell, and started writing. Trees kept snapping in the distance. We had to duck, for Bigfoot threw one our way. I hoped John and Petyr could hold him long enough.
It took me twenty minutes, but I wrote the basics of Bigfoot. I hoped that would be enough. Then, I left the book back inside my satchel.
"Take me there," I said with a grin. "As soon as I touch the ground, you take Petyr and John back. I have a plan."
Ruth tilted her head, and I nodded. She knew.
I got on her back, and soon we were back in the fight. John was running at the speed of thunder around Bigfoot's invisible foot. Petyr was hiding amidst the leaves of a tree.
"Go back," I yelled. "It's over!"
Both Petyr and John came barreling back to us.
"What's the plan?" John asked, panting.
"Leave with Ruth," I said. "This is my fate, old friends."
They shared a bemused look, and their faces distorted.
*You have finished the book.*
I nodded. "At last."
"We will take care of it," John said. His bloodshot eyes were glossy.
A passing tree whirred in our ears. That was their queue.
They left, but I stayed. It would be my last fight.
And I wasn't going to win.
-------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall - For more stories!
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Regina switched off the radio. Even though listening to Led Zeppelin was her way of unwinding on long drives, tonight, it simply wasn’t helping. Her nerves were working overtime tonight - as they usually did during this time of the year.
Ten years. It’s been ten long years since she started this journey.
Her mind recalled that July night ten years ago, even though Regina begged it not to. She didn’t need to relive those memories. However, her stubborn mind wouldn’t listen.
It still recalled the night when Regina and her little sister, Riyan, had gone camping.
Regina had woken up panicked to screams in the middle of the night and found herself alone in their tent. The frightening realization that Riyan was missing sunk in. She frantically searched the woods and found her little sister lying face down, barely breathing.
When Regina turned her around, she screamed. Not only was Riyan was covered in blood, her abdomen was practically eviscerated.
Riyan didn’t survive for long after that, but not before leaving Regina with a message.
*Big Foot. It... exists. Find... Big... Foot.*
At first, Regina was confused. She shrugged off Riyan’s message as the confused babbling of a dying woman.
For days afterwards, Regina stayed in bed, grieving her little sister’s death. The funeral was done quickly, attended only by a handful of people. Orphaned at a young age, the two sisters didn’t have much in the way of family. Only a few close friends.
Then, finally realizing that the job of cleaning out Riyan’s apartment was on her, she got to work.
Then, everything changed.
As Regina was cleaning, she came across Riyan’s journals and books and research.
Her world shattered in a heartbeat, and Riyan’s final words became clear.
Regina quit her job the following day, broke her lease, sold off most of her possessions, loaded up her car with a few clothes and Riyan’s research, and hit the road.
That was ten years ago. Well, nine years, fifty weeks, two days, and five hours ago.
Along the way, Regina came across many creatures. The first she found were tree nymphs; they were the easiest, of course, unsuspecting as they were. Then she found the fairies and then werewolves and vampires. She even found the Unicorns - earning her legendary status amongst the paranormal hunters.
They revered her now. They respected her.
Some even feared her.
However, she was still not satisfied. And she would never be.
Not until she made Riyan’s dying wish come true. She wanted to, no. She *needed to* find Big Foot.
However, that particular find always eluded her, but not for long. Ayana - another hunter - called Regina a few nights earlier with a tip about Big Foot sightings in North Dakota.
Regina had immediately dropped everything and headed across the country.
Regina *would* finally be able to honor her sister the only way she knew how.
She would find Big Foot if it’s the last thing she did, and she would be able to murder that sorry son of a bitch.
With a renewed determination, Regina slammed down on the accelerator and sped along to her destination.
—
First submission! Please be kind!
| 2018-05-10T07:34:30 | 2018-05-10T06:42:00 | 66 | 24 |
[WP] Heroes call you a villain and villains call you a monster. In reality you're just a cop that's sick of heroes never finishing the job.
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How did it get to here you may ask? They call me evil, a villain, a monster, and worse now, but I wasn’t anyone special. I had no powers like the superheroes or their rivals had. I was just a beat cop, who enjoyed his job, interacting with the public on a daily basis.
The first time, many years ago, I did it, it was out of goodness and compassion, an act of mercy. The villain Night Specktor was lying in the street, both legs laying in a way no mans legs should. Blood coming out of him from every orifice. One of his arms had been ripped off at the shoulder. I could see the pain in his eyes as he lay totally motionless. He was a villain sure, but he was still a human being, I couldn’t help but feel empathy for him. I asked him if I should help him out of the road. I could barely hear his whispered reply. “Can’t move me. My neck is broken.”
The so called heroes code is not to kill. This was worse than death, this was torture. As the tears started to flow I asked him how I can help. I reached for my shoulder mic to call for an ambulance, but before I could grqb it, his voice was more than a whisper this time, I could tell it pained him deeply to speak so. “Do not call anyone, I am beyond help. Kill me, please.”
The please caught me so off guard. This was the notorious Night Specktor, it was like hearing a preacher curse in church. I didn’t even think twice, I could tell his pain was so great he yearned for deaths release. I saw a knife in a brace under his coat. As I pulled it out I heard his last whisper, “Thank you”. I plunged the knife into his chest, right into his heart, all the way to the hilt. I felt a great peace come over me for ending this mans suffering.
By the next morning I was feeling much differently about the whole situation. That was Night Specktor, the villain that, when he found out Enigma Man’s secret identity, he blew up the entire school his daughter attended. 1287 people, students and staff killed in the explosion, Enigma Man’s daughter included. I wouldn’t be surprised actually if he wasn’t the cause of Night Specktor’s condition last night.
And that thought just made me angry. If you’re gonna beat a man almost to death but not quite, you’re no better than any villain.
It didn’t take long until I was ready for more, maybe six or seven months later. It was fairly easy to setup a communications and monitoring system in my garage. I didn’t need much, I was basically using the same system my department uses with a few software tweaks to monitor for specific situations where a superhero and a super villain would be involved. It took longer to convince myself it was the right thing to do. The heroes had all gotten tougher on the villains since the death of Enigma Man’s daughter. Most interactions weren’t ending with a villain in cuffs, but rather in full body casts. Of course this made the villains even more dangerous too.
I was sitting at home one night when the 2nd time happened. I heard a call go out that Gravity Well had found Shadowkill’s hideout in the tunnels under the stadium. My house was only 7 minutes away from there. I was out the door in seconds, the knife I bought just for this purpose was already in the car. I couldn’t have asked for a better setup here I thought as I rushed to the stadium. Gravity Well had always been a bit tough on the villains even before Enigma Man’s daughter, but since then he’s been bordering on brutality. I felt the chances were quite good I would be able to finish the job.
I clearly saw Gravity Well’s purple cape flapping in the wind as he flew off when I pulled up. If he was leaving that meant he won, he doesn’t quit. I ran to the entrance to get into the tunnels and saw Shadowkill’s unconscious body laying in the doorway. The bio mechanical implants that gave him his shadow manipulation abilities had been ripped out of him and were crushed and broken on ground next to him. The man would be all but crippled with the implants gone, but his mind was left intact. He could make new implants, maybe even more devastating than before. I felt the anger when I thought of all the lives this man had taken, but I also felt anger towards Gravity Well for leaving him alive. When I plunged the knife into his heart I again felt that sense of great peace I had felt when I killed Night Specktor. But I realized it had nothing to do with ending either villains suffering. It was in knowing that they would never hurt another innocent person again.
It’s been years since then, I still work as a beat cop, the continued training and access to knowledge and equipment is invaluable to my second and more important job. I’ve ended the lives of eleven super villains, the heroes condemn my actions, and call me evil but I know they wish they could do as I do sometimes. My fellow police officers are split mostly on opinions of me. I became a police officer to uphold the law, but sometimes it’s just not enough. Sometimes I question if I’m doing the right thing. I keep a count of all the innocent lives that have been ended or destroyed by the villains I kill, 12,356. As a cop I know it’s wrong to kill these villains, but as a person, I know those 12,356 people are grateful for what I did, and that’s enough for me.
|
What’s the first word that comes to mind when you’re asked to describe superheroes?
Amazing? Powerful? Inspiring?
Yeah no, the correct answer is stupid. I’m honestly not sure which parent dropped them on their heads as children but I’ll never understand how they could just leave villains defeated on the ground. As soon as the news crew leaves, it’s almost as if their brain shuts down and they forget just how dangerous those villains they just spent the last hour fighting, are to regular folks.
So, what does that leave us, the cops, after we arrive at the scene? A defeated, but very much alive villain with powers that are leagues above our own. I learned just how dangerous this was the hard way, when a few months ago I almost died during the escape attempt of a villain. Most of my colleagues that day weren’t so fortunate.
I promised myself that this had to be stopped. Ever since then, I came prepared and made sure to be the first to the scene. I developed a foolproof series of actions, each inspired by one of my dead colleagues, that would guarantee the villain would be incapable of escaping.
I would begin by handcuffing them, not because of protocol but because of my friend who liked bondage.
If they’re strong enough to stand while I’m handcuffing them, I would immediately knock them down with an RKO, inspired by my WWE obsessed best friend.
Next, I would taser the villain. This move wasn’t inspired by anyone, I just liked using my taser.
Last but not least, I would shoot my tranquilizer gun, just for my friend who loved to nap on the job.
After successfully implementing the aforementioned series of actions, I was able to safely subdue every villain I got my hands on, and soon I began to gain notoriety. To heroes, I was known as a villain, to villains I became known as a monster, but to the general public I became known as the plunger. I find that last one to be the most fitting, considering all the shit that heroes leave behind for me to clean up.
\*\*Feel free to leave criticism. It'll be a huge help for improving my writing!
| 2019-08-31T14:09:27 | 2019-08-31T12:58:39 | 161 | 63 |
[WP] You've been happily married for 15 years. You decide it's been enough time to divulge your secret superhero persona to your spouse. They respond with, "Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit."
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We sat across from each other, doing exactly nothing. Because what exactly do you do when you learn your spouse is actually your arch enemy who has been giving you the absolute most mixed signals you could ever imagine? Seriously, sometimes I get the feeling she deliberately wears that red skin tight suit just so I can get an eyeful of her ass.
Ironic, considering I have had more than that for five years now.
"So," I began softly, "you're Rouge Sang?"
"Oui," she answered, tapping her fingers against her scarlet lips...her fingernails were also scarlet...and her hair was red...how did I miss the signs?!
"And you," she said, clenching her perfect teeth together, "are the Ultra Warrior."
More silence. I was about to say something when I heard the TV turn on. My wife, Amelia, sighed. "Let's talk about this later. Don't want the kids learning anything right this moment."
The rest of the day was filled with tension as I set off to work, calling up the guys. As I consider my predicament, I wondered if I should tell Thunderous about this. Actually, no, horrible idea. Superhero codenames said a lot about them.
And hers was...Rouge Sang. French for blood red. Currently considered one of the most dangerous assassins in the world. Among the FBI's most wanted criminals in the world. Survivors of her attacks tended to be incredibly lucky. When someone's main superpower lets them control blood itself, that's not something you can just walk away from.
And that was why I am one of the few people who can face her on even footing. She controls blood, and me? Willpower. Okay, wait, not exactly control it. Willpower gives me literal strength. I can increase my durability with, resist the most powerful mind control, leap tall buildings in a single bound, lift several tons my own weight, there's a lot I am capable of. I keep finding new uses for it everyday.
First time I fought her was something else, though. I was on my knees, wading through a pool of blood because why not, concentrating on just staying alive, and all the while, she was smiling at me. A smile which just faltered as I got to my feet and started to rush her. That had been the first of many clashes between us. There was always a symmetry to those fights which, perhaps not coincidentally, actually reminded me a good bit of our sex life.
Work was a hassle, for sure, talking with some of the boys. Until about 3:30, when I heard the alarm. Great. Supervillain attack.
And obviously, I knew exactly who it was.
After changing into my costume in my usual place which had been marked off by the guys in suits, I immediately sprang into action. The source? Ground floor. I ran down the stairs at the speed of...not light or sound, because that's actually really dangerous. Look, I'm not good with calculating how fast I am going when I use super speed, that's Mathwoman's job!
And there she was, all dressed out, hands on her hips. Her crimson-scarlet suit was decorated with flowing bright red and deep blue lines which were meant to mimic blood vessels. Never focused on that much, though, especially today, when she was exposing a bit more of her cleavage than usual. Now aware this was my wife, I suddenly became very conscious some individuals who were running for their lives and screaming staring at her as she flaunted her beauty. Beneath my helmet, I scowled at them all. Damn it...
Waiting until everyone had left and law enforcement set up a perimeter, she crossed her arms across her chest, pushing up her boobs. Sweet mother of-
"Who's watching the kids?"
"Mrs Beatrice," she answered, walking towards me. Those goddamn hip swings of hers...
"Can we do this somewhere without everyone watching?"
"We've been at each other's throats for six years, five of which we have been making some of the most passionate love you can imagine - and I should know," she smirked at that last part.
I rolled my eyes, blushing. She gasped. "Mon dieu, you prude!"
"Prude!? Seriously, given how many times I've caught you scolding my buddies for making inappropriate comments-"
"That was in the front of the children. And that reminds me," she circled around me, before kicking off the ground, landing on the ceiling and twirling around so she faced me. I've always wondered how does she keep her hair staying in place like that.
"Every time Thunderous called me a French hoe, bitch queen, bag, and several other very impolite words, you always were setting him right."
"Dad brought me up better than that."
She grimaced at the mention of my father. "You are such a boy scout," then she grinned wickedly, "and that's something I couldn't help but find so... irresistible."
Goddamn she was doing that thing with her fingers, lifting me off the ground again. I really hated floating, especially when it wasn't of my own accord. After she carried me out of the lobby and launched me threw a wall, I just leaned against the one which had stopped me. She stood directly in front of me, surveying me intensely. Now that I could see her like this, I started to notice how her demeanor had changed. Every time we had fought before she had been slick, oh so sexy, confident and powerful. Now she was hesitant, cautious and...worried.
And I didn't like it. I always hated seeing Amelia upset, and that wasn't changed no matter what she was wearing.
"David," she said quietly, "should we get a divorce?"
"What?!" Okay, this was out of left field. But I could honestly see where she was coming from.
"We both know how those who date across the hero-villain divide are treated. If word of this got out, that we are married..." She cupped her bare cheek in own hand, skin twitching under her mask, "what could happen to the children?"
"Amelia, we have a fully functioning stable relationship. If we get a divorce, what message would that send to them? It would look way too suspicious as well. I know a few people who would be sniffing about to see what's up."
She sighed. "So...what now?"
"Become a hero."
She froze, eyes wide. "I...beg your pardon?!"
"Think about it. If you do some work redeeming yourself, you could get in the public's good graces. The FBI would-"
"Stop right there. The FBI wouldn't just let me drop off the radar. You know that damn well. Heck, why don't you become a villain instead."
"No," I said firmly.
She groaned. "Oh, why not?"
I took a deep breath, ready to launch into a speech about the values of truth, justice, mercy, compassion, and the American way that she never listened to...and instead came out with another secret.
"Daria knows," I said softly, "about my identity. She caught me changing. She has told me so many times how much she wants to be just like me when she grows up, you know that? Well, when you couldn't hear, I would give her some tips on how to make the best superhero costume or how to pull a punch. She's been coming up with names-"
"Michael knows about mine."
"...That explains a few things."
Michael and Daria, the twins, often argued about who was cooler, Rouge Sang or Ultra Warrior. In hindsight, those were much funnier now.
"Whose his favorite supervillain?"
"Besides me? Buzzsaw."
"Thank God," I muttered.
"Your happy our son's favorite supervillain is that giggling psycho?"
"Hey, Buzzsaw is a lot of things, but a killer isn't one of them. Guy has a code of honor at least."
"Try holding a conversation with him when he isn't screaming at you."
We both laughed at that. Then we were silent.
My world had first been turned upside down when I learned I had powers. Now it had been again. I had been dedicated to bringing a woman I thought was a callous murderer to justice for six years, but that woman was also the mother of my children.
"I have an idea," she slowly. "How about we retire?"
"They wouldn't let either of us." They being literally the entire world. Both sides. We were in our prime, young rookies who had risen fast through the ranks to be some of the most respected individuals in our fields. You can't just walk away from that...even if you wanted to.
"We could go into hiding until we figure this out?"
"They would find us, darling." She rubbed her forehead and then...sniffled. I was stunned. She was crying. I had heard rumors she cried tears of blood, bathed in it even, but this was... unexpected.
"What are we supposed to do?"
I was silent for a few moments before I said what I had been dreading to admit.
"I don't know."
|
*We need to talk* is never a good thing.
*We need to talk* ranges from *The cat has got to go*, over my dead body, to *I want a divorce*, also over my dead body.
But I've done much better at concealing those inner thoughts and wait with patience when you approach me. We're in this together, the counselor told me, and true, we were in this together. It's why we married. It's why we're still married.
I've always questioned how deep were in.
"Beth, we need to talk." It's breakfast time, and you love your blueberry pancakes. I don't even use Aunt Jemima, thank you very much. I found a great from scratch recipe on Pinterest.
I pour the batter onto the pan, watch bubbles pull to the surface, "Okay, lets talk," and I listen. You know I'm listening despite my turned back. You know I'm paying attention to every word, every syllable, every inflection. I'm attentive. You know this.
"It's about last night."
Timing is important. Flip the flapjack. "What about last night?"
Last night was our weekly date night. Sunday. Always Sunday. Why Sunday? We don't have work on Sunday, and we're too tired on Saturday. But Sunday didn't go as planned.
"You mean when the reservation fell through?" I wasn't upset about the reservation. I was tired of the same bourgeois eating, but you love all that fancy food, no matter what it does to your stomach.
You're sitting down, staring at me. I can feel your stare bearing into my back. "Yeah, part of that, shame they didn't book us," you scratch the back of your neck, awkwardly, not a total lie \- not a total truth, "but it isn't about that. No, not entirely."
Good. Total transparency.
Three pancakes for you. Three pancakes for me. A stick of butter and I smooth it on the very top of the batches, "Listen, whatever you're having trouble with, just tell me."
You're looking at me. Your eye corners are pinched. Your lips are tight. You're sweating, and I know the temperature is on 69, so cool. It's cool in the house despite the stove, which is now turned off.
Your shoulders tense, you sigh, and when you breath, your volume is a tad too low for my ears to catch.
"I'm Captain Justice."
"What?" A fountain of syrup rolls on my stack, "Babe, I can't hear you."
"I said I'm Captain Justice."
"Huh?"
"Captain \-,"
Waving the butter knife in his face, "Do I have to get a microphone for you?"
"Captain Justice!" You blurt, "I am Captain Justice, and that's why I bailed date night!"
It's a shock. Not his loudness. It happens under extreme stress, but the truth. Because this is the truth. He isn't lying. Great.
Maybe it's surprise. Maybe it's fear. Maybe it's the transparency. He's given me his secret identity. I could do anything with this. Anything at all, and if he knows better, which apparently he does not, he wouldn't have told me.
A million options, choices, universes slip through my mind. There are choices, many choices, and I can only think of one.
"Well, as your arch nemesis, this changes things a bit." I slice my pancakes down through the middle. Sweet, fluffy goodness warms my stomach as my heart chills to the bone.
"What do you \-,"
There isn't time to think. I act. I've always been a doer. When I utter the spell, and the force field hits him full force, smashing into the wall, he understands immediately.
"So, this is why you weren't upset about date night." You cough. Broken glass doesn't stick to your body. Blood doesn't seep out of your skin. You aren't bruised and battered. You're not death. Completely unharmed, you rise and return to the chair, "It makes sense."
"How could I be upset when I was in such a good mood?" Our battles always leave me replenished and waiting for more, but I have to be careful. He stands for a truth I refuse to believe in.
Your disappointment is apparent when you fix your glasses. Everything is fixed behind you. Everything as if it never happened. More evidence stacked against me.
"I see you protected the pancakes."
"I worked hard on these." I thrust my fork at you, "Do you know how hard it is to make them perfectly round, no weird edges."
"As you've told me." You slice down the middle, then around the edges, and rub them into the syrup. Your routine. It's annoyingly endearing. Through your glasses, I see another man, another someone exists inside you, another person I didn't anticipate, "When we're finished, we're going to discuss this."
"Naturally." I sip my orange juice, "I would not expect anything less from the law abiding Captain Justice."
"And what of you, Madama Khepri?" Captain Justice and Daichi twist together into one, and an uncomfortable steel sweeps into your voice, "What do you have to say?"
"I don't know." I say, "That...maybe...we need to learn a better method of communication."
Your jawline flexes. Your stare is downcast on your plate, "These are good pancakes."
I pretend I don't see what drops onto his plate.
"Thank you."
| 2018-05-18T17:32:06 | 2018-05-18T15:02:47 | 264 | 102 |
[WP] You've cheated on every single test you've ever taken. Surprisingly, now you're a teacher and a student just walked in your office bragging about cheating. You don't care about it morally, you just need to know how they did it.
|
You know how they say cheaters never prosper? Well I've always been proud of being the exception that proves the rule. I've cheated on things my whole life. I've cheated on tests, I've cheated in cards. Hell, I even cheat on my wife. And I was confident I would be able to cheat even death when the time came.
And I've never been caught. I'm somewhat of a savant at it. Which is exactly why I make a great teacher.
I point my finger. "Sam. I see those notes. Out!"
Sam stands up, guilt clear on his face. "Sir, I didn't do anything. I swear."
I can't help but grin. Oh kid! You have so much to learn. I enjoy this bit. A lot. I walk over to him and raise one hand. As he's busy looking at that hand, my other hand plucks out the small notes he's hidden underneath the table like a magician.
His eyes bulge and he's almost ready to cry. My grin just grows wider. "Out."
I watch Sam walk out, the beginnings of a tear on his face. I look over the class. "This is the fate that awaits anyone who tries to cheat in my class. I will catch you. Trust me."
A couple of weeks later, I'm handing out the exam papers. The passing marks are 40. Sam scored 49. I have gleefully deducted 10 marks for cheating, stapling the notes on the paper.
When you have 50 papers to grade, you sometimes miss things. It becomes automatic, the grading process. Which is why I somehow missed this. Chris scored 51. Chris, someone who hasn't passed any of my classes.
"Chris, please collect your exam after the class."
He sits there staring at me, acting innocent. No way he passed on his own. But I didn't notice him cheat. I had to know how he did it.
After the class, Chris walks up to me. "Sir. Anything wrong?"
"You did well on your exam."
"Thank you sir. I worked extra hard for this one."
"Did you now?"
"Yes sir."
"You've averaged 25 marks in all the tests so far. I'm telling you the average because you're so shitty at mathematics that you wouldn't have been able to calculate it. So tell me, how did you do it?"
"I studied hard, sir."
"Bullshit. You cheated."
"Of course not sir. Anyone who cheats in your class gets caught. Always. No one dares to cheat in your class. You're too good to fool. Can I go now? Sir."
I catch the sarcasm in that sentence along with the forced *Sir*. He is taunting me. This little chit of a boy is taunting me. "You can go. But I promise you this. Next time, I won't let you get away with it."
"Good luck sir."
That son of a bitch. I feel my anger rise.
The next test is scheduled for two weeks later. I stand in front of the class, but my attention is focused on Chris. He is sitting towards the back of the class. But that won't save him from me. Not this time.
I keep a close eye on him. I am completely sure he didn't cheat. He knows I've been focused on him too. As I'm collecting the papers, he gives me a grin. "Easy paper this time, sir. I'm sure I'm gonna do great."
His confidence shakes me a bit. I'm sure he hasn't cheated.
I go home and dig out his exam first.
What is going on?
He's done well. Not exceptional. No, no. He's too smart for that. He knows if he scores a very high grade, others will be suspicious too. He has scored 48 marks. This, after not passing any of the tests earlier in the year. Suddenly in the last two, he starts passing. This is impossible.
I stand in front of the class. "Class, I have an announcement. I suspect that some kids cheated in yesterday's exam. As a result, we're doing the exam again. I'll be keeping a close eye on everyone. If anyone cheats, they won't get the usual 10 mark penalty, I'll fail you outright."
I look pointedly at Chris. He grins back at me. I feel my anger rising again. Who does he think he is? I'm the master at cheating. I will catch him this time.
I hand out the exam. I don't want to single him out too much but I shift my chair enough that he's in plain view of me the entire time.
I'm confident this time.
I go home and pick his paper out of the bundle. How is this even possible. He has scored 63. Higher than he's ever scored in any exam. He's taunting me.
I address the class again. "Sorry kids. Another exam today." They groan in protest. "Well then you should ask Chris not to cheat."
Chris stands up in protest. He has the gall to show indignation. "I did not cheat, sir."
"Well prove it."
"Go right ahead sir. I'm confident I'll do well in this test."
"Everyone else, leave. Your marks stand."
It'll be just the two of us now.
The kids look back wondering what is going on. But I have to find out how he's doing it.
I sit right next to him as he takes his exam. No signs.
He hands in the exam fifteen minutes early. "I think I did pretty well. Sir."
I'm seething. I frisk him over his objections. No notes. No electronic devices. "I know you're cheating Chris. And I will prove it."
I'm called into the principal's office tomorrow. He doesn't listen to any reason and suspends me. As I leave the principal's office, I'm more determined than ever to prove Chris's cheating ways.
I climb the fence and into his house. I know his father works the night shift so there won't be anyone home. His mother is long dead.
I break into his room and shake him awake.
He looks terrified. Good.
He still refuses to tell me as I threaten him. I see the lights turn on somewhere down the hall but I don't care. I just need to know.
He's crying now. But he still doesn't talk.
I hear footsteps. But I don't care.
I feel something on the back of my neck as my head explodes into pain.
I'm sitting in a bare room as an officer tells me the crimes I committed.
"Me?" I ask him, incredulous. "What about him? He's a cheater. He cheated on his tests."
The officer looks at me with disgust. "He's a good kid. He's been taking care of his little sister since his mom died. His father is a good for nothing drunk. He's a hard worker. And you accuse him."
"He's never done anything in my class before."
"His sister failed her maths exam and he told me that's when he realized he needed to set a better example. The poor kid has spent so much extra effort getting better. And then there's teachers like you. A case of a cheater who sees cheating everywhere else, I suppose."
|
_'Write a short note on History of Medicine'_ read the question. I immediately decided to never opt for History as well as Medicine for my future subjects. But since the test needed to be passed, I did the needful.
_"He could do with miniature art"_, my elder sister came to the rescue as my parents expressed their grief over my career prospects.
_"Twice in a week! Twice! This is pathetic"_, said my father who had received a call from the principal that morning regarding my cheating fiasco in class test.
_"Your son sneaked in a bazillion chits with well-nigh microscopic handwriting"_, she had said.
I was never my teacher's favorite. Perhaps because I had a knack for conjuring up amazing ways to evade the system. Two things served as motivational factors-- First, the syllabus that exemplified the height of mundaness and second, the thrill that came with cheating.
I always took a pragmatic approach in life. Marks never bothered me and I put more stress on understanding whatever I learnt. If I failed to understand, I refused to memorize.
Early in life, owing to my selective interests and queer talents, I looked forward to being a teacher. I cleared my tests by cheating but aced the interviews because my concepts were clearer than diamond.
Fast forward twenty years....
_"Please pass me Mr Samson. I beg you"_, reads the footnote of a student's answer sheet. My eyes hooked upon the paper, I
draw a large F on the front page.
_"Morons can't do anything for themselves. Why beg when you can elude the rules?"_, I mutter to myself.
*Door opens and shuts with a thud *
I raise my eyes and there stands a student looking at me with a smug face.
_"May I come in, Sir?"_, asks he.
_"You already are"_, I reply.
He walks towards me and says, _"I'm here to confess"_.
_"Does it need me to call the police?"_, I add.
_"No! Not that kind of a confession. I'm here to..."_
_" To?"_
_" I..I uh..I cheated on the test"_, he completes the sentence with a speed so high it is well-nigh inconceivable.
_"Expand and stop not until asked to"_, I reply.
_"Well..I..uh..I couldn't prepare for the test and my Dad put a condition. He told me my access to Xbox would be ceased if I performed poorly in this test. I really didn't want to...I.."_
_"I'm not interested in the why. Tell me how!"_
....
_"I'm glad that you remember it"_, his smugness returned.
I give him a stern look expecting to be appearing like Dumbledore. I very well remember the commitment that I had made. This summer, on a cheerful morning, I had challenged the whole class to cheat in the coming test. The winner would not need to appear for any test the whole semester.
_"Sir?"_, he breaks my reverie.
He hands me over a mask. I pull it open and my jaw drops.
The inside of it is beautifully inscribed with micrographic texts. Since it was a Maths test, formulas were sufficient enough to help him sail through.
I quickly glance at him from the corner of my eye. His smile is short of Heath Ledger's.
_"How's that possible? My staff had checked all the masks"_, I speak bamboozedly.
_"Of course they did. But you see, this ink remains invisible for the first hour after being written. After that, it gradually reappears."_
I'm impressed but I choose to appear otherwise.
_"I expect you to keep your promise, Mr Samson"_, says he.
_"I'm afraid not. You see. Cheating is my forte"_, I reply with an evil laughter.
| 2021-07-30T11:40:10 | 2021-07-30T09:52:57 | 153 | 40 |
[WP] All your life, mythological beings have tried to pick you up. Childhood? Forced adoption. Teenagehood/Adulthood? Marriage. For example, selkies purposefully left their skins where you'd find them; banshees serenade you outside every night. Now at 30, you've learned why you attract them all...
|
I'd gotten used to it a long time ago, but it took a long while for me to realize this wasn't a normal circumstance. I remember going up to my teacher, trying to question him as to why a lady made of clouds was trying to give me lolly-pops. My mate Jeremy turned out to be a Kelpie in disguise (who knew they could turn into humans?) oh, and don't forget the time I simply tried looking for a job and was immediately hounded by very suspicious job offers.
"Official horse cleaner of the Jade Palace."
"Cup-bearer of the Troll King."
"Foot-stool of the Great Fae Guardian"
"Apprentice of Surgat, the Opener of Locks."
I ignored them all and worked at the bakery.
Now I'm 31 years old, I live alone in a detached house out in the suburbs of the city, I have no neighbours because my unique sort of, well, curse, scared them all off. I had an Irish woman who lived across the road but the second she heard that Banshee scream she ran for her life and never returned.
I wish I could say I had a girlfriend but once I brought a girl back home, she immediately left upon finding a foot-tall imp playing the violin on my windowsill.
Today is a day started out like any other. I wake up, make a cup of tea, walk outside in my dressing-gown and am immediately stopped in my tracks by a ghostly looking woman with icy-blue eyes, hovering over my decking chair and staring at me curiously.
"I'm not marrying you." I say bluntly, then taking another sip of my tea. She says nothing.
"Erm... so, yeah you can go. Sorry to say no but it is how it is." She continued to say nothing, do nothing, but hover over my decking chair.
"You can-you can go now, ok."
"How curious." She says, twirling upside down, as if she were in zero-gravity.
"Curious? I guess you could say that about me. Anyways I'm off back inside." I turned around, then yelped, almost dropping my precious tea, because she had suddenly appeared in front of my face.
"Jeeeesus Christ woman, I almost spilled my bloody tea."
"Us Sylphs are curious creatures." She says, floating closer to me.
"I hear you are cursed?" The sylph tilts her head, and I gulp.
"Wow, how genius of you, master detective you are. What gave it away, the banshees or the weekly fairy parade on my doorstep?"
"Do you know why?" She smiles dubiously and I take a step back.
"Heh-huh, what? Why? I don't know, maybe I drank some boggarts milk as a kid and he wasn't too happy about it."
She laughs and sits down under the overhang above the doorframe.
"It is truly a mystery how they never told you. You didn't ever ask?"
"... I, no, I mean, yeah I did once, but he just laughed. What's this about anyway, if you're not here to marry me?"
"When you were a baby, you met a woman, her name was Aine."
I didn't say anything. Was she about to simply just tell me, right now, what this was all about? No build-up, no nothing? Just... now?
"Aine is a goddess of Love. When you were only a few months old, you had a dandelion in hand, which you gave to her. She lay an enchantment on you as a thank you, that promised you will always be cared for and watched over by the world of the supernatural."
"... what?"
"How do you mean 'What?'"
"I mean like... that's it?"
"Yes."
"I was expecting something more, well, exciting."
"You're disappointed?"
"Well yeah, I thought I was some awesome like, hybrid. My father was a god and my mother some like, personified force of protection, I don't know."
"You humans truly are full of themselves. Centuries ago, I was hunted greatly by humankind for my wealth of knowledge, but of course I was never caught. Now here I am giving you knowledge for free and you're underwhelmed. That to me is the greatest mystery."
"Are you going to leave now?"
"No."
"Uh, how come?"
"Because I'd like to marry you."
"Fuck off."
|
"Do you still think I'm—"
Blood poured from her neck after I slashed it open with my pair of scissors. The Kuchisake-onna staggered back, coughing as her throat quickly healed before looking at me, wiping the blood off of her lips and torn cheeks.
"Well, that's one way to deter us...." Clearing her throat, she pulled up her mask and walked off, dejectedly.
She wasn't the first to try to woo me. A group of banshees tried to use their song to woo me. Of course, using their principles against them, I returned with the loudest screech they had ever heard, scaring them off and sending them running for their very lives. Some vampires tried to seduce me, however I told them I would only let a Dhampir bite me, and they soon walked out empty-handed. Some sirens tried to serenade me, but I just walked past them, listening to Choices by E-40.
With werewolves, werecats, and similar supernatural beings, they just wanted some cuddling. Sure, they still wanted me, but they accepted just getting some pets. Rusalki, however, were a bit more difficult. They wanted me to spend more time underwater with them, especially with scuba diving, but I didn't want to spend time with them.
I already have a fiancee. Sure, she's similar to a werewolf or werecat, however she isn't limited to one animal. For now, I'm just wanting to relax by her, as she loves me for me.
| 2022-10-26T10:39:40 | 2022-10-26T09:48:57 | 85 | 51 |
[WP] you are kidnapped by a cult to be used as sacrifice. As you are are lying tied underneath the altar you hear one of the cultists say “Ho dark lord we present to you this person as an offering”. With nothing left to lose you yell “Ho dark lord I present to you this cultists as an offerings!”
|
"Is 'e allow'd ta' do tha'?"
The second cultist shrugged in response to the first, both of them watching as their leader argued with the captive bound on the alter.
"You can't go offering us up to the dark lord. Our lives are not yours to give."
"Well, I'd say that's a matter of opinion, innit? You lot are offerin' up my life, so it seems fair that I can offer up yours."
"Yes, but we have you tied up, see? That means you are in our power."
"Well, that's debatable. Sure, you've restrained my person, but it isn't my person that you are offering, I don't think. If it were a pile o' meat your dark lord was after, you'd just pop a cow up on the alter, much tastier than me, in my opinion. You're after my soul, and you can't tie up a soul with bits of... is this parachute cord?
"Yeah, good stuff."
"Oh yeah, the best. My brother swears by it, got me a bunch for Christmas, really useful."
"Certainly."
"Certainly."
"Right, well, anyway, no matter how good the rope, you can't be tying up a soul, so you can't rightly say that my soul is in your power to give, anymore than yours is in my power. So, we both have equal claim upon the other, and equal right to be offering the other's soul up to the dark lord."
"But your soul is tied to your body, which is, as you said, restrained here with us. I mean, it's not like your soul can just get up and leave your body sitting behind here."
"Well, that's a matter of theology, innit? If I close my eyes, and picture truly and deeply my family, sitting together wondering where I am, well, isn't it said that you are 'there in spirit' in such a case? It can thus be argued that the soul can indeed leave the body behind to be present in some distant location, thus meaning your bindings are meaningless."
"Argued, certainly, but not proven as truth. Look, if I reach over like this and poke you, it doesn't matter what you are focusing on, your eyes will pop open and you are right back here with us. Your soul didn't go anywhere, it is just pictures in your head."
"You might have called me back, but that doesn't mean that I didn't leave before then."
"Sure it does. You're still breathing, aren't you?"
"So you think the soul is in the lungs? Do you need a soul to breathe?"
"You need a soul to live!"
"Prove it."
"Prove what?"
"Prove that you need a soul to live. There's this thing, see, in philosophy. A p-zombie. Not like the walking dead, but a person who acts like a person, but doesn't really have anything going on inside. Like one of them NPCs in video games."
"Like Mass Effect."
"Yeah, like Mass Effect. You can go romancing all of those characters there, but that doesn't mean that there is actually a thinking person being romanced. It's all bits and zeros pretending."
"So you're claiming that you're, what, just pretended to be a person?"
"Precisely. I could just be some flesh automaton, acting out the part of a person, with no-one really driving."
"Are you?"
"I could be."
"Mmm, I don't think so. By that logic, I could be one of them p-zombies, which would just as much invalidate your original claim. But, we have a way to prove that at least."
"We do?"
"Yes. Devils, such as our Dark Lord, trade in souls, and treat them as fungible currency. Thus, they must have a way to determine if an individual is in possession of a soul or not."
"Ah... as much as I hate to admit it, that does seem sound."
"Yes, so let's put it up to the Dark Lord to determine."
"..."
"..."
"... so, where is he?"
"Ah, he was just here. Dummerly, where did the Dark Lord go?"
"'e said he had an appointment, couldn't wait. He did leave a note, though."
"A note?"
"Yah. 'ere it is."
"..."
"... well, what does it say? You've already tied me up, no fair to do it with suspense as well."
"Alright, alright. He says that he had another summoning to go to down in Birmingham, and his schedule is clear booked, so we're to try back next year once we've sorted out who's offering who."
"Next year? Fair bit of a wait to settle the question, innit?"
"Yeah."
"Don't suppose you've got a backup?"
"A backup Dark Lord? Why would we have that?"
"Well, for precisely this situation. Your first pick couldn't stay, and now you've gone to all this trouble and nothing to show for it. It's not like you can just keep me tied up here for 12 months."
"Couldn't we though?"
"I suppose you could, but I warn you, I'm a very picky eater."
"Oh right. I suppose you would need food. Couldn't last a fortnight without eating."
"Hah. I couldn't last four hours."
"Oh, are you feeling peckish?"
"A bit."
"You know, I'm feeling a mite hungry myself. Think I'll go grab something to eat. Want me to get you something?"
"Hmm, I have been craving a good crumble. There's this pub down in the village that does the most delicious crumble."
"Oh, Eddie's?"
"Yeah! You know it?"
"Of course! Eddie was my brother's best man. Hosted his reception there at the bar."
"You don't say. Small world."
"True, true."
"Say, you want to go grab a pint?"
"Eh, why not?"
"Alright. I'll just take care of these ropes."
|
There's a pause as the cultists freeze in place, having not expected their captured prey to speak.
A deep chuckle echoes from the darkness. "A turn of events indeed." It says, a pair of sickly yellow eyes appearing above the altar. "Why should I allow this offering of cultists to be made? You have never followed me. You have never even spoken my name."
"Be-because!" You stammer, trying to think of something. "I can offer you more than a single measly human a year! If you release me and accept my offering, I can gather more! And more often!" You beg, hoping he accepts this admittedly foolish bluff.
"Hmmm..." The voice in the darkness rumbles. "That does sound like an acceptable exchange..." It begins to say.
"Wait! You can't do that!" The leader of the cult shouts, throwing back his hood. "We have followed you faithfully for many years! You wouldn't seriously consider the words of this scum who doesn't know you over us, your loyal servants??"
A large hand dripping with black ooze reaches from the dark was to grab the leader. "You will be the first consumed for your insolence. If you actually followed me, I would not be bound to this altar!"
The leader screams in terror, being drawn slowly towards a gaping maw that opens in the darkness. The other cultists scream and attempt to run, the door to the chamber locked behind them.
One by one you watch as they are caught and consumed, not even bone being left behind.
"Ahh. A satisfying meal." The dark beast says, emerging from the portrait hanging above me. "Truly, I must thank you for freeing me. However, I cannot let you be truly free."
Your eyes widen. "What? No! What do you mean??"
The ropes are cut as the black ooze begins to engulf me. "You see, I cannot appear here for too long without a physical form. And you, dear one, are perfect for my needs." The voice hisses.
You struggle against the the slimy substance, but are soon immobilized as it fills your mouth and nostrils. Some part of you still exists deep down, but as it looks in the mirror, you see only the sickly yellow eyes and black ooze dripping from your orifices.
"Now then, my vessel. Let us rule the world."
End.
| 2020-05-05T12:10:25 | 2020-05-05T11:32:02 | 296 | 88 |
[WP] You have the power to see five minutes into the future and manipulate minor events that happen in that timespan. No one takes you seriously. You're going to show them all why they should.
|
I don't know how it started, or why I was chosen. I always called them glitches in the Matrix - you know, after the movie - when it happens.
The first time, I was young. I saw my death. I don't mean that in a gruesome way - I was just a kid, chasing a ball out into the street, and a car hit me. It was over quickly, surrounded by my crying parents and the neighbors, the driver horrified at what they had done.
But it stopped me from chasing the ball, and true to the premonition - at least, most of it, as I clearly wasn't in the right spot - the ball went under the car. They didn't stop. No one was crying. I wasn't hurt.
But I remembered.
I don't know how to control it, but I always listen to it. As I grew up, it got more frequent - it started to become events that weren't directly related to me, but always had ripples. Sometimes it took me a while to catch up to those ripples, but I always did eventually. For instance, when I was 18, I saw one of those bike delivery boys get clipped by a car on a curb. Car didn't stop, delivery boy was harmed, I think comatose. I didn't know the kid - he didn't look like anyone important, at all. Just a delivery driver.
I stopped him. I had learned, you know - always listen to the glitches. So I dropped my bag in front of him, and he stopped on his bike to help me, just as the car hit the curb, seconds from where he should have been. He didn't even notice.
I did.
That was years ago. I barely remember some of the glitches, but that one I do - I hadn't caught up to the ripples yet. It always comes back to me, like I'm the center of this universe, and I hate loose ends.
I'm dying, you see.
Right now, I'm in the hospital. I have cancer - some rare, incurable type - and I don't have long to live. My therapist is here, which I thought was nice of her - she knows I don't have family anymore, and well, she isn't supposed to drive to meet clients, but she does for me.
She knows about the glitches, and she thinks it's all in my head. I can't control it, so I can't really prove it, so I guess, in a way, it is. I try to show her things, but I mean, I've changed what was supposed to happen - what she sees is the truth as result to my actions. She thinks I have a hero complex, or a God complex, or something. I don't know. I know she's wrong, so I try to ignore it, but I like talking to her.
We're talking about how I feel about dying, which is, I don't want to. She's asked if I saw this coming - referring to my ability she doesn't believe in - but I didn't, and I tell her that. She asks if I have regrets, and I mention the boy - how I didn't find the ripples yet. I don't know why I saved him. I want to know. I hate leaving things unfinished. I don't really mind dying beyond that.
A doctor comes in. It's normally bad news, so I tend to tune them out. This treatment might help or this thing might lessen the pain. It never does. Can we make you more comfortable? Blah, blah, blah.
I'm trying to be nice, so I don't voice how tired I am of the new treatments. Maybe God or whoever will have pity on me. Maybe He'll explain why I was given this ability. Maybe the cancer and my ability are connected. I don't really know, but I would give it up if I get to live beyond 40.
The doctor hasn't said anything, and finally, I turn to look. His back is to me; he has one of those little carts with his laptop and things on it that he's pulling through the door. That's unusual. I've already signed all the documents.
He turns, and it's instant, electrified. He recognizes me - I recognize him. My therapist is on alert, because she's good at reading body language, like a therapist should be, and she knows \*something\* just occurred.
"That's him," I tell her. I see the understanding dawn on her face. She's never seen the ripples in action. Emotions tumble across her features - surprise, fear, disbelief - gone within seconds, finally settling on professionally \*neutral.\* She thinks I'm playing a joke. I'm all out of jokes.
He clears his throat. "I don't think you remember me," he starts, and I immediately want to challenge that: of course I remember you, I saved your life, you fool. "You saved my life when I was a teenager. Well, I'm a few years late, but I think it's time to repay the favor."
It doesn't make sense what he's saying. My cancer is incurable. Everyone has told me that. I don't know what to say, so I don't say anything. My therapist clears her throat, but the doctor rushes in to explain, cutting her off.
"I developed a cure, and I think you're a candidate for it. The first, even."
Ripples.
|
I felt that something was wrong. It was a funny feeling where I couldn’t explain it, but I just knew something had to be done before it was too late. To ensure I wasn’t going crazy, I stuck my head out the window and took a deep breath of fresh air before verifying my paranoid thoughts.
*Yep, something’s going to mess up soon.*
I frantically trace out a shape of a polygon with my index finger. A vortex forms in front of me and illuminates a hologram of what’s occurring in the world five minutes from now. Boy, it was not pretty. The sand dust clouded the view. I tried to waft it away to clearly see the view, but realized it was a simulation. Blurry figures rush from one place to another. Orange flashes glow from various spots. My body shakes from the violent rumble of the ground. Finally, the sand dust clears up. Up ahead, I notice a silhouette of a football with a disproportionately small body.
*Is that… a baby? On a pizza- shaped UFO annihilating mankind?* It’s difficult to take this baby seriously when his attire is a toddler- sized yellow shirt under red overalls.
He turns and gazes into my eyes before asserting in a sophisticated British voice, “I’m gonna buy a cake when you’re dead.”. The UFO protracts a robotic arm and aims a laser cannon at me.
The orb expands in the center of the cannon. I do my best to take in everything- the cries of the people, the buildings splattered in pizza sauce, the rumble of the ground. How do I explain this to the people around me that a baby is taking over the world? In a matter of seconds, my eyes burn from the blinding light of the beam. Immediately, the vortex ceases the simulation and dissipates in thin air.
*I don’t care if people are going to assume I’m a crackhead- I have to save them from a baby cracking their heads in five minutes!*
| 2021-12-31T11:49:00 | 2021-12-31T09:43:26 | 1,623 | 21 |
[WP] The president of the United States is informed in a Pentagon meeting by a friendly alien ally that "The object which killed the creatures known as dinosaurs is still alive and its waking up." Unfortunately, the aliens can't help humankind to get rid of this threat.
|
Madam President sagged in her chair and rubbed her face with a hand.
“Are you sure?” She asked. “Do the Mexican authorities know?”
The stone-faced admiral sighed. “El Presidente is the one who told us,” he replied. His eyes were bloodshot and the circles under his eyes stood out starkly. “They found out from oil operators in the Bay of Campeche.”
The two of them stared at the paper on the table. Madam President tapped it with a finger.
In a decisive move, she stood up. “Miss Pérez.” The aide looked up. “I want you to go call the Mexican ambassador directly and convey our thanks and our assistance. Tell her I will be personally calling El Présidente later today with an update. Go.”
“On it, ma’am.” The young woman ran out the door, her white sneakers flashing in the dim light.
Admiral Inouye clenched his cover in his fist.
“Stop that, Howard,” Madame President chided. She handed him a ratty-looking little cushion stuffed with pine needles that she used as a stress ball. “Use something designed for the purpose. Not your poor hat.”
The stony expression cracked just enough for his fear and horror to show. “Thank you, ma’am.”
Madam President walked carefully to an old landline phone. Not The Hotline, but one reserved for calling high-ranking friendly diplomats with as little paperwork as possible. “Hello? Hello.” She paused. “Yes, thank you. Yes. I need to speak with Ambassador Mirashiro at once.”
—
“Do you really think this will work?” She asked.
“Well, he did take a citizenship oath. This is a letter drafting him to do his national service.”
“This is *insane,* is what it is.”
“Fucking Americans,” he grumbled.
—
He crossed the Pacific under a full U.S. Navy carrier battle group escort, along with flagships from Japan, Canada, France, Mexico, Chile, Australia, and even the People’s Republic of China, who put aside their usual bickering with the Japanese Naval Defense Force due to the seriousness of the situation.
The newspapers spun the crossing of the Panama Canal as the world’s largest international peacetime military exercise, with air shows from the naval air forces of seven nations to distract attention from the unusual nighttime crossing. In the warm waters of the Caribbean Sea, far enough from shore to not be observed, the Chilean battleship dropped five whole frozen cows into the water for a celebratory feast.
—
“Ambassador Mirashiro.” Madame President bowed to him. She had chased everyone out of the Oval Office but him and Admiral Inouye. “Thank you.”
“I can’t believe you did that,” the Ambassador said. “Nobody has ever done that.”
She sighed. Tetsuo Mirashiro had gone to the same graduate school as her, and she knew she could trust him to keep his mouth shut if she spoke freely. And Howard Inouye wouldn’t know how to betray her confidence if he tried.
“It’s the craziest fucking thing I’ve ever done, because it’s the craziest fucking thing that’s ever happened here,” she grumbled. “President Sánchez Estrada is chain smoking everything he has, Prime Minister Williams in Belize called my poor ambassador to ask for disaster relief, there are seven million people in the immediate area, and no way to evacuate them.”
“It’s the craziest fucking thing I have ever heard,” Tetsuo repeated. “Which is why it just might work.”
—
The “confrontation,” such as it was, was anticlimactic. The K-T Extinction creature made some horrible squealing-screeching noises. Godzilla—purred. Like a giant cat. And stood guard over it, snapping frightfully at any passing naval vessels with their radars on.
The creature who rose from the shards of the K-T meteor stopped screeching and cowered at Godzilla’s feet, whimpering.
The Chilean warship delivered another several frozen cows, which Godzilla tore into tiny pieces and fed the creature bit by bit.
—
Ambassador Mirashiro, Admiral Inouye, and President Kicking Horse watched the video feed from the Japanese aircraft carrier.
“It’s a scared baby,” Howard mused. “A scared baby…what’s the word?” He looked at Tetsuo.
“Kaiju,” Tetsuo answered absently. “Wow.”
Tears threatened at the corner of Madame President’s eyes. “That’s not how I thought this would go,” she confessed. “Although I hoped Godzilla would be able to help.” She put a gentle hand on Admiral Inouye’s shoulder. “Would you please go call President Sánchez Estrada and tell him that the public are safe? And as a personal request from me, to buy whatever scientists told him about this the nicest bottles of whatever they drink?”
The stone face cracked again, showing just a hint of amusement and wonder. “Yes, Madame President,” he answered. He left as quietly as ever, leaving her standing alone with Tetsuo.
“That man is head over heels in love with you,” Tetsuo observed. “I saw his face when he realized you never intended to have the navies attack the K-T beast.”
Natalia Kicking Horse—because she was now alone with her old friend—chuckled. “I have less than two years left in office and then I’m dragging him off to Wake Island for a very private two-week vacation. Shh. Don’t tell.”
“Never.” Tetsuo smirked, which, after a moment, faded to something else. “You got every navy on the whole Pacific Rim to put aside their squabbling and cooperate, with no security leaks, in only two weeks. You got a creature who might as well be a god to swim across the planet on only your say-so. I always knew you were good, Nat, but that’s some god tier diplomacy. I’m so impressed.”
Natalia shrugged. “I bribed each and every last one of them with grants for joint ocean energy research and development projects, thank you Defense Production Act.” She pointed at the screen, where Godzilla flapping his tail in the water for the K-T baby to play with, like it was a huge, scaly, semi-aquatic kitten. “I asked him nicely.”
Howard came back, and before he could speak, she grabbed his hand, held a finger to her lips, and guided him over to the watch the monsters play.
Miss Pérez burst into the room holding a red folder. “Madame President,” she said, and stopped, watching the monitor herself. Her mouth dropped open.
Well, that moment couldn’t last forever. “Miss Pérez, did you need something?”
With some effort, the young woman tore her eyes away from the screen. “It’s the Prime Minister of Belize,” she said, handing over the folder. “She wants to know what is going on.”
And just like that, she was Madame President again. “Please tell her through her ambassador that there is no immediate danger, and that the right task force is on the job.” She scowled. “And please tell her that we may need an ecological research team to check out the Blue Hole for habitat purposes.”
Miss Pérez dutifully took notes. “Yes, ma’am,” she answered, casting one last fleeting glance at the Kaiju-cam, where the baby was still playing with Godzilla’s tail.
|
I had taken up smoking again. I only ever done it when times were tense -- So I'm a full blown addict.
I was puffing hard on that white cylinder of tabaco as soon as the news came in. It was a modern room, sure, but it felt stuffy and sweaty under the weight of undoubtedly fatal news. The aliens had already left the planet for "their own safety," but not before they sent the pentagon into a radical frenzy of worry.
"We're going to die aren't we?" The president's head was in his hands, looking at his spit-shinned shoes as if they'd provide divine knowledge.
Scientist yelled here and there, like the yammerings you hear at some college public debates. I'm sure it was helpful and knowledgeable, you had to know your enemy, but at this very moment it wasn't what we needed.
"Alright listen here you chuckle-fucks," As secretary of Defense I was allowed such crass language. People called it a 'brutish military way of talking.' I called it no-bullshit. "I want everyone's full fucking attention, because I'm not going to say this shit twice."
The room hushed and I was met by the bulbous eyes of deers expecting crashing headlights. Even the president rose his make-up stuffed face to meet mine.
Sure, the alien had told us some dramatic shit, but I've never been one to let emotions take over when shit hits the fan. That's how idiots get killed. See, I'm one of the few SODs that has ever actually every seen real combat, and want to know some awful shit? I fucking miss it.
"So we got some dastardly shit heading our way? So dastardly that even our green friends decided to jump ship and leave." I puffed long and hard on the cigarette, even letting my eyes close for a moment while I enjoyed the serenity of addiction. "I have zero doubt that whatever whipped out those monstrous lizards eons is truly horrendous, and undoubtedly powerful... So that means we're fucked. Super fucked even."
It was a tactic of course. Everything is a tactic after you serve as long as I have. We didn't need information or battle plans for this new threat, not yet at least. That all would come much later. What did we need right now? Some fucking balls.
"You want to know what this kind of reminds me of? I'll tell you all." The room became a platform for what I now the declare to be the very first punch launched in the budding conflict. "A long time ago in the Vietnam war, there was supposedly a general who'd been hunting the guerilla Vietcong for months. They looked everywhere to find the clever fighters, but came up short. Then, suddenly while the general was relaxing in his quarters, a scout came rushing into the room, red-faced and obviously scared-shitless."
I walked around, letting my boots click off of the ground like I was speaking at boot-camp to new arrivals. "The general asked what was happening, and the distraught scout yelled out 'Sir, we've found the enemy!' The general calmly declared this was good news, that is until the scout continued: 'But sir! We found them because they have us surrounded!'"
I stared every man and woman in that room right in the damn eyes, letting them hear this shit, because it's what we needed to hear. "So there they were. Stuck in the jungle. Outplayed and now outgunned, surrounded and staring at certain death... You know what the general said when he heard the news about the Vietcong?"
All ears were mine, first battle won.
"*Those poor motherfuckers.*"
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
If you enjoyed checkout my subreddit! r/mrsharks202
| 2022-06-16T12:24:48 | 2022-06-16T11:37:18 | 29 | 11 |
[WP] Before receiving the serum that unlocks latent powers, subjects take a battery of tests (physical exam, DNA analysis, a VERY intrusive questionnaire, etc.) to determine their likely abilities. Your testing process drags on and on as you are sent to higher-ranking (and increasingly tense) staff.
|
I was excited. Hell, everyone is on their 25th birthday.
Okay, not everyone. You did have those crazy conspiracy theorists saying that it was a means of governmental tracking given just the right spin to look desirable or whatever. You also had those purity nut-bars who screeched about genetic manipulation polluting the population.
But everyone *normal* was excited to finally be old enough to qualify for the serum.
And so was I.
After all, who wouldn't want to be able to fly? To be able to move things with their mind or set fires or make friends more easily by emitting a soft emotional coziness that made people more content in your presence? and those were just the smaller talents people could gain! There was a woman I had read of that worked for a multi-national corporation whose power was the ability to instantly know with a 92% accuracy when bad weather was going to affect their interests.
I had taken the week off of work to recover and attend the mandated power-controlling classes after the serum took effect. I had shown up bright and early to the Center. I had taken every test, answered every question and sat in the waiting room waiting to be called back.
I had seen dozens enter and exit in the time I sat waiting and each time I asked the receptionists how much longer it would be all they would say is that someone would be with me shortly and could I please return to my seat. Finally, a mere half hour before the center was due to close, I heard my name.
"Vivian Walker?"
The woman who spoke was not one of my previous testers. She had an indefinable air about her that made me think that perhaps she was someone who did not often interact with the day to day life of the Center, a certain lack of fatigue and false cheerfulness common to those who worked with the public.
"I'm Doctor Wood, I have been tasked with administering additional testing. It's nothing to worry about, we get the occasional false result and usually it's cleared up with just one or two additional tests. So if you'll just follow me."
We entered a room not much bigger than the ones in which the medical test had been run but containing unfamiliar equipment that I couldn't even begin to guess at the use for.
I was in that room for two hours, I was attached to just about every machine in that room and as the time passed the doctor and nurse got more and more tense. They muttered between themselves about results and contacting someone named "Einarsson".
I was asked to return the next day when a doctor who specialized in anomalous results would be in. They were quick to reassure me that nothing was physically wrong with me, no cancer, no undiagnosed disease of the brain, no concerning mental health issues. They even joked that perhaps it was simply a glitch in the computer program misreading my results and that Dr. Einarsson would sort it all out the next day.
So I came in the next day and I met Dr Einarsson, an older gentleman with a faded Icelandic accent, and again I was put through numerous tests before I was asked to accompany him and a couple of serious men in dark suits and glasses to another location. It wasn't really a request.
I don't know how long we drove. I couldn't tell you which towns we passed or which roads we went down. The windows had been blacked out the moment we got into that SUV and despite Dr Einarsson's best efforts at conversation I could feel the terror slowly overtake me.
You hear about it sometimes, on the internet and always quickly refuted and labelled a hoax or conspiracy; people who test out as too powerful or dangerous are quietly kidnapped by the government and made to look like they had died in an accident or by suicide or whatever. You hear about blurry photos of super powered individuals involved in black ops that their families swear are their missing sons and daughters. You even hear about these families dying or disappearing if they dig too deep. But that's just the internet, just conspiracies. It doesn't happen in real life, not to real people. Not to ordinary people like me.
And yet there I was, being shuffled into a secret laboratory with military personnel scattered around the walls and new doctors who swarmed close like locusts on green leaves.
All for an answer I no longer wanted; for a serum I was willing to sign the most tightly legally binding contract to avoid taking if it meant I could go home again.
I got the shot anyway, eventually, because it was apparently too good an opportunity to pass up. I was told that they weren't even sure what the serum would do to me, how my power would manifest. I was something called a "true null" and of course they never bothered to explain what that meant.
No, I had to learn that the hard way: by watching a man with flying powers crash and die in agony simply because I walked into the room with him. They had a healer on hand, of course, but they couldn't do anything because I was still right there. It was torture, pure and simple. Torture for the man who died. Torture for the healer who could not access the powers that could have saved him. Torture for me: knowing that despite my own wishes I was the reason this had happened.
I was allowed to attend his funeral. It was nice, I guess. I was not allowed to attend my mother's.
I have my obituary in my wallet, next to a picture of my ex fiance marked with the sight lines of a rifle-scope. I no longer try to contact him.
I go where I am told and do what I am ordered. Mostly I am ordered to simply stay in a room with individuals whose power makes them dangerous and watch as those trained to fight without their powers kill them mercilessly.
And when I can, I sneak on the internet and try to warn others away from taking the serum.
I don't care if you call me a liar, if you say i'm crazy or a conspiracy theorist or whatever. Just, please, keep it in mind that if you go to get your serum and they ask you to come back for more tests: run.
You don't want to know how bad things really are out there for people like us.
|
The bureaucrat behind the desk fidgets intensively in the quiet room. I can hear the tiny snaps as flakes of yellow paint dislodged by the tip of a cracked thumbnail hit the desk. There had been so many doctors, so many questionnaires, a water tank, and a goddamn treadmill, but all that it had lead to was a nervous man with thinning slicked back hair and his pencil.
I wonder if this is a part of the trial of it, some sort of secretive right of passage; the way my mother told me that women rarely talk about how awful pregnancy is in order to perpetuate the species.
At 21 we enlist for our mandatory military service, our assignment to be determined by the results of a shot. A "second puberty" taking only a few hours which would usher us, finally, into the world of adulthood and a selection of abilities which would map out our future, but my future felt like it was on infinite hold with only the soundtrack of chipping paint at the other end of the line.
Initially, I had been worried when the first set of tests led to a second, a third, a psychiatrist, a very handsy physician who seemed intent on proving that some part of me was mechanical, a man who asked me how many generations back I could name my family, and their abilities, but now I'm aggravated, hungry, and tired.
"Listen," I finally say as I reach over and casually take the pencil,"Is this a part of the test? It's been all day, and I'd love to get the jab and go home. My mom's got telepathy, so she's a major worrier, you know?"
The man's eyes widen and I he sits up very straight and thinks for a few moments before deflating into his chair.
"The problem, Adam, is that you got the jab after the second round of tests 8 hours ago, but you've yet to manifest ," he says, "We've never seen anything like it, and we're honestly not sure what to do."
Already got the jab? He doesn't appear to be lying, but how could that be true? I take a hard swallow trying to keep the lump in my throat from rising further.
"So, I'm a bit of a late bloomer? You know, my brother, before his wings came in, it..." The Bureaucrat holds his hand up to stop me.
"No, Adam. This is a different matter. There appears to be nothing abnormal about you for the serum to exploit," he says, "You are the most genetically perfect human being on this continent."
| 2021-10-29T15:33:58 | 2021-10-29T15:05:59 | 120 | 66 |
[WP] After you die, you're handed a book about your life. You open it, expecting a novel. Instead you get a "Choose your own adventure" book with all of the decisions you ever made, and every outcome they could have had.
|
Once I had acclimatised, they led me into an office. Wood-panelled, decadent, I thought, for this place - but I supposed they moved with the times here as well.
There was a man at the desk dressed in a white-grey suit. Subtle. They had told me about this man, when I had calmed down. He would show me all my significant choices, walk me through them, help me come to terms with them. He would enlighten me and discourage my false beliefs about myself, to cleanse me.
I sat. He gently placed a large, red leather-bound volume on the table. It looked like a Victorian bible, but brand new. I touched the closed leaves of the volume: The pages were going to be petal-like, delicate, just the same as bibles. This book meant something.
“All the choices you have ever had,” said the man in white. “Try it.”
I reached out my hand, hesitated, and looked to him. He exuded authority. He smiled serenely.
“I’ll explain it all. Go on.”
I opened the book.
The first few chapters were uneventful, filled with childhood stories and corrections to memories I had reconstructed in my elderly mind. I remembered my mother and father here- I was smiling. No choices as yet, but I’m only, what, six? Six, that’s.. quite old. I looked up.
The man had been sitting in silence, smiling- at me, or to himself? He sensed my worry. “Significant choices, my friend. At this point, your life is controlled by your parents and you have little perception of wider choice.”
I continued. In year two of school, I was confronted with a choice. Little Jenny was being teased for her broken leg. The other children looked to me.
‘Do you
a) join in with the children teasing Jenny
or
b) tease Jenny along with the children?
for a) go to page 265 or for b) go to page 265.
What?
I looked to the man across the desk. “Your brain factored in being alienated by your peers against hurting Jenny. This one was a dead cert.” He smiled kindly. Satisfied, if still slightly perplexed, I turned my eyes back to the book.
“Jenny was always a sick girl. She hanged herself after the same kind of bullying in her thirties”.
My eyes shot up, staring. The man seemed to look away, since as it to chastise himself. “Of course you can’t be blamed for any of this. You had no choice.”
Shaken, at length I went back to reading. A pattern began to emerge. As I read further, my “significant choices” became more and more frequent. To watch football with the others? To steal some cool pieces of Lego from my friend? To question the nature of my father’s illness...?
And each time, each option is the other, rephrased as if to give some illusion of choice. As I read further, greeted with what could only be described as amused patience from the man in white, all the pages led to the same place.
“What is this?” I asked, finally, battling through the dread of the answer.
“Have you ever heard of determinism? All of us, pawns, players in some shitty game. And you’re here-“
“Here..?”
“-and it’s not about responsibility, it’s about balance. And now you know- this eternity? It’s all gonna be electrical impulses.” The man in white paused strategically. He had done this many times before.
“They said you would help me come to terms with my choices!”
The man in white leaned forward, smiling more explicitly now. “I am. You have none. Submit. These are your terms.”
“...who are you?”
He paused, and then leaned back onto his chair. “Think of yourself as lucky. They live in blissful ignorance up there. Us? We know the nature of things.”
|
I thumbed through the pages to see no penned illustrations. I flipped back to the first page of the book to see who authored this piece, expecting to see my own name. "Greasy Greg" is certainly not my name nor a handle I've ever used. I flipped to the back to read the ending of whatever route was on the last page. It said, "but damned if you do, damned if you don't, and now Croatia is underwater."
"Ugh, creative non-fiction isn't really my thing," I said as I passed back the book.
| 2018-07-04T01:11:45 | 2018-07-04T01:02:38 | 36 | 10 |
[WP] Satan is used to getting mail meant for Santa, but one day Santa gets mail that's meant for Satan.
|
Nick sat down at his table and sighed. It was early July, but already some of the more, "fortunate", kids had begun to send in desires or questions. He called his secretary, Rolland, to help him sort through them.
"Summer mail is getting bigger every hear, sir," Rolland said after about twenty minutes of silence. Nick grunted and continued to read.
"Sir?" Nick looked up from a crayon filled paper begging for nerf guns, pulling his spectacles off and rubbing his eyes of exhaustion.
"What is it, Rolland?" He stopped and stared.
"We've, we've never gotten one of these before, sir. I know that sometimes are's are sent wrong but normally we're able to catch them before-" Rolland fell silent and placed the letter into his bosses outstretched hand. Nick sat back in his chair, pushing letters off of is desk to make way for his oversized black boots.
"Leave me."
"But, sir-"
"Leave." Rolland stood up and bowed, walking out.
"Take the rest of them." Rolland turned and snapped his fingers, the letters rose off the table and lazily floated behind him as he left the door. When the last envelope sauntered through the frame, the old oak slammed shut behind the nervous elf.
Nick put his glasses back down and cautiously opened the letter. It was instantly apparent this was not meant for him. The vocabulary too wide, the grammar too precise. Speckled across the cheap paper were small circular wrinkles where the paper had warped under water droplets of some kind.
I don't know how to contact you, Flynn always locked himself away when you two talked. Please respond to me, I know Flynn made promises he can't keep. I want to help him please, please Lord. I will do whatever it takes to save him, just don't take him away. He can do so many good things, he has so much potential. Don't let the arrogance of a boy cause him to be doomed forever. I know you have a child, let me take his place. I know he has payed for my sins, let me pay for his.
Lord Lucifer, I beg of you, spare my son and take me instead.
Marcus Bromson
Nick read the letter several times before setting it down.
"Rolland," he whispered, and the door flew open as Rolland rushed through.
"Yes sir?"
"I need you to ready the sleigh. I have a visit to make." Rolland stared at Nick, speechless. "Did I stutter?" Nick roared, standing up from his armchair, the door slamming and the fire dying as an icy wind appeared in the room, sweeping across the office.
"No sir, of course not sir, right away sir." Rolland awkwardly ducked a bow and scurried out of the room, his hat falling off as it hit the door handle. Nick sat back down. It had been many years since he'd made the journey to see Lucifer. As with many deities, it was rare that they would visit one another, and Nick has no love for the Price of Darkness. But a child was in danger, and Nick couldn't bare the idea of another child being damned to serve the evil angel.
The barn was a disaster when Nick finally made it down. Dozens of elves ran in circles, hitching the reindeer up to the sleigh. Nick climbed into the sleigh, Rolland appearing at his side.
"Is there anything we can get you, sir?"
"No, this won't be long. I'll be back in a few hours."
"Might I ask where you're going," Rolland asked, wringing his hands together. Nick looked down at the elf and his heart softened slightly.
"I'm going to help someone, Rolland. Tell the others I've left you in charge." Rolland bowed deeply.
"Of course, sir. Thank you, sir."
Nick picked up the reigns and snapped them behind the reindeer.
"Run boys! We haven't any time to waste!" He roared. The reindeer dashed forward, leaping into the sky, the sleigh flying behind them. Without it's usually weight of presents, the sleigh weighed almost nothing to the magnificent beasts.
The air around the sleigh began to hum and shiver, before the lights slid away and into nothing ness. Nick yawned as laid back in his seat as the darkness enveloped him. With a slight pop, light reappeared.
A relatively small, two story house was in front of him. Painted black, it stood out against the icy lake it sat upon. Black sand spread out around the house, pristine and untouched, the reindeers slid across the sand as the landed on the beach.
Nick jumped out of the sleigh and landed surprisingly softly for someone of his size on the dark ground. He padded up the hill to the obsidian doorway, a simple silver knocker glistening against the dark wood. He lifted it up, and the door flew open out of his hands.
"It's been a while ol' Nick." Lucifer's smile instantly melted away all of Nick's fears of being in Hell. "How was the flight?"
"Not too bad, jump over was as smooth as ever."
"I'm happy to hear it." Nick looked over Lucifer, suspiciously. Dressed in a gray v-neck and black jeans, the fallen angel looked like a suburban dad fused with a Abercrombie model.
"Oh, how rude of me, please come in." Lucifer stepped back and gestured for Nick to enter. Nick walked through the doorway and into a comfortably sized living room. Little decoration adorned the room, and only a singular painting adorned the walls.
"How can I be of service?"
Nick hesitated. "I received a letter meant for you." Lucifer's eyes danced with a dark light.
"I see." Nick looked down, unable to keep eye contact. "And what, pray tell, did it say?"
"Well," Nick paused, "it's in regards to a boy's soul. Apparently he made a deal with you?"
"I make many deals, Nicholas. As we speak, I am currently making one with a shaman in the Americas." Nick looked puzzled.
"We all have little magics we use, Nicholas. You should expect mine be a little more, active than yours." Nick nodded.
"What are you asking of me, Nicholas."
"I was wondering if you would spare the boys soul in the place of his father."
"At whose request."
"Mine." Nick paused, "well, the letter is from the father asking for you to trade his souls for his sons." Lucifer stared at Nick for a moment, his eyes devoid of any light or mercy.
"Do you know how many letters I get, Nicholas?" Nick shook his head. "I thought not." Lucifer waved his hand and a glass appeared in his hand.
"Drink?" Nick shook his head. Shrugging, Lucifer took a sip before sitting down in an arm chair by an empty fireplace.
"I get thousands of letters a day. I understand you are rather familiar with being swamped with letters, but understand that while you get the majority of your mail near the end of the year, I get mine constantly. Would you like to see my mail room."
"No, I believe you."
"Do you know how many letters I get addressed to you?"
"I know switch ups happen occas-"
"Every day. I get them everyday. To be honest, it's a miracle more don't get sent to you. Or perhaps Rolland is just better at catching such things. Regardless, I get many plees for people to exchange their lives with their loved ones. Do you know how many I listen to?"
"None?"
"None." Lucifer paused. "I listend to one, Nicholas. Once. Many millennia ago. A farmer who found his son had made a deal with me to be a mighty warrior and go fight in a war. In exchange for his own life, his son would be spared. I was kind that day, boy. I attempted compassion for a man simply trying to save his son. So I took the mans life, and gifted the boy with strength and power. The boy left and never buried his father. He went on to war and died, believing himself invincible." Lucifer drained his glass and tossed it over his shoulder, the glass dissolving before it hit the ground.
"All deals with the devil are final, Nick. Once promised, you can not take it back. Fate is not a force to be tampered with, and I have no desire to try my hand at it. Go back to your toys, Nicholas. You are young, and still have hope. Keep it."
Nick opened his mouth, but Lucifer raised his hand.
"We are done here. The next time you receive one of my letters, it would be in your best interest to leave it alone. Go home." With a wave of his hand, the house slid out of view, before Nick found himself in his office. The letter still sat on the desk, the tears of the tortured father splattered across the paper.
"Rolland," Nick called. The elf bustled through the doorway.
"How did you get past-" the elf stopped when he saw his boss' face.
"I need you to find Flynn Marcusson and Marcus Bromson."
"And do what?"
Nick turned and looked into his empty fireplace.
"I don't know."
He didn't hear the door shut behind him as the elf ran off to find the accursed. All he could see was the blank face of the Lord of Damned, slowly turning into nothing.
|
The easy thing to do would have been to forward the letter to Acquisitions.
That would have taken Cherry less than a minute to process. She would have filled out a form (already pre-signed by her supervisor), stamped it to signify that her department, Evaluations, had reviewed the letter, and then she could have taken her teabreak. Her seat was far from the break-room, but she could still smell the freshly-baked scones one of the other elves brought in.
But Cherry was not raised to do the easy thing. She was raised to do the right thing, and so she took the letter, mentally steeled herself, and walked to the side office where Foley would, undoubtedly, be wholly occupied with anything but his work.
“Sir?” Cherry said, after she had rapped on the door thrice. She opened the door, then saw Foley fling off his headphones and turn off the small TV on his table. He was fast, but not fast enough – Cherry noted that Foley was somewhere around the middle of the latest season of GOT.
“Heavens! Can’t you knock first!”
“But I... sorry, Sir. But Sir, it’s urgent.”
“Well, then just send me an email about it!” said Foley, trying his best to regain his composure. “I’m busy, you know!”
“It’s Letter 17-09-13.A6372, Sir,” Cherry said, pressing on. She had learned that sometimes you just had to power through. “I’m… not sure we should be approving that request. There’s something off about it. I’m thinking of rejecting it, or even escalating it to The Man himself.”
Cherry had been in the department long enough to know which buttons to press. In truth, they rarely escalated matters to Santa directly, because that was their job, to sift through the thousands of requests he received. There was no stronger argument for redundancy than to start bringing all their problems to him directly.
“Escalate? Whatever for! We can settle problems here on our own just fine!” said Foley. “Come, show me the letter. I bet you ten to one you didn’t use your head again this time.”
Cherry handed over the letter, and waited patiently as Foley cross-checked the sender against the master-list he had. She remembered the good old days when the Naughty / Nice List was simply classified as “Internal”, and everyone could make copies off the intranet or pin it up on the boards for easy reference. Not so much after some elves were caught trying to sell the List to various security agencies – these days only the higher ranking elves had copies, which were all serialized to prevent theft or duplication.
“It all checks out,” said Foley, the irritation spreading across his face. “This Calvin boy has been doing his chores, has been turning out decent grades at school, and has not been caught doing anything too wrong for a ten year-old. Why are we spending time on this again, please?”
“It’s… I think the request, the subject-matter, appears not to be in line with what we typically expect, Sir,” said Cherry. She spoke a bit more slowly than usual, and it was only because she learned that sometimes Foley had trouble keeping up, and that he would just say whatever it took to preserve the image that he actually had a handle on what was going on. She wondered again, briefly, who had died for Foley to be promoted. “I don’t think a ten year-old should be given… a rocket launcher, fifty tons of fireworks, or industrial-strength explosives, Sir.”
“That’s not our problem!” said Foley, his voice rising. “How many times have I told you, don’t do any extra work! Our job is to Evaluate the requestor, then pass it on! It is someone else’s job to check if the presents should go out, not ours!”
“But Sir, who will do that?”
“Again, not our problem!” said Foley.
“Sir,” said Cherry, pointing to the letter, “if you look at this part… this Calvin obviously made out the letter to ‘Satan’ first, do you see?”
Foley peered closer. “Yes, but he then crossed it out, wrote ‘Santa’ instead, right? Little boys can’t spell so well now, can they? Just a little mistake, that’s all.”
“But Sir,” said Cherry, the panic rising in her chest. This was not going as well as she had hoped – alternatively, it was going just as she had expected. “The nature of the letter, the writing, the way he signed off, Sir, I *highly* doubt that this letter was meant for us. I also think that prudence calls –”
“Prudence! Prudence!” shouted Foley. “Again with Prudence! Tell me, do you see any elf here with that name, huh? Please, Cherry, just stick to your job, geez!”
Cherry retreated after that, her lips set in a grim, tight, angry line. She sat still at her desk, ignoring the various calls from the breakroom for her to join them. Then, when she was sure no one was looking, she reached under her desk, retrieved a single silver whistle, and blew on it.
Nothing happened for a while.
Then, a soft clopping sound could be heard, growing louder by the second. She turned, and from the corners of the office, she saw a reindeer, overcoat slung over him, hat pulled down by its brim to the edge. If the distinctive red-nose was not visible, it could have been just another one of the thousand reindeer roaming the lands.
“You blew?” said the reindeer, with a deep, husky voice.
“Yes,” said Cherry. She was slightly frightened, given that this was the first time she was doing this. But it had to be done.
“You have a Compliance Breach to report, then?”
---
/r/rarelyfunny
| 2017-09-12T23:45:05 | 2017-09-12T22:58:43 | 1,122 | 110 |
[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.
|
They're the light of my life. Bouncy, happy nuggets of hope, who run through the concrete corridors of the facility, laughing and playing. There are twenty of them in total.
My children. My students.
Each of them unique in their own way. Each little face, beaming with excitement and thirst for knowledge. I always hated school. The teachers, my classmates. The only subject I excelled at was physics, and I guess that was all due to Mr. Peterson. Some people are just born to teach, I guess, and have the ability to light the spark of excitement within the minds of the most unwilling of students.
"Class dismissed." My voice cuts through the chatter. "Michael, stay after class please."
As the others pack up their projects and rush out of the dimly lit classroom, Michael crosses his arms. His thick brown hair falls in front of his eyes. He hasn't bothered to open the textbook today, but I can't be angry with him.
He is me.
As the last of his classmates file out of the room, I wave him over. "Boring subject?"
He shakes his head. "I don't see the point."
"Of learning biology?"
"Yes," he mumbles and kicks at the floor. "We read about animals and plants... things we've never seen. Things that aren't real."
"They might be one day."
"If Annie wants them to be..."
I nod. "That's right. She really loves nature, even though she's never seen it."
Michael shifts on the spot. "I don't know how she can. I don't know how John and Lisa and Frederick can."
The real answer is that I've nudged them all in the right direction from the very start. That they're the future. I've tried my best to give them a vivid imagination. Their own little oases of ideas.
"Have you thought of something you might be interested in mastering?" I say, ignoring his question. "Is there anything that you find particularly interesting?"
He stands in silence for a while, looking at his hands. "Remember the stories you used to tell us when we were little? I liked those."
I do remember. Of course, I remember. "Remind me."
He gazes up into the ceiling, his eyes filling with dreamy excitement. "Laura, who could fly over the rooftops of the cities... Don, who could lift fifty people with one hand..." He lowers his voice to a whisper. "The evil villain..."
"Oh, yes. Those stories. What is it that you find interesting about them?"
"Last philosophy class we talked about right and wrong and moral. And, I, uh, I don't remember what made the villain evil or what he did. I just remember him being evil."
I lean over the desk, my face tight. They were so young back then, and I was an inexperienced parent and teacher. I never thought anyone would remember.
"He hurt a lot of people. He was a very bad man," I say, carefully.
"What happened to him?"
"He died." My voice is final and invites no further questions. "Try to think of a subject you'd like to focus on. A few more weeks and you'll be twelve like Annie."
Michael doesn't look particularly happy with my answer, but scampers off with his tiny fists clenched.
I take the elevator up to my office, darkness seeping into my mind. I'd vowed to leave that all behind me. I'd sworn to never use my powers again. Make amends. Foster a group of children with the abilities to restore the world. When Annie turned eighteen she would choose the power of growing plants. John would blow the clouds away. Lisa would clean the oceans. Each of them would have a job and a calling. They would each be a god of their domain.
Reluctantly, I draw back the blinds to the only window in the fortified facility. Just like Michael, I need to be reminded.
"They made fun of him..." I mutter as the barren landscape of dust and debris unfolds before me. Drifting smog. Ashes and craters. Slouching streetlamps like dead metallic flowers. A sky that is ever dark. "...and he showed them."
***
Thanks for reading! Check out r/Lilwa_Dexel for more of my stories.
EDIT: Thank you for the platinum and the silver and the gold! :)
|
You take a deep breath and concentrate...
-"Energy can neither be destroyed nor created" know who said that?...
You elaborate as a glowin thread of atomic material is seemingly coming out of the side of your head at the site of your fingertip.. as you continue to stretch your finger away and shaping the atomic material into a sphere you smile...
-It was Einstein..
You take 2 steps infront of the seemingly fluid floating atomic disc of lighting ... you use your ability to change the molecular structure of the air molecules to make it into a Golden throne on which you sit facing your friends who all look at you dumbfolded by the strong light emitting from the floating disc.
-Behold....
You say as you move your fingers closer together
-True Godhood
And SNAP the disc completely disappears.
| 2018-12-20T22:43:12 | 2018-12-20T21:25:55 | 2,519 | 81 |
[WP]An old hag has cursed you with immortality.Wondering how that is supposed to be a curse you started enjoying your life. Now you are floating in the void after the heat death of the universe thinking about the past.
|
After a thousand years of anecdotal evidence, I felt justified in my beliefs.
After a hundred million years I had accepted it as not only authentic, but self-evident. Beyond that, I lost the capability to keep track.
*Time is slipping away* was tattooed on my arm a hundred years or so after the old woman's curse. There had been other marks put onto my body in an attempt to try and remind me of the truth: *Time is secondary*. *You are detached*. *Both.* *Cause Before Effect.*
Over the centuries, the ink faded away but the technology got better. They were able to use my genetic code to create self replicating ink that was permanent. The messages stayed. However, they were intrigued that my cells seemed to be programmed to never deteriorate. In the name of research I had been imprisoned in a glass cage, prodded with needles, burned, frozen and dissected. Each time I returned, stronger than the previous. When the needles and knives could no longer penetrate me, they simply left me in the glass cage without food or water. To their astonishment, my body quickly evolved to not require outside nutrients. My form had become entirely self reliant - encapsulated from the world in which I inhabited.
At first, the marks served as reminders.
When we were children, time was a passive construct that creeped heavily beyond our desperate grasp. Just make us older. Just make us stronger, more independent. The hours seemed like years. Then, in our twenties, some homeostasis seemed to be reached. A year was a year. A second was a second. We were told that it was all in our heads, a trick of the mind... that time did not indeed increase its speed simply because we were getting older. Then, the next twenty years couldn't be accounted for. November bled out into May without the slightest coherent recognition. It was a hell of a trick.
From behind the glass tomb, I watched as the researchers aged and faded into obscurity. I watched as fresh, young faces bounded into the room with their charts and computers and left in wheelchairs and walkers.
My escape, if you really wish to call it that, came with the final war. The facility dissolved before my own eyes. A flux of atoms scattered out into a dystopian wasteland beyond. No one had taken the term "doomsday device" seriously, so apparently the unyielding conflict between the parties involved decided to launch them all. It was no longer a euphemism, it was fact. After the glass had evaporated and I surveyed the landscape, I was reminded of the pictures that had been returned from the surface of Mars centuries before. Absolute desolation. Or so I believed.
There were some survivors. For thousands of years I walked the wasteland and was befriended, attacked, and eventually worshipped. This too passed.
With the atmosphere reshaped, new societies emerged. The things we despised began to thrive. Roaches, spiders, creatures of both deep water and ground began to mutate and become well suited to this new world. Some type of previously unknown consciousness, an intelligence, began to emerge from this. These new beings created their own technologies and their own concepts of cities. Their senses had evolved differently from mine. Alone, I walked among their kind and went entirely unnoticed. A creature of the old, forgotten world. They had not yet acquired the ability to determine my existence, just as my tribe had lived thousands of years without knowing about micro organisms.
This world, this unimaginable new place in time... it too passed.
Occasionally I looked down at the ink sprawled across my arms and my hands. *Time is slipping away*.
Perhaps it was billions of years. Perhaps only millions. The sun swelled and burned away what was left of the sky. A great, viscous mist overwhelmed my senses as the oceans melted into the firmament beyond. A sudden unexpected sorrow overwhelmed me as the very ground on which I stood began to disintegrate. Like the glass prison that held me for what seemed to be forever, this world that had once been my home was coming apart. The enormous red mass stretched and pulled the ground beneath until I free floated in a brilliant abyss of black and gold plasma.
In an instant, the structure collapsed and I was in a cold, blank, impossible void. Darkness incarnate.
*Time is slipping away.*
Has it been trillions of years? Septillions? Septendecillions?
It was no trick. The truth is, the longer you exist, the faster this thing called *time* moves.
When the universe died, it reemerged. Reborn from light. The process, while I still do not claim to have a comprehensive understanding of it, was speedy and sublime. I watched as clouds of gas birthed the stars into being. Then, I saw them age and die. Galaxies formed, entire solar systems came, and worlds evolved. By now, I have seen the Earth come into existence, then blown apart countless times. Its gravity always pulling me back down to the surface. Sometimes there were humans, just like the ones I used to know. Several times, they saw me fall from the sky. At first, they ran from me, then they tried to kill me. Failing at that, they began to worship me. Most of the time, life never emerged, but sometimes it did.
I learned that it was entirely a game of chance; it was all statistics. Atoms were like legos, there were only so many kinds and if you dumped them out onto a playground, eventually some kids were going to make the same things. Given enough time, the universe would rebuild itself over and over again and eventually, it would rebuild itself *exactly* the same as I had remembered. So I did the only thing I could - I waited.
Today, I walk upon the surface of this *new* Earth. Once again, here on this planet, time has regained its composure. The fleeting blip of infinity has been overcome by the nature of substance. I am walking in a strangely familiar city, down crowded streets that seem to know me intimately. The world that I have anticipated for so long is finally here, spilled out right before these ancient urban lamps. Turning the corner, I see the small dimly lit storefront and the familiar red awning. In the window is a crystal ball and seated behind it is an old woman with a crooked nose and a scar on her left cheek. Her head turns toward me and our eyes meet. A look of horror flashes across her face. She turns her head to the man seated in front of her and screams, "Devil!".
Backing away from the window, through my own reflection I see the man... the man who has come to the gypsy to have his palm read. The man is me.
The gypsy grabs a clock from the shelf and she holds it out in front of her like a shield.
"Evil!" she shouts, "I curse you... both of you!"
*Both?* Why did that sound so familiar. *Both*.
Looking down at the clothes that I had managed to scrounge out of a dumpster without being seen, I pushed up the sleeves of my shirt. The tattoos: *Time is slipping away.* *You are detached.* *Both*.
She had said both the first time, too. How many times have I been here? How many of *me* are there?
Above the shelf on the wall next to the entrance, I saw an old ornate saber that hung there as decoration. The door was locked, but I forced it open with a single, well placed kick and made my way toward the blade.
History shall not repeat itself.
This ends tonight.
___
edit: It may seem a little cheesy to add this to the end of my story, but I'm a little overwhelmed by everyone's generosity and support. Thank you for the gold, kind stranger, and thank you all for your kind words! This is why writingprompts is the best sub of them all.
|
You might suspect that immortality would spare you the complications of old age, but you’d be wrong. Here I am, long after everything else, and my memory has gone to hell. I’m not sure if I have a body anymore, but I have a vague and pervading sense of pain where my body should be. A bit of phantom limb syndrome, except it’s not just my limbs. It’s my torso and my face and my spine and all the other components that differentiated me from the rest of the universe.
For a long time – anywhere between a hundred years and a hundred thousand – I have wondered whether I am just a disembodied mind, floating in the ether like a psychic jellyfish. There is no light anymore. No light whatsoever. Not a single flashing photon in all of creation. That’s what makes it impossible to tell if I have a body anymore or I've been reduced to a torn bit of consciousness. I believed I had a body for a long time, but without nutrition I no longer have the energy to propel my muscles, to touch myself to make sure I was still there. At this point it must be gone. That’s the other misconception about immortality – you’re not free from the physical laws of the universe. Besides death. Everything else is still a go. You still need calories, and after enough time your hands start shaking and you can’t remember what you had for breakfast. Not that I’ve had breakfast since the fiery end of the universe.
At this point I’d take either damnation or pure oblivion – whether the Jews or the atheists had it right no longer matters. All those philosophers would have a field day. Plato, Socrates, Descartes – they’d tear each other’s’ throats out to have a q and a session with me. The difference between spirit and body and all that other boring, tangential nonsense.
But my memory. I only have memories of memories now, but I cycle through them like an old dog-eared deck of cards. Like the time my old buddy Mac and me stole a case of whiskey off the back of a truck at the age of fourteen – and proceeded to vomit our guts out into the alley behind the drug store. Or the time I have up a chance to see Charlie Christian play because a beautiful girl invited me to her hotel room – and after a thousand years or so years I still wish I could have seen that cat play, because the rendezvous at the hotel was mediocre at best. But above all others, there’s the issue of Molly Gibbons, who I asked to the eighth grade dance. She said no because Douglas Murdoch asked her the day before, while I was trying to muster up the courage to ask her. After all this time I still couldn't figure out if she was only saying that because she felt bad for me, or if we might have gotten married and I might have died like a normal person if I had only gotten their on Thursday instead of Friday. You’d think after a millennia of drifting through nothingness I would have come to terms with my past, but there’s always room for speculation and what-ifs. A whole eternity of what-ifs and darkness and fading memories.
And the one thing I’ve realized is that any one of a million minute choices could have diverted my path away from that old witch and the curse she brought down on my head. For example, if I had gone with the fish instead of the steak for lunch that day I might have come down with a sudden case of acute food poisoning, shitting my brains out instead of visiting the fortune teller, never knowing my good fortune. Maybe if I had picked up smoking, I would have stepped outside for a cigarette while Dick Carbone went in to get his palm read. Or maybe if I quit drinking I never would have insulted the witch in the first place. These games have no end, and it’s not like I have much else to do.
But if I really had to think about it, it all goes back to Molly Gibbons, how she broke my heart at the tender age of twelve and a half. That's what turned me into an asshole, and being an asshole is what brought about the curse. I should have kicked Douglas Murdoch’s ass. I should have sabotaged the whole dance. I should have known that this was one of those so-called life decisions, a psychological fork in the road, one path leading to a quaint, boring, happy existence – the other living to two hundred years of interesting misery before the end of the universe.
Molly Gibbons. She was a real knock-out. All the PBS documentaries they did on me, on the “oldest man in the world,” after all the things I saw, she still kills me.
My only hope now is that my memories will decay to the point of nothing at all, or at least I might confuse them with reality, that I might be twelve and a half years old again, and that will be close enough to death or paradise anyways.
| 2014-11-23T10:22:22 | 2014-11-23T09:24:57 | 148 | 30 |
[WP] You are a long forgotten god. A small girl leaves a piece of candy at your shrine, and you awaken. Now, you must do everything to protect your High Priestess, the girl, and her entire kindergarten class, your worshipers.
If you want to post this on other platforms, please credit me. Looking at you instagram writing prompts.
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It was a lonely life, these days, as the god of bull castration.
I used to have a following. Not exactly a large or well-connected following, but a following nonetheless. Don't be fooled by all the flashy propaganda- most gods are remarkably similar to humans, just grinding away, day by day, at their own little niche.
And my niche dried up.
These days it was all corporations, and they didn't give two fucks about their workers. If someone lost a finger, that usually wasn't even a line in a spreadsheet somewhere- they just didn't care. The workers themselves were mostly imported, and what little remained of my rapidly-shrinking niche was taken over by some guy with an accent and too many eyes.
Never trust a god with anything but two eyes. You can trust the blindfolded ones, sometimes, and the three-eyed ones can be okay, but if they've got one, or four, or, heavens help us all, *none*, then you're in for a bad time. The many-eyed ones are monsters, every one of 'em, you can take it from me.
My parents are acting all snotty about the whole thing- they didn't want me to go into bull castration. "There's an opening for a god of Buggy Whips", they'd said back when I was choosing, and they still think I should have taken it, but I think it's pretty clear now that I made the right choice.
Nothing lasts forever. Not even gods.
So I was napping. There's worse things than nothing to do, as a diety. You get kinda blind to the world, yeah, but you don't have to run around after mortal messes, either. No making sure that they've got the angle right, no convincing a (very reasonably) concerned bull that, hey, no, everything is fine, everything is perfectly normal.
"Perfectly normal" is one of those phrases that *sounds* like it means nothing is going to go wrong, and *actually* means that nothing the person *saying* it finds wrong is going to happen. Normal for the spider is death for the fly, and a similar principle applies to herders and bulls.
But now I've been awakened. Time to brush off my skills and...
Wait. Where the heck's the bull?
And there wasn't one. Didn't seem to be one for miles. Something *fishy* was up.
Something fishy was *down*, in fact.
I had to stoop to see it. I wasn't terribly tall, but I was used to standing upright and seeing everything I needed to see for my job from there. Height isn't exactly a competitive advantage for a god of bull castration.
But, far lower than I normally looked, was a shine. *My* shrine.
It was crude. It was fragile. It was made out of sticks, leaves, and some remarkably frilly lace.
And there was a single M&M laying on it, placed by a kindergartener who was now admiring her work with a finger in her nose.
Coincidence? Technically possible, but wildly unlikely. Somewhat more likely was that she was aiming for some other god and had missed, but more likely still was that she'd looked up my information in some book, somewhere, and had, for some unimaginable reason, decided that she wanted to build *my* shrine.
There was no way it would last, of course. Some childish lark. Still, I planned to enjoy being awake while I could. There wasn't any of my normal work to be done, but I could at least keep the flies off of her while she played. Keeping animals away as a god of castration isn't terribly hard- you just let them know that you're there. Makes them keen to be somewhere else.
...
And I was wrong.
I'd expected to stick around for a day or two, *maybe* a week if she was unusually persistent.
But not only was her shrine still standing months later (occasionally repaired after being trod upon, but still), but she'd converted the rest of her kindergarten class. I had worshiper*s*, now.
I still didn't have much power, mind. And even less that I was willing to use in their general vicinity. But I kept them bug-free as they played, and even stopped a head lice outbreak. It was nice, being awake and having worshipers.
They were good kids.
The kids are in the room one day when I hear some yelling, and some loud noises. Not really within human hearing, yet, but heightened senses are part of the whole diety package.
Something bad was going on.
More yelling, more occasional sudden bursts of sharp, loud noises. And silences that were somehow worse than all of the sounds.
I went out to see.
It was some kid, some *older* kid, with one of those newfangled guns that sprays bullets like a pissing cow. Who the hell decided that we needed those, anyway? You got a gun, you got a gun. Why the hell would you need *that* much shooting done?
And the asshole was coming this way.
Dealing with guns wasn't really in my repertoire. I didn't have much experience dealing with this sort of thing. But like *hell* this guy was going to get anywhere near my kids.
I went back into the classroom. Most of the scissors were safety scissors, reasonably so, but the teacher had a real pair in her desk.
I grabbed it. They were huddled, now, and the teacher was trying and failing to keep everyone calm, and to put on a brave face.
She was too young and too poorly paid to be putting up with this shit. I'd see if I could figure out something nice to do for her, later.
For now, I headed back out to the asshole with the gun.
He wasn't shooting, at the moment. But he was still walking towards my kids' classroom. And that would not do.
I'd never, technically, done a castration myself. But desperate times call for desperate measures. I took the scissors and did what came naturally.
There was yelling, and there was screaming, and there were a few more gunshots, but only a few, and they were aimed up. They might be *someone's* problem, but it'd be a non-local someone. Good enough for me.
There were restraints, and confusion, and the sort of "relief" you feel when the immediate danger is over but your sense of safety is never going to return fully intact. The kids were pretty much unfazed, but the teacher was pretty clearly going to have a hard time of it.
There was only so much I could do. But now, I was the god of castrating bulls *and* assholes, and I would protect my flock. They'd eaarned it.
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Faith, a necessity to be a god. As without it you become nothing more than a myth long forgotten.
Though in the times now there are many who are forgotten in this enternal dream of reality. For it is pitiful to die away in such a way...
"Mom! I don't wanna go home! I wanna stay at the park!"
"Well sweetie I know you want to play more, but the reason you want to stay because of all that sugar you got from school."
"Well I still I wanna stay!"
"Well WE have to go home because you still have school. Go get your candy and let's get you home. Besides tonight I'm making your favorite *foood* ."
"MAC N CHEESE!?"
"Yup!"
"Ok, gotta pick up my candy."
The tiny flurry of joy went off to fo her candy scavenger hunt. Picking them up from the nooks and crannies of the holes and pipes of the playground. Though picking up her final piece at the edge of the park. Something ominous stood near her. A small shrine of old and rotting wood. The stones that held it above the ground grappled and dressed in vines. The small statue at the center reminiscent of the small girl's doll collection. With its face symbolic of joy. As small girl walked towards it with a sense of curiosity. A idea sparked in that innocent head of hers.
"You look like my dolls at my dollhouse. Though you got no one else with you... would you like a piece of candy? My mom is probably going to hide it when I get home and I won't get to eat it all."
". . ."
"May! Have you finished getting your candy?"
"Yes mom!"
"Then let's start heading home!"
"OK!."
In a hurry she placed a bite-sized chocolate on the ancient stone before the joyful statue. Her legs rushing her to her mom so she can have her favorite dinner at home. Leaving the shrine alone as it was before.
...
The chocolate laying against the stone. A small paw reached up to lift it. The furred face of a small fox. The fur orange as the very fruit themselves and ears pointed up in curiosity. Golden eyes laid upon the small wrapper.
"A offering? A... offering... it has been so long."
Looking up the small golden eyed fox looked up at the twilight sun and the empty playground. They had been long forgotten as they became useless to people long ago. As other gods took all faith and belief for themselves.
"That girl... I MUSN'T LOSE THIS CHANCE OF A FORTUNE!"
In a swift jump of the small furred god. They went on to follow their only believer. As gods of innocent and playful things constantly die off when relying of the minds of mature minds. But the small hope and cherished imagination that only young and humble minds keeps them alive. For the joy of fantasy fades as time goes on.
The ride home was quiet except for May asking if they were home yet repeatedly. As she was all to excited to have mac'n'cheese for dinner. The road slowed down as they reached their home. The grass green as ever shaded in the now fading sun. The car's engine coming to a halt.
May's mother helped her out of the car walked her inside their home. It was clean as May was always told to clean up her toys everytime she played. The beige walls giving off a cozy background for their eyes.
(I'll continue this a bit later. I got some stuff that needs doing. But I will complete this prompt the best I can soon.)
| 2021-09-02T09:33:27 | 2021-09-02T09:25:32 | 142 | 57 |
[WP] You are born with the ability to stop time, but one day you see something else is moving when you have already stopped time.
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It got lonely sometimes, being essentially omnipotent, capable of accessing funds at any time, of getting close enough to your crush's face to smell their still-hanging breath and being able to get in some much needed gym-time before an audition that you've only been told about the day before. Singer by trade, an Abater by nature. Both require good physical fitness.
Whenever I stop time it feels like I'm reaching out into the everything for one singular point and when I lock onto it and feel it pulsing through me like a laser filling me with energy, I... I'm filled with a warmth that is incomparable. That no man or woman has ever given me. Then when I restart time it goes and there's no cooling off period, only a sudden and immediate cold like I've been sealed up with frost. The process of having that taken away from you as quick as a zip-lock bag is pulled shut is exhausting, although I've built up enough stamina over time to withstand it with the aid of a coffee.
The direction that the heat being transmitted comes from is different each time, but only be a degree. I've had more than enough time to sit and ponder it, I've even pulled out a compass and found that it's just North-East from where I live. I wonder...
I reach out with my mind and push what feels like my soul outwards, envisioning it like a spectral extension of myself, transparent, but shimmering at its edges. As it moves forwards it expands and loses the shape of me, stretching out, distorting everything slightly, lining the floors, the chairs, the people, all of it with itself and that shattered sugar-glass shimmer. In the midst of all of it, I feel the pull and it reaches to my diaphragm, which becomes warm and relaxed. Once the connection is stable, I can open my eyes.
The Barista in front of me is holding out my order with an impatient, defeated stare and her mouth open in the shape of 'Sir?'. I took note of how and where I was standing, then stepped out of the pose. Everyone, as always, was unmoving, still as statues, their scents, their tensions and their stares trapped with the emotion inside them. I walked past a man and smelled his delicate aftershave. I looked him in the eyes, a handsome brunette with green eyes contrasted with his bourbon skin. I stepped forwards, casually and pushed my face into his chest, breathing him in and holding him around the back with my arms.
I never went further than this. Scents I'm allowed and I'm even allowed to stare intensely for hours, studying people's faces and figures - but no undressing, no sexual interaction and then there was this grey area where I was allowed to do things like smell their shirts or fix their hair. It's a way of stealing intimacy when your ability to basically take what you want has given you too much power and you need to temper yourself. Even what I took I was not entitled to, but it was the barest minimum I could do to retain my sanity and hopefully harm no one in the process (least of all, myself). Consider me an intimacy vampire. That's what the Dark Fantasy genre's basically an analogy for anyway, right?
Next thing I did was find a car and follow the feeling in the direction it pulled me. It was like an internal SatNav. It pulled me onto the motorway and further up North than I expected, until I hit Derby, this lovely little place that's still in the Midlands, but where they talk a little more farmer'ish like. Counter-culture is also rife here in a way it's just not back in Coventry or Birmingham, the two places I generally dot between.
I got out of my car (Well, I say mine...) at Markeaton Park, this fantastic place with grand houses and entertainment for the children (that I ignored the age-restrictions of and enjoyed anyway)... But after my seventh round of mini-golf and my 4th ice-cream with candyfloss atop the Flake like a head on a pike, I got a little bored and remembered why I was there. The feeling had never left, not whilst I had kicked some kids' football onto the goal line, not when I had knocked that clowns' nose off (thanks to Stephen King, I'm not a big fan) and not when I had removed the dodgy ducks from the hook-a-duck to make it a fair game.
But... It had moved.
By that I mean, it had been moving around and I had been overriding the new sensation with sugar and mental stimulation.
I felt I must be close, because I could never feel minute movements of the feeling being transmitted back when I was in Cov, I just noticed on different occasions that it had slightly changed position. Now however, it had gone from one side of my body to the other in a matter of ten minutes.
I was freaked, to say the least.
What was I about to discover? Was I about to find some kind of Mage that had placed this enchantment on me? A government drone set up to draw me, so they could make use of my abilities? Or worse than all of that... Just nothing. No counsel for this angst that filled me, no compress for the loneliness and no lit torch for the cold.
I chomped down one last hot dog then set my face and stomped towards the source of the feeling.
And I saw the most incredible thing I have ever seen in my life - seriously, it beat out that video where the panda's wandering away from its zoo-keeper and a British bloke is doing a voice-over pretending that he's drunk on a Saturday night out with 'the lads'... You know the one! Oh, it's a classic.
But there she was, adding extra Flakes and Smarties to running kids' ice-creams. She was about 5'7", blonde and doe-eyed, wearing floral doc martens and a summer dress. Her skin was the colour of milk with a touch of strawberry syrup and her body was womanly, held in a girlish lean. She flitted from child to child, only adding sweets to the ice creams that already had some in, presumably conscious of possible allergies and the heat I felt throughout my entire body at the moment her radiance hit me was luscious, divine and a little animalistic. I wanted to devour this total stranger in that moment, but in the same breath, I wanted to build a fort with her and watch movies.
When she looked my way, I stood totally still and as she walked over, she said
"I didn't notice you before."
I waited until she was up close and replied,
'Funny. I think you've been on my mind for a while.'
*** WILL POST PART TWO LATER. JUST GOING TO GO AND CATCH THE END OF PRIDE!!! ***
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"I fucking hate Mrs. Song." I think as I snatch the pop quiz paper out of her boney fingers. She has this ridiculous expression on her face. People always look funny when I freeze time. Like when I caught Jaden in the middle of a sneeze, spit and snot floating in front of him. I wonder how many likes did that photo get?
I reach the park in no time -get it?- and go to my favourite cheating-on-exams spot. The weather is nice, it's sunny and warm. There isn't many people around me, just an old couple, a dog walker and some guy jogging. I may not have all the time in the world, time freezing gets the best of you after a while, but I throw the stupid quiz and my book and lay on the grass next to them. I guess I can afford five minutes to chill, I mean it has been a tiring day -no it hasn't- and I deserve this -no I don't-.
I take a deep breath and look around, The dog walker has really nice boobs. A could covers the sun for a couple of seconds, casting a shadow on the beautiful scenery. The world is quite, and the dog walker is definitely a D cup.
"Man this is relaxi-"
wait, WHAT?
I look up so fast I almost crack my neck. I search the sky and... THERE IT IS! A fucking cloud. A motherfucking cloud just floating away, looking all cloudy and chill, like it didn't just defy the laws of.... whatever I have.
I get up and chase after it, stomping on the quiz paper and poking the dog walker's boob on the way -because anything more than that would be disrespectful ya know?- I only chase the damn thing for a couple of blocks when and I'm already out of breath.Time freezing is really wearing me down. I'll just unfreeze it and keep my eyes on the cloud, it'd be easy since it's so sunny today.
I've been running for hours. I'm officially out of town. A police man chased after me on the way asking me why aren't I at school or something so I had to freeze time for a second to lose him. Other than that, I didn't use my ability.
Wait.... waitwaitwaitwait!
What if I'm chasing the wrong fucking could ? they all look the same. And it did get mixed with other clouds during the chase. And what the fuck I'm I doing anyway? chasing it till the end of time?
I stop, catching my breath. Damn I'm tired. I look up and concentrate. Freezing time takes a bit more time when I'm this tired but I can see that truck stop -the driver is picking his nose btw- I look up to the Devil Express -yes I named the cloud, problem?- and to my horror, it stopped.
"Shit!" I scream out loud. I think I'm gonna cry. This sucks. I know that I'll freeze time everyday and walk around with my head raised like an idiot.
But then, the cloud started moving again, kinda like reforming. Does it want to tell me something?
I squint my eyes, trying to figure out what the cloud is doing. Is that a hand? Are those finge-
"WELL FUCK YOU TOO."
| 2016-06-19T05:32:37 | 2016-06-19T02:49:02 | 65 | 31 |
[WP] Officially, you're a weak, D rank villain. Unofficially, you're one of the strongest beings on the planet that is secretly employed to "train" fledgling heroes by giving them an easy first real fight. But one day an A rank villain crashes your heist and you must protect your "students".
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Part 1 of 2
“ Well shit,” I mumbled. Here I am bound and gagged when the fiery pentagram appeared before us.
Silver-fisher and Dawnstar had radioed for a pickup when literally all hell broke loose. From a portal made of fire swarmed a million scream ghastly skulls. “Shit shit,” I panicked. These two barely passed, and I grade on a curve, and now this clown has to show up.
With one arrogant step, he emerged. Wreathed in fire and soot, taller than most human beings with skin like charcoal and hair like ash, flanked by two hellish dog like abomination and carrying his sword of blackened charred metal in one hand and a shofar in the other; Ul’gaas, The King Wreathed In Flames, Lord of The Red Wave, Proclaimer of His Word and Herald of Darkness That Threatens To Consume All had arrived. Or as I like to think of him, the loudmouth idiot that ruin their final exam.
“Hark, you all will bear witness to the power of the Darkness That Threatens To Consumes All,” he proclaimed. With a blow of his shofar, a wave of pressure and energy crashed into us. Dawnstar, bless her heart, jumped in front of me to shield me with her body. Silver-fisher jumped in front of several officers who were trying to get control of the scene. The entire area was bathed in a blinding light. Unbeknownst to most, he was literally proclaiming the words of his master. Many wouldn’t notice it unless they spoke Advaru.
When the light died down, an unconscious Dawnstar lay on top of me. I looked around the area. To my surprise a bustling city street looked like a nuclear bomb went off. It looked like every cityscape from every post-apocalyptic movie where things go from zero to hell in an instant. Cars flipped upside down and destroyed buildings on the verge of collapsing. There were several human shaped burn marks in the asphalt. The worst were the soul orbs simply hovering without ascending. Hundred of them. Maybe thousands. Some were white as fresh fallen snow, others were black as Ul’gaas’ skin. Most were varying shades between the two. I looked around for Silver-fisher.
He was…well at least he was alive. His uniform had been destroyed and I can see impact marks on his body where he took several blows. The officers weren't, however. Their shadows burned the very walls of their cruiser.
Ul’gaas looked around and smiled, “His words hath been delivered. Let the souls of those that has heard the words of the Darkness That Threatens To Consume All converge to me. Rejoice for you will fuel his return.” He raised his sword and began to absorb the soul orb. They swiftly moved to the sword. I watched as Dawnstar began convulsing and so did Silver-fisher. Silhouettes began pulling from them. Afterimages desperately clinging onto their physical forms.
Technically, they were still alive. So any attempts to take their souls was negated by this natural defenses. But they were severely weakened first, and their bodies were concentrating on healing. Silver-fisher more so. I was thankful that they still had physical bodies to protect their souls and give them a buoy in this soul maelstrom.
I hate breaking character. Even when I want to congratulate a little engine like these two, I remain in character. But I will not have promising heroes killed before they can do good.
“Hey, Noisemaker to the Asshole that can’t seem to take the hint,” I screamed, “I have a bone to pick you. Preferably, your ribs.” When the pair stop convulsing, I know I got his attention.
“Who dares deny the word of the….” He started.
“Of the Darkness That Threatens To Consume All. Blah. Blah. Blah,” I interrupted, “You have killed several hundred people with your little proclamation. Strike One. You made me break character. Strike Two. And you nearly kill two of my little engines that could. Strike Three. Now I have send you back to your hell with one of my size fourteen megametal boots lodge so far your ass it going to be on your mind for all of eternity.”
“Puny mortal, do you wish to receive the word again?” He started toward me. I carefully undo my bonds and gently set Dawnstar down. I will have to deal with this fool first before I get them some help. I stand up and smile, “Let me show you how I do things.”
Raising my hand toward the sun, I summon down my spear. Like a bolt of lightning, it struck the ground. Stabbed into the ground before me was an ornate spear. Made of golden metal that shines brighter than the morning sun. It cracked and sparked with an unique energy.
“A divine weapon?” Ul’gaas puzzled aloud.
“So you know what this is? Good. Because I am going to use it to make an Ul’gaas kebab,” I declared as I withdrew it and rushed at him with unseen speed. He barely managed to get his sword up to block. He attempted to blow his shofar again to use his power but I kicked him in the stomach to stop him.
“Yeah, once was enough,” I commented as he went flying. His shofar knocked out his hand. His two abominations rushed at me but two energy blasts interrupted their charge. I looked up to see Paragon and Glory descending.
“If I knew you two were going to show up, I would have stayed in character,” I spat, “Someone help my little engines. I have a herald to find.”
I watched as the shofar started to wiggle and move, before flying back to its possessor. Two massive black wings erupted from my back. I flap them once before I take off to follow the instrument. Glory and Paragon could handle these abominations without a problem and protect those two. I had to deal with hornboy. It didn’t take me long to find him. His shofar flew into a building not far as I thought I kicked him.
“Come out now and I promise to only maim you a little,” I called out into a destroyed cavity in a skyscraper. His respond was an energy blast. Not as strong as his Proclamation of The Word but it was fast. Putting me on the defensive. My right wing closed around me like a shield. However that momentary distraction was all he needed. He launched his offensive. He battered at my wing forcing me to the ground. He alternated strikes from his sword and shofar as the earth threatened to give way under me.
One of his abominations slammed into him. Or when I looked it was thrown by Paragon. I took the opportunity and stabbed Ul’gaas in the chest.
“How could I, the Proclaimer of His Word, be defeated?” he pondered aloud, “You are no mortal. No being of his world. Wielder of A Divine Spear with blackened wings, who are you?”
“I am a shadow casted when the light shines, that is all scum like you need to know.” He let out a scream as he erupted into a million tiny black embers. Paragon landed beside me, “Who what that?”
I let out a sigh and state, “That was Ul’gaas, The King Wreathed In Flames, Lord of Red Wave, Proclaimer of His Word, and Herald of the Darkness That Threatens To Consume All.” I used my fingers to make sure I got all his important titles.
“Great,” he said sarcastically, “You kill him?”
“Nope. He will be back. Demons with titles like his…those fools need special means to kill. Though he won’t be back for a while though,” I turn back to him before unsummoning my spear, “My engines?”
“Glory is tending to them. I am not going to lie. Silver-fisher is in bad shape,” Paragon stated looking away from me.
“Great. Fucking great,” I said, “I will deal this later.” The sound of incoming helicopters and other heroes brought me back from my job.
I turn to Paragon and hand him Dawnstar’s restraints, “Quick bind me.” Paragon rolled his eyes as he complied.
“You know you could just be a hero instead of a faux-villain,” he said, ensuring the restraints were tight on me.
“I could but I would have to actually do something heroic. I am a teacher dammit and a damn good one,” I declared as he slung me over his shoulder.
“Whatever, you dislike having council oversight and paperwork,” Paragon countered as he flew me back to where Glory was.
“What can I say, I am lazy,” I offered up.
Part1of2
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[Part 1 of 2]
“Why are you harassing these idiots? Can’t you go get your ass kicked by Captain Wonder spark or one of the other poorly named bastards that inhabit this stupid rock we have to share?” Deathly Despair stormed over to Fortune, giving her a shove, standing between her and the wannabe heroes. The three heroes looking at one another, not having any information on their little laminated hero sheets about what to do in this situation.
“Oh, please. I’m doing you a favor, Deathly. You were struggling against amateurs. I know we usually have a rule about not going after other people’s heists, but let’s be real. You are a D-list villain with a poor record of completing heists. The painting in this place won’t ever reach your hands, let someone competent take over. Now step aside, I have some coffins to fill.”
Fortune stepped forward, clenching her fist as the ground around the heroes shook. “Get back you idiots, she’s about to pull the floor out from under you.” Deathly shouted, grabbing her wrist, twisting it behind her back. The ground beneath the heroes stopped shaking and instead Deathly felt the rumblings below his feet before they both fell, landing on a pile of rubble and art below.
The two villains rose to their feet, Fortune snatching her hand free from his grip. “That’s a suspicious amount of insight for a D-list villain. Are you not telling us something Deathly, don’t tell me you are working for the heroes?”
“Not at all. I just don’t want to see some rookies killed because of you. Who do you think would be blamed if they died?” Deathly tried to keep up his disguise, circling the villain who didn’t break their line of sight.
“I know who would be blamed, that’s the point. Killing the rookies is a no-no, but technically if they died during your heist, no one would know I was the one that killed them. Its clever, isn’t it? But if you hand over the art, maybe I can just let them live.”
“The arts, not mine to hand over. Look, if you want the artwork, you can have it. Just leave the rookies alone and I’ll show you where it is, ok?” Deathly had to play the hero. Even if this blew his identity, he needed to save them. He motioned Fortune to follow only for a slimy whip to fall through the hole, tossing one of the rookies with it.
“We won’t let you get to the artwork.” Homehit flew through the air, being launched by the slime, heading straight towards Fortune. She had spark but was leaving herself open to attack.
Fortune smiled, tilting her head as the surrounding rubble built itself up, providing a nice wall of defense. “Really? Do try to get me then, I want to see if you can break through brick.”
Homehit panicked, flailing her arms madly in front of her, not trusting her super strength. She might have been the strongest in her party, but her strength hadn’t developed enough to break through brick. As she neared the wall, Deathly launched forward, slamming his fist into it, breaking it, sending the rubble back to the floor, leaving an opening.
With a clear path being revealed, Homehit raised her fist, punching Fortune, sending the powerful villain hurtling backwards. “You little shit.” She cursed at Homehit before turning to Deathly. “And you. You have some nerve helping those brats, I’ll take you all down.”
The surrounding area shook, the situation getting dire. Was she really going to bring down the entire building? She didn’t seem to care about the art anymore, wanting to kill the group. Deathly prepared to attack, only to watch Spiderbite hanging from the ceiling, about to fall.
“Damn it, I told you all to stay back. Googoo boy, start putting your slime on anything you can reach, try to make it stick together, buy us some time. Spiderbite, drop from the ceiling, I’ll catch you.” Deathly ordered, getting into position.
“I won’t trust a villain; you just want to kill me. Googoo, can you make me something to land on?” Spiderbite said, struggling to keep his grip. His powers not granting him the climbing abilities of a spider unfortunately, only the ability to deliver a handful of toxic bites or sprays.
“I can’t. Everything keeps wobbling. I’ll try to slow the fall down, that’s all I can do. Can Homehit get you?” He asked, desperately placing his slime between broken pieces of the building, keeping it stuck together temporarily. Poor Googoo probably thought he was saving civilians, not knowing that the gallery was empty.
Homehit was dazed, trying to regain her composure after the throw. Deathly waved his arms at Spiderbite, only to get hit in the back by a brick. “Heh, two birds with one brick, I’ll kill you both.”
[Part 2](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/o6dbxn/wp_officially_youre_a_weak_d_rank_villain/h2rzmh4/)
| 2021-06-23T11:09:52 | 2021-06-23T08:19:33 | 330 | 164 |
[WP] You’ve been sentenced to death in a magical court. The court allows all prisoners to pick how they die and they will carry it out immediately. You think you have it all figured out until the prisoner before you picks old age and is instantly transformed into a dying old man. You’re up next.
|
Despite what my old professor would have said, I wouldn't necessarily call myself a clever man. I've always been content to simply watch the world go round, spending my time working on various little projects, tinkering with magical trinkets and what not. Didn't really believe in any cause enough to stick my neck out or make a name for myself. Still, I did what I needed to do and spent my days studying away, slowly building up a group of fellow researchers in this little library of ours. Nothing too elaborate, we assumed that no one would come to bother us while we did our work.
And yet here I am. Standing in line with a dozen other folk, men, women and even a child. All sentenced to an immediate execution by the Arcane Magistrate. From the sounds of their judgement, we were all in the wrong place at the wrong time. It seems that part of this building was being used by a group of abolitionists who were in the middle of plotting out some rather heinous... incidents. Honestly these Arcane bastards deserved it but considering the might of their magical voodoo or whatever they almost never sufferers any consequences. Still, I suppose the threat of it was enough to prompt our demise.
I watched as the man in front of me, one of the abolitionists, tried to pull off some clever little trick about dying of old age. Not the worst idea, but the Magistrate had been doing this kind of work for some time. The "immediate" part of the punishment made for a rather gruesome spectacle, given a rather impressive display of just how much a human can change over the course of a lifetime. Once they had cleared out the poor bastard and his now impressive volume of hair I stepped forward to take my turn.
"Mr. Greyhawk."
I grimaced at that. Technically I had never gotten any sort of doctorate. Still I suppose now was not the time to be worried about that sort of thing.
"You have been charged with aiding an abolitionist group, both by providing a base of operations as well as access to blueprints and textbooks describing the means to create magical weapons. For this you have been sentenced to death by execution. You may now decide your fate."
Ah, that would explain the immediate death sentence. I had wondered why they took such an extreme measure, though I personally wouldn't describe all the texts as being recipes for magical weaponry. Although with a little tweak or two I suppose you could make something nasty with a few brewed up potions and a teleportation device.
I looked up at the Magistrate, all so confident in themselves and their many decades or centuries of judging and condemnation. All of them leaders in their own magic fields, Abjuration, Alteration, Conjuration, Enchanting and even Chronomancy. Time to see how they'd react to something a little... different. I cleared my throat.
"If I may ask, my wish is to die by a certain potion. As you have probably noted I and the other researchers were quite familiar with potion craft but in our years there were a few we were never able to make. The one I am thinking of in particular requires some choice ingredients and a period of 3 days to brew. Would this still be acceptable?"
They took a moment and glanced about themselves, murmuring until they came to a conclusion. The first one spoke again.
"What would we need to create this potion?"
"As a matter of fact, I jotted down a list of ingredients for this very thing!"
I puled the paper out and extended my hand towards them. One of them lifted it up and glanced at it. Then he frowned. By the end of the list he looked rather confused and disgusted, emotions I hadn't seen from them yet.
"Rest assured, the potion I wrote down is going to kill me and only me." Which wasn't even a lie, not that I would have been able to even if I wanted thanks to the magical zone around us. The one who grabbed the list began speaking.
"I'll be frank, this is quite the strange potion. Wyvern blood, manticore venom, belladonna, arsenic, a crushed unicorn horn and... brewed in a human heart for three days? What in the Hells made you decide to make something like this!?"
I smiled up at them, a sheepish grin. "I wanted to see your reaction to an unusual request. So, could you make it?"
Another round of mumbling and grumbling from the Magistrate. Finally one of their number motioned for an associate to step forward, then move into another room. He came out carrying a handful of objects, the potions ingredients. Honestly impressive, they were probably the only group around that had access to this sort of thing on a whim.
A second associate walked over to one of the bodies that lay on the ground, a former researcher who had asked to have his heart promptly and painlessly removed. A quick death, and hopefully as painless as they promised.
Working together the associates began mixing the ingredients together and poured them into the heart. Finally the chronomancer worked a spell overtop the potion, speeding up its process in a blur of motion. It was ready.
"Wonderful!" I exclaimed, noting the lovely purple glow now emanating from the heart that was dyed a blackish colour. "Now that looks like a delightful way to go out."
I reached out my hand to take the heart. Heavier than I had originally expected but still nothing I couldn't down. With a last look up at the Magistrate I raised my hand up in a toast, then drank the whole thing.
It took a moment to kick in, allowing me to savour the expressions of the court. The faces of disgust, those judgmental glares and the bored tones of officials wanting to get on with the day. My body spasmed as the drought burned its way down into my stomach, a mix of painful ecstasy and flaming ice. Still I made sure to keep my eyes focused on the Magistrate even as my vision began to cloud. I wanted to remember those faces.
I imagine I'd be seeing them again soon enough. After all, they had only cleared out the areas that had been marked on the floor plan and nothing beneath that. They certainly wouldn't have known what to do with my lovely little collection of trinkets that now housed my phylactery.
No I wouldn't consider myself clever, but compared to these dusty old fools? I was far, far beyond any of them.
|
\[The Magistrate's Death Sentence\] (Non-canon)
Hehe... I had them beat. these inmates, they think small, like a baby chick, but me? I like to think big. Bigger than any of these damnable mages could ever pull off. I may be a criminal, but a being like me knows a trick or two to get them to slip, like an Olympic runner's shoes sliding on ice. After all, they MUST enact their prisoner's dying wish, but this one... is just impossible.
"Prisoner Number 4755, state how you wish to die" The leader among them commanded out. They knew how I ended up here, because I committed genocide upon the magical races and attempted to ensure there would be no survivors left, but there were.
"Heh. The way I'll die? Battle to the death, between all nine of you versus one of me, without magic, with my death resulting shortly after my victory against you all, " I retorted, my eyes moving about like someone who's completely lost themselves to madness, a cocky smirk spreading over my face. I saw their eyes all widen, as this was a first for them.
The leader stood up. No other prisoner could even say they managed to even get the leader of these Magi to raise even but a hand, yet here I am, having made him stand tall, a 5 foot 11 male who looked to be moderately well toned. And from his normally dead serious look, I saw him break a smile.
"Clever lass," He simply responded. The very words sent shivers down the other eight's spines. They knew they had no chance against me, yet they couldn't go against the way I wished to perish, "She's won. No other prisoner here could ever do what she just pulled, not in comparison to the feats she's pulled. We have no choice but to send her back to her dimension, everyone."
"What!? You would send this DEMON back to HER world!?" One of the others in the council got up, exasperated, "Have you ANY IDEA what she may have even done in her world!?"
"You mean OTHER than kill a bunch of corrupt beings like tyrants, selfish gods and royal demons?" The third magi knew of my accomplishments, somehow. The second magi shut up immediately from hearing it, "I sensed you were not the one who actually committed the crime, though you intentionally carried her face to unnerve us before asserting victory. I would assume it to be in... well, everything's interest right now to send you home.... Avidala."
That was the last they told me, before I woke up next to Levira in the dead of night. I o not care to fully understand what happened to me, but for all I care, I had done the impossible, even for a different world entirely, if only that other me could see the look on my face as she suffers...
\[End.\]
| 2022-11-19T00:02:48 | 2022-11-18T19:26:21 | 161 | 51 |
[WP] Earth is discovered by a peaceful coalition of civilizations. Turns out we missed several major technologies normally developed by now. The aliens are very confused how we got here.
|
"Wait, wait," he interjected. We generally agreed to call all of our
alien visitors "he", they didn't really have a specific gender, and
the galactic translators they'd given us apparently rendered other
pronouns as veiled insults. Still, it felt a bit weird calling the
3-foot tall, 5-legged tower of squishy rings _any_ gender, but we
dealt.
"Wait, wait," he said, "Where is the regulator?"
I looked him in the eye -- the xenobilogists assured me these guys have what
amounts to eyes, located on the second-from-the-top ring. Apparently
the whole thing was an eye! They could see 360 degrees around
themselves.
I looked him in the eye and was about to ask him what he meant
he continued, "You are using **uranium** in this reactor! Where's
the regulation lattice?" he clarified.
My expression must have confused him, because he repeated himself,
much slower, "The. Regulation. Lattice."
"I, .. uh. The what?" I asked.
At this point, I'd thought I'd seen and experienced most things in
life. I mean, I was giving an **alien** a tour of one of our newest
nuclear reactors. 5 years ago, I would've told you that aliens were
a myth, and I would never have dreamed I'd see the inside of any sort
of reactor, much less the world's latest and greatest. I'd come a
long way, and I'd seen and done a lot of shit in my life.
Until now. Now I have seen what a 3-foot tall stack of squish circles
that occasionally -- for lack of a better word -- _splurk_ a weird
slime that evaporates within seconds from between their rings... well,
I've seen what that looks like when it's both terrified and astounded
in a single instant.
He blurted out, "You don't even know what that is!"
I shrugged and tried to make myself look a little less idiotic, "I
admit, reactor design isn't my background--"
"How to you prevent runaway reactions!" he ask-shouted at me.
I knew this one! "The reactor is designed to constantly pump coolant
through the system and distribute any excess heat.." He interrupted.
"Yes, yes, but how do you stop the runaway reactions? Have you
created something like the lattice?"
I had no idea how to even begin to answer that. I looked behind me
to one of the plant scientists that'd been following along silently,
in askance. He srugged, indicating he didn't know what the hell this
thing was on about.
I fell back on that old diplomat training, "I'm sorry, but I just
don't understand what you're asking. Are you asking if melt down is
possible?"
He paused for a moment, making noises and motions the translator
simply translated in a generic system voice as, "Native profanity.
Native profanity. English does not have a concept to represent this
notion. Native profanity."
"This is dangerous! Why are we here!" finally made it through the din
of squawks, juicings, and other juvenile sounds.
"This is the safest nuclear plant humanity has ever designed," I said,
trying to remain both calm and reassuring, "There is minimal risk of
a runaway reaction--"
Again he cut me off, "'Minimal'! We'll all die here! The lattice is
supposed to permeate the fuel and control the reaction at the--"
Again, the translator used it's generic system voice here and inserted,
"English does not have a concept to represent this notion."
"--level," he finished.
Again, I looked over at the scientist, who again shrugged. Apparently,
his translator was just as useless. I decided to play the diplomat,
"We don't really know what you're talking about, but we'd love to
learn... perhaps our guys can talk with your guys?" I asked, nodding
toward the scientist that'd been until now silent.
Our alien friend waggled what appeared to be a giant boob atop his
stack of rings, a gesture I'm told is akin to nodding. "Excellent,"
I said, "Shall we continue the tour?"
"I would much rather relocate several days travel from this death trap,"
he said.
|
"You are telling me you have not yet rid your planet of Carbon Dioxide?!" The green thing asked quite confused. "How are you still prospering with the mere 100 year life span that the poison ensures. I have yet to see a species make it past the industrial age without ridding themselves of carbon dioxide."
"we just never thought much of it, since we were the ones making it." "So you just let it continue to kill billions of lives?"
"Pretty much. Didn't even realize it was what was killing us, we just presumed it was old age"
"Old age? Old Age, no one dies of old age, it doesn't exist. The carbon dioxide is wearing your organs out slowly over many years then boom killing you. I'll ensure the blueprints for a carbon dioxide filter is delivered to your engineers within 7 of your earth seconds" The creature clicks a button. "Okay it's done"
"Well thank you, sir. Does this mean were immortal now?"
"Yeah pretty much"
| 2017-03-09T21:52:03 | 2017-03-09T15:48:08 | 1,110 | 478 |
[WP] Everybody has a small animal with them representing their self image. A politician might have a well-groomed parrot, a bartender might have a pitbull... This is the first time you've ever met somebody with a bloody and abused familiar.
|
Somewhere outside my office, a tinkling bell announced the arrival of the first client of the day.
"Welcome to Carson's Familiar Clinic! Be with you in just a moment!" I called, straightening a thick stack of papers on my desk. From his perch behind my chair, Maverick, my myna familiar, squawked loudly.
"Quiet you! I don't have time for your shenanigans today!" I chided the bird.
"Quiet you!" Maverick called right back, doing an incredibly accurate impression of my own voice.
I blew a piece of hair that had somehow escaped my ponytail out of my face. "Perfect. You never talk when I want you to, but the rest of the time you won't shut up!"
Maverick just squawked again in reply.
"Promise me you will be on your best behavior today? I can't afford to lose any more clients because you won't hold your tongue."
"Promise!" The bird sidled to the far edge of his perch and began to preen, keeping one yellow eye facing me at all times.
Sighing heavily, I dropped the stack of papers into my desk. "You can come in now!"
The door to my office opened just a crack, allowing a woman to slip into the room. She had long, curly hair that looked as if it had only been brushed once in the last six months, a disheveled tan cardigan, and deep worry lines branching from either side of her silver-grey eyes.
"Yes, hello..." She started, her small voice nearly being swallowed by the room.
"Hello there!" I smiled broadly and extended a hand, pretending to be much happier than I actually felt. "My name is Doctor Carson, though you can call me Amanda if you would prefer. And this fellow back here is named Maverick." I gestured at the bird, who said hello in an exaggerated stage whisper. The woman smiled weakly.
"Y-yes, hello...I'm Melissa Turner." She gave my hand a feeble shake and let go quickly, as if it had suddenly turned into a snake. For a moment, neither of us moved, her eyes flickering around my office with a nervous energy.
"Sit down!" Called Maverick, almost singing the words. I shot him a dirty look. He hid his beak behind a wing and muttered a half-hearted 'sorry'.
"He does have a point though." I smiled weakly, trying to regain some of my composure. "Here, have a seat. What brings you to my clinic today?"
"We-well, it's Jerry..." She frowned, still not meeting my eyes, but I was used to clients who preferred to beat around the bush.
"...Is Jerry the name of your familiar?" I asked. She nodded, her head moving so little that her curls didn't even move.
"I think he's sick...oh, where are you Jerry..."
She sifted through her pockets as if looking for something, turning out a number of loose coins as she did. I raised an eyebrow in confusion. Normally, it was impossible to lose track of a familiar one once manifested. The connection was simply too strong.
"Here he is..." She said, without a hint of triumph. From her purse, she withdrew a tiny, crumpled field mouse and laid him on my desk. It lay exactly where she put it, not moving an inch. A trail of watery essence dribbled from the end of its tail.
"That's not good! Maverick, help me out?"
The bird fluttered down from his perch and alighted right next to the mouse, eyeing it closely. He hopped around it a couple of times, paying close attention to the tip of it's ruined tail.
"Still alive!" He called, then fluttered back to his stand.
I let out an enormous sigh of relief. "That's good..." I had seen quite a few damaged familiars in my day, but never one quite as bad as this. Injuries were one thing, but a death was quite another matter. Usually, the owner of a dead familiar would never fully recover, and may soon pass as well.
"I think he's ill, but I don't know why!" Mrs. Turner seemed to almost be pleading. "I have taken wonderful care of him! He has his own dish, and a little pillow my husband made for him, and..."
"I'm sure you do, Ma'am." I held up my hands to stop her before she worked herself into a frenzy. "Has anything happened recently, around when he started acting strange?"
"N-no!" She stammered, shaking her head. "Could I have squished him somehow? Maybe...hurt him without meaning to?" Her eyes shone with tears.
I smiled kindly at her. "No, nothing like that. Familiars don't get hurt in the way you or I do. Good thing too, Or Maverick would be dumb as a door-nail with all the times he has flown into closed windows!
Maverick puffed up his feathers indignantly, but remained silent.
"Well, what then?" The woman frowned. "He has been like this for days, I don't know what else to do!"
"Familiars are an externalization of who we are inside." I explained. "When we are hurting, they hurt. When we are happy, they are happy...when I asked if anything happened recently, I didn't mean to him. I meant *to you*."
Mrs. Turner sniffed. "I...I don't know what you mean. Nothing has happened to me! Nothing at all!" She rose to her feet, scooping up the mouse as she did. "Now, if you aren't going to treat Jerry, I think that I should leave and find someone who will!"
"Alright. I'm sorry I couldn't be of more assistance." I sighed, escorting her to the door. Trying to work with someone who wouldn't talk would be little more than an exercise in futility.
"Husband!" Crowed Maverick, startling us both. Mrs. Turner stopped.
"What did he say?" She turned to glare at me, as if I had been rude instead of my bird.
"It's her husband!" Maverick said in his best sing-song voice.
"I just said that it was nothing!" Mrs. Turner growled. "Now, *good day*!"
"...*Is* something wrong with your husband?" I asked, making her stop again right at the door.
"No. He...he's perfectly alright. I, he just..." Tears began to fill her eyes. Suddenly, she let out a choking sob. "He's just...in a better place now..."
All at once, she broke into tears, her fingers digging into my back for support as she pulled me into an embrace.
"It's ok...it's ok..." I spoke softly into her ear, stroking her curls as if she were a little girl and not a woman twice my age.
"I-it's just...he was so *healthy*...and then...and now he's..."
"I know...I know..."
"I just couldn't...couldn't face everything without...without him...And then Jerry got ill, and..."
"Jerry's not going anywhere, Melissa. He's just hurt, same as you. Do you want to sit down talk about it?"
"Yes...yes, I think that would be nice..."
Gently, I guided her back into her seat, placing her purse on the desk beside her.
"Now let's just talk this through, one step at a time."
"Well...," Mrs. Turner began, still sniffing, "it all started when we went to the doctor, and one of the routine tests came back positive. We thought nothing of it, of course, but then the followups were positive too..." She continued on for several minutes, outlining the events of the past few months with her voice slowly growing in strength. As she spoke, a tiny nose covered in whiskers poked out of her purse to sniff the air experimentally.
I smiled. One down, hundreds of others left to go.
Maybe my little business wouldn't wind up biting the dust after all.
|
The trail of blood ran all the way down the block and around the corner, a streaky red line obfuscated by overlapping paw-prints. It was impossible to miss on the white pavement; nonetheless, my hen kept her beak pressed to the ground in her best bloodhound impression. With each totter forward, she clucked, her head bobbing back and forth. I followed at a distance, taking measured paces to avoid stepping into the blood.
We found the source as we rounded the corner. It was a wolf, lying at the base of a park bench, fur patched with varying shades of red and brown like he'd been applied to a giant nosebleed. It was everywhere, streaking from his head to his paws, and there was more seeping out from underneath his belly. Nubs of bone jutted out at awkward angles, and his ribs came into view as he shifted and opened his mouth.
Next to the wolf sat a man on a park bench; upon seeing our approach, he stood up and shoved his hands in his hoodie pockets. "What you two gawking at?" he said.
"The blood. Didn't you notice it?" My hen clucked in agreement. "Is your wolf okay?"
He shrugged and turned away, towards the sky. "I guess." The wolf buried its face between its paws.
I'd half a mind to call the familiar abuse hotline right then. As I pulled out my phone, though, I noticed the man had turned his head slightly: he was looking at me out of the corner of my eye. We made peripheral eye contact, and he turned away again, letting out a sigh just loud enough to hear.
"Is everything okay?"
He shook his head and grunted. "It's fine, miss. Everything's fine." The man shifted ever-so-slightly to the left, leaving just enough room on the bench for me to sit. It was an opportunity I readily took: there was something amiss here, and I was determined to get to the bottom of it.
"My name's Florence," I said, and I slid into the bench next to him and held out my hand.
"Saul." Traces of a smile curled at his lips before he forced them back down. His sulk returned as he looked me in the eye. As we shook hands, I asked him what was wrong.
"Everything's wrong," he said with another sigh. "Everything. Just everything." His third sigh burned the sound permanently in my head. "Got the worst luck."
I nodded, not in agreement, but in commiseration. "It's hard out here, in the wide, wide world."
"Yeah, my life is just hard. So hard. That's apt to describe it." He took a huge sniff that incited a reproachful cluck from my hen. "Down on my luck. Can't get a job." He laughed and rubbed his nose with the corner of his sleeve. "Economy's trash. Market's trash. Ten applications and no interviews. It all feels like it's stacked against you, you know?"
I searched for the right words to say, but couldn't find any. "I'm sorry," I finally said.
"Not your fault. We can't do anything." Saul receded into his hoodie and slumped an inch down the bench. "It'd be fine, you know, normally. It's only temporary, you know?" He looked at me expectantly, and I nodded. "But it's so hard: every time you try and get up, the world's there to push you back down." His wolf howled in agreement.
"The world is unforgiving," I said automatically, trying to push him into making his point.
"I feel like...I'm a lone wolf out here." Saul chuckled and ran his fingers through his wolf's fur. "Guess that's why he's my familiar. Just me and my wolf, up against the world."
"But what about wolf packs?"
"Not every wolf runs with the pack." His tone was so harsh and brisk that it felt like an interruption. "Some wolves are just different. They just don't fit in. They're mis-they're ostracized. The pack is cruel; it's all about the unit, not the individual, you know?" Saul let out his trademark sigh, but his face was still wrought with anguish. He grunted and turned away once again.
My hen began to peck at my feet. "Guess she wants to go home," I muttered. Saul grunted again.
As I turned back around the corner, I took one last glance back at the wolf. All along its face, fresh blood seeped out of cuts that hadn't been there before.
| 2016-09-30T20:56:11 | 2016-09-30T20:19:48 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] When the zombie virus broke out, you were prepared. You quickly became the country's #1 zombie hunter - until science found the antidote to the virus that turns zombies into healthy humans again, retroactively making you the #1 mass murderer.
|
######[](#dropcap)
The light was blinding. Took me a moment to survey my surroundings, four white walls, one-way mirror, large iron door, last thing I remember was... Was...?
I try to get up, only to find my arms handcuffed, legs too, and... A muzzle? Great, it's one of *those* encampments.
"Hey! I know you're listening!" I struggle to make a sound, these things are heavy. Perfect for-
The door interrupts my thought, in came a woman with black-rimmed prescription glasses and tied hair in a bun, tablet in hand, uniformed in old standard from before the outbreak. Still sturdy I guess.
She takes a seat across from me, and queues up information on her tablet.
"Um... Hello?"
"Oh, right. Where are my manners?" It takes her a moment to collect her thoughts. "My name is Olivia Valley, I've been dispatched to examine and answer any significant questions you might have."
"Can we start with the whole...?" I gesture all abound, restraints clacking in concert. "What are you guys? Where am I?"
"We are the Belles Commonwealth, you're in a holding cell meant for processing... How do I put this...?" Her eyes search for an answer, "'New arrivals.'"
I roll my eyes, one of those again.
"The last thing I remember..." I rack my brain for answers, "We were on the coastline because I needed to break in and take... Take..."
"We apologize, some members have suffered minor memory loss upon awakening."
"Must of hit my head pretty hard. Concussion?"
Olivia looks down, "Something like that."
"I remember others with me, did they make it?"
"If you're talking about the others we successfully extracted from site, yes."
I breath a sigh of relief. "So... I guess it wasn't all for naught."
Olivia bit her lip before proceeding, "We... We apologize for taking so long, there were complications, issues with developing supply lines, distribution, logistics..."
"I want to say 'excuses,' but I kind of get it. Nature of the world we live in." I've heard this song and dance too often.
"That's not what I meant."
I raise an eyebrow.
"We mean in reviving you. President Begonia-"
"Wait-" I interrupt. "Tristan Begonia?"
Olivia nods, I start laughing, unable to hold in my surprise.
"That crybaby, to think Begonia would be leading the civilized world..." I chuckle a bit more, "So... How are things out there? Still dealing with those things? If so, maybe I can help."
"That's something we wanted to discuss with you. Because of your expedition, we've found a cure."
My eyes go wide. "So no more of those things?"
"The preferred term now is 'infected' but yes."
I grin, "I knew that we'd pull through. As for the rest of them? You need someone to get rid of them?"
Olivia doesn't answer.
"Well? What about the other so-called 'infected?' I know a cure just doesn't get rid of them."
"That's the thing, it did."
Her answer puzzled me, "What do you mean by that?"
"The cure was refined to such a degree that it would not only give humans immunity, but began to start the process of regressing symptoms in infected patients."
I break into cold sweat, "I thought..."
"In fact," she taps a few keys on her tablet and reveals... Me. I look just like those... Those things. Crazed. Mad. I guess I really didn't make it out after all.
I drop my head, silence once more deafens the room.
"President Begonia has issued a mass pardon for people like you." She drones on, "We have programs ^meant ^^for ^^^re-integration..."
I remember, "Jonny, Sam, Alex, Callahan, Jack..."
"Excuse me?"
"I've slain so many..."
"Your case isn't unique, we have plenty of-"
"Don't you see?! They're dead!" I screamed before going silent for a time. "They... They're dead, and they aren't coming back..."
"I... I share your pain." She looks up at the ceiling light, "There's not a day I ask myself what I could have done differently but there is no going back."
"Oh that's right, I never asked for your name," A few more taps, "Ah, it's-"
"Please," I interrupt once more, "Call me Doctor Taylor Ritcherstein. I spent a long time getting us to this state of affairs after all, for better or for worse, I'd like recognition for it."
She looks into my eyes and nods, "We have plenty of work to get done, let's begin."
|
I'd be lying if I said that I can justify it to myself. That I could wash away the guilt by telling myself "I did the right thing", followed by a vodka chaser.
The same old comforting justification that I probably saved more lives than I took, winning fights with a bullet for the space in my head.
When the outbreak happened, we all learned the true nature of man. When they found the cure, I learned my true nature. Truth is, it was always about the money. I didn't give a damn about "Making the world safer."
But, there were worse ways to live. Some resorted to barbarism, banditry, or worse. 'Least I never took anything I didn't earn.
Like many others, I dirtied my hands for the sake of society. Now, the world lays their own guilt in those same blood soaked hands. Those who came to me for help, now calling for justice? It's almost laughable.
All good deeds erased. Marked as a killer, the bloodlust towards me by the victims families is magnitudes greater than any zombie I ever slayed. I still believe that one death can save many, but am I truly right? I may need to defend myself soon.
| 2022-01-17T13:22:33 | 2022-01-17T13:05:49 | 63 | 43 |
[WP] In the near future a company holding the only patent to a point-to-point teleportation system in widespread use is exposed as a fraud and the truth is more horrible than anyone expected it to be.
|
“Free Trips for the month of July.” The advert had sparked controversy through governments and their various iterations of CDCs. Concentrated travel of that magnitude…the crowds alone would breed a second Black Death with no mention of the rampant crime. Illegal immigrants would surge through Prilotec’s security barriers, a desperate mob trampling greener fields with too many shoeless feet. Criminals would disappear in the chaos, free to prey on the transient masses. Jordan knew all of this would come to pass when the promotion had been released.
The company had bought his invention, turned it in to something monstrous. He begged them to only use it on the inanimate. The shipping industry would have made them a fortune on its own, but he did not create the device with an imbecilic mind. He sold the transporter and fled. They had sent their hit squads after him, but catching him was a fools task. He had created teleportation, perfected it beyond the simple point to point device; it was a child’s toy to him now. He was a ghost.
He had dropped rumors in forums, bombed teleportation stations across the globe, left messages scrawled in the blood of the company’s employees. That was in the early days, before the company was the people, integrated into everything. The horror he felt seeing children in the lines shook him to the core. He had done things in this war that he never believed himself capable.
The first time he teleported himself came to mind as he sat alone in the dimly lit room, a simple point to point in his basement that went so wrong. 12 feet, 12 feet faster than light. He arrived on the other side changed. All his doubts, fears, were gone, not just of his device, but of life. The elation that should have been there from his successful travel was also absent. The transfer had left him absent.
It was only curiosity that brought him back to the pad. If he hadn’t looked so closely he would have missed it. A fine layer of white dust covered the delicate electronics. His face was close and the dust so fine that his breath drew it into his lungs. All at once he was whole again. His memories tied back with emotion, life flowed through his veins once more. He knew, he knew, and he sold it anyway. The soul cannot travel faster than light; it is left behind.
They wouldn’t listen to him, thinking him mad at first, but soon those that had transported outnumbered those that hadn't. It was no longer that they didn’t believe; it was that they didn’t care. He spent his early days collecting the dust from the stations. It was difficult at first, but his collection efforts were aiding by his improved teleportation device. The suit he used slowed teleportation to just below the speed of light, and was fitted with vacuum hoses to siphon the dust.
When it entered him, he felt the whole of a person’s life, their pain, ambitions, loves, and desires. It was addicting, overpowering. He knew he was an addict, even then, but the waste of leaving it to be thrown away was too much to bear. He carried their lives, all of the victims of his teleporter. They were ghosts in his consciousness, reminders of his arrogance and greed.
The decision came quietly, in the months following the July fiasco. The world knew that their souls were gone, but without them they couldn’t summon the will to care. It was a blip on the evening news, a puff piece. The world was “better” now. Crime had dissolved, poverty was obliterated, and frivolity had given way to reason and logic. The planning for this moment took only days. The chorus of voices drove him through sleepless nights. One warhead detonated and teleported without resistance to every point on Earth. He stood in front of the shelf holding the box with a big red button. It seemed fitting this way. He had no need to physically connect to a device. He had rigged it to teleport the signal.
He needed only a moment of courage and it would be over, and he had the courage of billions. But he had their fears as well. They all swelled inside him still tied to the person it was ripped from, still following their thoughts. He was their love, their sorrow, their rage, their anger, their outrage. He was the ghost of humanity, and humanity would be avenged. They had only to culminate, to agree that it was time, even for a second, and it would be done.
|
"Deconstruction. Obliteration. Complete removal of your entire being. This is the secret to teleportation. This is what must be done to accomplish such a feat. The one on the other side? That's not you, that is a copy, but who the hell cares? So you die? What makes the first you so special?" Herald spat through his drunken lips. He had just been promoted to chief engineer in his division of work, and had just become privy to the secrets of his precious company. The only solution now was clear.
He didn't have the fortitude to kill himself, but what was the difference? The parts deconstructed weren't recycled on the other side. It was new parts completely, and not him. He had been drinking and walking through the units for hours now. Convinced his soul was gone, and he wasn't really even human. The other engineers stared sober and shaking at the sight of this once confident and intelligent man, reduced to madness by alcohol and trade secrets. They were more frightened by his face than the pistol he held at this point.
| 2014-08-25T10:18:29 | 2014-08-25T09:34:38 | 344 | 92 |
[WP] Give me the history textbook from your latest game of Civilization V.
|
Year 1550 A.D.
To my most esteemed enemy Attila the Hun,
You have finally done it, it is finished. My greatest fortress conquered,
my people enslaved, all the wealth of Japan now lies with you. You were like a force of nature relentless, striking without warning. How you greeted us as friends, allies, with a blade behind your back. I should have known, should have prepared for war. It still boils me to the bone how you treacherously slithered up, taking the advantage slowly. "Accidently" taking major materials, bribing the city states who we once called allies, then in the end the build up of troops on our borders. We trusted you, thought of you as a man of his word. But it seems honor meant nothing to you. We were being led astray to ruin all along...
Is what you would like to think. Do you take us for fools? We knew of your intend, of your treacherous intentions centuires ago.
However it was too late to prepare for war, too far behind to actually win against your armies. Therefore we accecpted our inevitable demise...
You however will accompany us. To your East lies Rome and its legions ready to strike as your warriors siege our remaining cities. To your North lies Napoleon with his fleet eyeing the riches of your coasts. Yes that's right we offered ourselves on a silver platter to them, to be a worthy sacrifice, all this for your destruction.
Now our remaining forces, half-starved, depleted, will drag your finest warriors down with them with the strength of hundreds. We will die happy knowing every death will be repaid in a river of blood. Run along now if you can, we will follow you to the ends of the world. For unlike you, we have nothing more to lose.
A village no more, a country no more, I am the last of my line.
Blood for blood.
|
###Chapter 7: The Great War of 1931 - 1969
The year is 1931, Bismarck the Terrible of Germany, as the other nations leader called him, had just conquered Songhai and Persia, securing his position on the continent. Being the first to discover that the world was round, Bismarck had large groups of scouting parties. He ordered them to scout the other countries and find their capitols. However, word spread quickly of Bismarcks conquest through nearby nation states and their allies. The scouting parties were first intercepted by the Mongols. The Mongols captured and killed some of the scouts, Bismarck used this as a platform to wage war overseas. A new operation had begun, named "Operation Dryout". The largest navy in the world, Germanys, steamed towards the Mongolian coastlines. Once there, they unleashed several bombardments on their capitol, working parties, and other cities. This shelling lasted for quite some time until the mighty Panzer units arrived with infantry, Anti Tank weaponry, and artillery. These men trekked the harsh terrain, conquering a nation state which was allied with the Mongols and proceeding to the Mongolian border. Once there, the Panzers spearheaded an attack followed by the infantry and AT, supported by artillery bombardment.
The Mongols lasted for quite some time, discovering attack helicopters before Germany, discover rocket artillery before Germany, but this proved no match for the sheer manpower and tactical skill of the German forces. By 1934 the Mongols had been wiped out. The nation state of Brussels was freed from Mongol hands and became allied with Germany. Now stationing the troops which fought in the Mongol-German War along the border with Japan, a lone infantry unit crossed the border by accident. This sparked the Two Year War which proceeded until the Japanese leader decided to ask for peace. Peace was accepted and everyone got along, except for the nation states. Brussels wished for the nation state of Hanoi to be destroyed. Because Brussels was an important strategic ally, Germany complied and conquered Hanoi. Expanding its borders to an island chain in the middle of an ocean. Then, Quebec wanted Venice destroyed. Venice was taken and in 1938, Quebec was conquered. The German countryside expanded and expanded, cities dotting the landscape every couple miles. Settlers being trained every two to three years and being sent overseas to begin new cities!
This sparked a golden ago, although in a time of war the German people were protected by their military and leaders grand tactical mind. The great general Patton was born and sent to the Mongol-Indian border to construct a citadel. The leader had heard of the supposedly peaceful Ghandi and his acts of terror. Now, only three major powers existed. Germany, Japan, and India. Japan, somewhat intimidated after the huge losses taken during the Two Year War and how close the Germans got to the capitol, agreed to an alliance and denouncing India. India denounced the Germans and Japanese after this and drove up their military spending, as recorded by scouts inside Indian territory. Several years passed and more nation states disappeared under the German flag. In 1940 the German and Japanese went to war against India. The Indians fought hard and well, forcing Japan to declare peace four years into the war. Indian and Germans fought until 1954. Fighting ended briefly at a stalemate, with no real peace declared, until 1960. The Japanese had gone to war again and lost their country to the Indians. Germany now fought on Japanese and Indian soil. The German navy surrounded India and begun bombardment. German submarines sank any Indian ships attempting to get out. The Indians were pushed back to the former Japanese border and then into their home country. Then was when the fighting got fiercer. Both sides now had atomic weapons and only the Germans were afraid to use it, for fear of backlash from unhappy civilians. India dropped a nuclear bomb on a captured Mongolian city and destroyed it. A modern tank unit had been stationed there and was destroyed, along with the 12,000 citizens of the city.
In 1965 the Germans and Indians had been going back and forth. It either ended within that decade, or it would never end and both countries would be drained of resources. The Germans launched a major offensive into the remaining Indian land. Armor units were launched from the nearest citadel along with any Artillery pieces in the area which were not in contact with the enemy. All units which could engage the enemy were obliged to. Artillery rained on enemy infantry and then their own cities. Now closing in on the Indian capitol, they rested. Awaiting to heal, the Indians launched a counter-offensive which took several infantry units but was quickly put down. The nearby battleship fleet was sent into the bay area near the Indian capitol to begin shelling. This continued until their defenses were low enough that the Infantry and Armor could attack without severe losses.
Four years after 1965, when the offensive was launched the German people rejoiced in a golden era. After the capture of the Indian territory, many soldiers were sent back to their homes on leave. Others, were sent to allied nation states to negotiate.
###THIS IS THE END OF CHAPTER 7.
###NEXT CHAPTER, CHAPTER 8: THE AMERICAN BATTLES FOR VICTORY
| 2015-02-11T16:54:25 | 2015-02-11T16:15:40 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] A horror story that doesn't involve one of the big three (Paranormal, Aliens, or a Psychopath) just to show me it can actually be done.
|
Marcus stared at his laptop. He first thought that he could write about killer robots. He then decided that may be considered cheating. That was almost a loop hole. He tapped his nails against his desk and thought "Maybe the scariest things are real problems" He thought about people in soul crushing debt, the loss of a child, or maybe people stuck in the snow freezing to death.
He decided that would be it. He would write about real horror. He continued to write an epic about a troop of French infantry in the battle of Verdun in World War 1. They were stuck in a crater created by a mortar round. If they left they would be mowed down by gunfire. They were dying of thirst and there was water nearby. It was tainted by poison gas, and one of them drank it then died. They ate rats, because there were plentiful. Swarms of them had come to feast on the bodies of the fallen. They survived a month in the crater before they died. The sky turned black from smoke and death. The sounds of war were deafening.
Marcus heard a beep and his screen turned black. "What?" Marcus said out loud. When it finished booting his story was gone. He worked for hours on it. He thought it was a masterpiece. It was gone.
|
"Dear fucking God! Is that thing alive?.." Dr. Henry tiptoes closer, adjusting his glasses and squinting to try and see in the lowlight. "Mario, hand me that flashilight and pole."
"No senor, I no, I no.." Mario frowns, struggling to find the words in his broken english.
"For fuckssake Mario! What the hell are we paying you for!," yells Dr. Evans before he snatches the flashlight, "Give it to me." Dr. Evans takes the only working light source and Mario's "feeler" pole, and marches onwards through centuries worth of dust and cobwebs. Each step makes a "crunch" under his tread. His flashlight dips down to locate the source of the noise and all around is a sea of white objects, like shattered china plates, too broken up to be distuingishable in the little bit of whats revealed.
Abigail scoots closer to Mario and whispers into his ear, "Mario, are you sure our team came through here? It doesn't look like anyone has been through this place in centuries." Her voice is tinged with nervousness that, despite her demeanor, clearly shows through. In fact, every member of the small expedition seems to be on edge, but none as much as Mario.
"Si senorita, I lead them to des cave entrance myself," his eyes dart around frantically and he is drenched in sweat, "We should go everybody. I no like des place. Des place es evil." Mario's L in the word evil drags out for a full second, putting unwanted emphasis on it.
"For goodness-sake Mario, please shut up! No one wants to hear about your pagan superstitions! This cave is the find of the century! All 8 of our other team members from the original expedition are probably hanging out in here as we speak, charting artifacts and making records!" Dr. Henry's voice started out outlined by annoyance, but it gradually turns to pure excitement. "I mean just think of it! A pyramind deep underground, only accessible through cave systems right here in the Jungles of South America! Look at these markings," He flashes the light onto paintings on the wall that depict large spiders all surrounding a shirtless bound man, "I've never seen anything like this at all! These are clearly not done by the Aztecs or Mayans, or anyone else! These date back further than anything we've ever found here!, and they seem to be worshipping spiders! If this had been discovered previously it would surely be known!"
"Oh my God!" Dr. Evans voice rings out shrilly, cutting off Dr. Henry, "that thing IS still alive!" Dr. Evans mouth drops in an expression that is of pure horror.
Dr. Henry whirls the light around to the massive mound in the center of the cave, the beam catches on the fist sized pitch black eyeballs and reflects it. The creatures broken hairy legs scuttle as it tries to move away from Dr. Evans prodding it with the pole. It screeches in vain when it can't budge itself.
"My God! I know spiders are technically immortal, but how could it have gotten this large?!" Dr. Henry is basically shouting, "It's just not possible! It would take thousands of years.. Look! it's legs have broken from trying to support its own weight.. This thing has to be at least 30 feet from leg tip to leg tip.. I bet it weighs a ton," Dr. Henry's voice is slowly decreasing in pitch and volume, as though he is coming to a conclusion that just can't be said out loud. "It couldn't have survived unless..." Dr. Henry's last words were almost a whisper.
There's a deep rumble, as if a wall is being moved, far off near the entrance of the cave, while, simultaneously, fire springs forth all around the small group into hidden alcoves that hold fire braziers. The once dark cave is now illuminated, revealing that the white debris all across the floors are in fact bones. Animals and humans.
Robed figures appear across an upper balcony that was previously hidden by the dark, they start chanting in an language that sounds like it was lost to the ages. The group of four all huddle together as if they will have safety in numbers. Movement catches their eye from directly above, they all look up to see thousands of black orbs reflecting the fire light. There are roughly human-sized, humanoid shaped, bundles of cobwebs hanging from the ceiling. 8 of them.
"Unless someone has been feeding it," says Dr. Evans, in a whisper just as low Dr. Henry's from earlier. Abigail screams an ear piercing wail just as the "ceiling" drops.
| 2016-10-04T15:16:02 | 2016-10-04T14:48:14 | 98 | 45 |
[WP] Due to a loophole in the system, people can escape hell and get to heaven after death. You go to hell and all you see is Satan, just sitting there playing the harmonica. Everyone left him and now he's all alone.
|
There he was. The devil sat there by himself, legs dangling off of a ledge. He grasped a harmonica in his hands and between his lips, out of which came music that was not as sad as one might expect in such a situation. Rather, it was an utterly beautiful, complex piece that moved me to sadness because it had no audience to hear it other than me alone.
I sat silently and listened through the song in its entirety, completely enchanted by it. When he finished, the man before me lowered the instrument down into his lap and opened his eyes. He scanned my entire being up and down. His pale skin creased and shimmered as a gentle smirk folded from his mouth.
I clapped. I couldn't help myself as it was the most beautiful music I had ever heard, but I also couldn't help myself but feel disturbed in who I just clapped for.
"Thank you."
"No, no," I choked. "Thank you."
"What are you doing here?"
"I, well, I'm dead I suppose."
"Everyone else left."
"I had heard of that."
"Why are you still here?"
His eyes pierced my mind deeper than his question. He had the look of a family member, genuinely concerned about my wellbeing.
"Why are you still here?" I asked him.
He didn't express it anywhere but a shift in his feet, but I took him by surprise.
"If everyone can leave, then you can too can you not? Why would you not go to heaven?"
"Have you ever thought about who the devil is?" he asked me.
"Well - he is sneaky and a liar."
"A deceiver, yes."
"And beastial, I think. Though you don't look..."
"I don't?" he raised his eyebrows intrigued. "Tell that to everyone that left."
"So just a deceiver then. A fallen angel," I finalized my answer.
"Why would a deceiver allow any of his captives to leave?"
"I, well, I suppose he wouldn't be a very good deceiver if he couldn't keep prisoners," I pondered.
He stared at me with those sharp eyes of his, piercing straight to the back of my head. It seemed as if a thousand years raced by as we looked at each other.
"My god-"
"Nice to meet you."
|
He followed the lilting notes down empty corridors crusted with flecks of blood and gore.
He walked past cages crafted of bone that stood wide open, past the scattered and abandoned tools of torture. It was all too visceral to provide him with the illusion that he was drifting in some never-ending nightmare and would wake up any moment now, safe in his bed and alive.
"Jackson Hale," he heard a drawling voice say as he turned the corner. The music he'd followed for the past two days - somehow, its faint notes had reverberated maddeningly through the place since he'd arrived - paused, and he looked into the eyes of the player.
Calm dark eyes, startlingly ordinary, all things considered. The player was wearing a sharply tailored black suit. The material was a black so deep that Jack felt he could lose himself in it, could touch it and be swallowed right up in something nameless, something that was waiting to envelope him and tear him -
"Hey, boy," the player said, snapping his fingers in front of Jack, who blinked and focused on the present again. "I don't have time to play with you right now. I'm playing the harmonica. So. Want to get going? Join the others? They all left, you know..."
"Name's Satan, by the way," the man said, sitting down again on a twisting chair of bone stretched with a thin material that looked nauseatingly like skin. "Lucifer. Beelzebub. Fuck, who even cares anymore."
He picked up the harmonica again and resumed play. Jack watched him mutely, and finally blurted out the question at the forefront of his mind. Perhaps this was some dream, after all. Satan playing a harmonica *had* to be a dream. In which case he probably wouldn't die from asking a question.
"They left? How could they leave? Isn't this...Hell?" Jack asked. "And I'd have thought you'd be more..."
"Demon-y?" Satan asked, his fingers pausing again. "Yeah, I was. Had a voice that could shatter you apart, and everything. All my powers started to fade once they left. I can't even compel anyone to obey me anymore. Once that happened, even my demons left due to some blasted loophole. Bastards. All in Heaven now, I suppose. Or tossed into Limbo. Who knows what the big guy does with the damned once they get there?"
"Now I guess I'm just a guy playing a harmonica," Satan said, resuming the same tune Jackson had heard repeatedly over the past few days.
"Don't you know anything else?" Jack asked, sitting down beside the guy. He seemed harmless enough, really. It was actually rather nice here. Quiet.
"Oh, no, afraid not," the devil said, grinning at him. "There were thousands of guitarists, but a curious lack of harmonica players. So this is your Hell now. Listening to this song, over and over again."
It was starting to grate on Jack's ears. He knew many other songs, better songs - he'd been in a band, in his life, and had always taken pride in the number of instruments he could play. Part of him was itching to show the devil. But the other part had latched onto what he'd said: there was a loophole. And chances were everyone he'd ever loved and who'd left him was in Heaven. Perhaps he'd get a second chance once he got there. If there was anyplace where anything would be forgiven, that was it.
"What is the loophole?" Jack asked. There was nothing to lose by asking, was there? He said he'd lost his powers.
"Why don't you show me some of those other songs you know before I tell you, and you can go?" the devil asked.
"How did you know I play?" Jack said, frowning at the wide grin on Satan's face. "I thought you said your powers were gone?"
"I lied. Force of habit, I guess. C'mon, show me?" he asked. "I'm alone here. At least help me entertain myself."
There was a pleading glint in his eyes that softened Jack's resolve to get going. "All right, fine."
"You'll tell me everything you know? Promise?" Satan pressed him.
"Yes, yes, I promise," he said. "Give me that and I'll play you some stuff. But you'll tell me the loophole, afterwards?"
"Sure thing," the devil said, and handed him the harmonica. He clapped vigorously after Jack had played through his entire repertoire.
"Well, there you have it. Can you tell me now?" Jack said.
"Why so hasty, boy? You said you'd tell me everything you know. Everything. That means every scrap of knowledge you've collected in your human life. Then I'll tell you, and you can go," Satan said, playing one of the new songs he'd just learnt with a small smile on his face. "Pity you came here after the others had left. They'd have told you without a price."
He chuckled at Jack's stunned expression. "Binding promise, son, no getting out of anything you promised me directly. And yeah, I lied about the powers thing, too. I really missed you humans. So gullible. It's rather sweet. But come, talk to me while I play. I've missed hearing another voice, truth be told. And you have a lot to tell me, don't you?"
--------
Hope you enjoyed my story! You can find more of my work on /r/Inkfinger/.
| 2017-02-01T09:26:11 | 2017-02-01T09:11:17 | 74 | 19 |
[WP] Every night in your sleep you meet a successful-looking future you who tells you what you should do the next day. So far your life has gone well indeed, but one day you fall asleep during the daytime. You meet a tired, disheveled version of yourself who begs you not to listen to the other.
|
“Don’t do it.”
For years I had been receiving visions. Visions of a brighter future. A future where the worries of today; famine, war, poverty, were nightmares relegated to obscurity. A world where every man, woman and child could live out their lives in peace and harmony, free from the uncertainty that plagued them, free from fear. A world where I could be happy.
“Stop before it’s too late.”
It started when I was five, the day my mother died, as I shuddered in fitful sleep. I’d woken in the to the sound of deep, heavy breathing. I’d opened by eyes and found myself face-to-face with a man, his hair streaked with white, his eyes lit with a deep knowing energy. Needless to say I screamed, I struggled, I tried to run. I couldn’t move. I blinked. He was gone.
The days went by, the months, and with each day came a night, and with each night came the nightmares, and with each nightmare I awoke to the same face, silent the save the sound of his breath. I started to believe I was broken, damaged. I told my dad and he laughed, returning to the bottle. I told my friends, pleaded with them to believe me, they thought me strange and abandoned me. I don’t blame them. I told my teachers, they sent me to a shrink, who diagnosed me with mild parasomnia brought on by anxiety. He was wrong.
Two years passed and the man started talking, telling me strange and wondrous tales. I lay there and listened, time immaterial in the darkness, to the path he put before me. At first I felt nothing but fear, but his stories pulled me in, designed as they were to entice and bewilder, simple in their execution but with a gravitas that I was unable to appreciate when I was so young. The tales he told, of great Kings, Conquerors that controlled the world, Knights that roamed far and wide performing deeds of good, finally helped me sleep.
Five years passed and I was no longer afraid. The man had been there for me, through the years, helping me through the night. His stories had been replaced by direct guidance, wise words whispered that gave me what my father could not. He taught me how to manipulate, what to say in every situation, how to succeed. I went from a waif, drifting through childhood from detention to detention, to the popular kid in school, beloved by all. I could do anything.
Fifteen years passed and the guidance now came with visions. The meaning was clear.
“Do this and you will be great.”
“Do this and you will succeed.”
“Do this and you will get your heart’s desire.”
His true nature was clear to me now, he was me. A wiser me. An older me. I became successful, starting my own company. I became driven, growing and expanding. I was a bright young star that could not be ignored, and being a star comes with opportunity. I grew wealthy, I grew powerful.
Thirty years passed and it wasn’t enough. I had ascended the corporate ladder, it wasn’t enough. I had run for office, it wasn’t enough. I’d started charities, helped people, and for awhile the work had sated me, but it wasn’t enough. The man in the dreams still came, but now he looked back at me in every mirror, the white streaks of hair that seemed so strange now a permanent reminder of who I’d become. I still listened, and still he guided, but the guidance had changed.
“What are you missing?”
“When were you last truly happy?”
“There’s one thing you still need.”
I had to get it.
Thirty-one years have passed and now I stand here on the precipice, the ice cold rain running down my body as I stare at the mound before me bathed in moonlight. He is here, different, true, but still a version of me, his clothes dishevelled, his face gaunt.
“Please, this will be the end of us, stop.”
I brush my hand over the stone, sweeping aside the vines and dust. The lettering worn but legible. “Here rests Grace, loving mother to her son, wife to her husband, taken cruelly before her time.” I raise my shovel.
|
I am reading this journal one last time before I burn it, for some things are better left in the past.
* **May 15th, 2011, 7:30am.**
Last night was very strange. I sat up in bed, but my room was not my room. I struggled to get to sleep for two reasons: first, because the Law School Admissions Test was the next day, and second, because the air conditioner had broken down and I was lying in a pool of my own sweat. I tossed and turned, trying to get comfortable, and just as I started to slip into the familiar lull of my subconscious, I felt a hand touch my chest directly over my heart three times. I panicked and bolted upright, but my room was unfamiliar. The walls were gray, sterile, and somehow shifting. He walked in the door. It was my father, but I know He was not my father. He sat next to me and puts His hand on my knee. I had a fleeting thought of resistance; of running, or fighting, but I sat motionless.
“Tomorrow is a very big day for you. A very big day indeed. And we need to make sure you are prepared for it.” My heart pounded in my chest. “Who is this?” I thought to myself.
“I am you,” He responded, before I could form the words. “Well, I am you in the future. And let me tell you, your – our – future is amazing. I can’t tell you what is in store, but I need you to remember what I tell you now.” He then turned to me and then looked directly into my eyes: “A, C, D, E, E, D, A, A, C, D, B, B, B, B, E, C, B, D…” He went on for another fifteen minutes this way. He then told me a story about a boy and a dog, and how that boy killed another dog to save his own.
I recognized the sound of my alarm clock. It was time to wake up. As I returned to consciousness, I realized that I was back in my room. I think I’ve been putting myself under too much stress recently. I’ll make a pot of coffee and hope that helps.
* **May 15th, 2011, 6:30pm.**
I don’t know what to write, and I’m a little bit scared. I need to start at the beginning of the day for this to make sense.
After I wrote this morning’s entry, I got ready and drove down to the local university where they were hosting the LSAT. I filled the parking meter to the maximum it would let me, but it was still two hours short of how long the test would be. Then I realized it was Saturday, and I didn’t have to pay the meter anyway. Oops. I hoped I would be more on point for the rest of the examination.
During the examination instructions, the power went out. The emergency generators kicked on, but the air conditioning doesn’t run when that happens. Everyone groaned, but nobody left. We followed the instructions and started the examination.
I opened my book. Section one was the vocabulary section of the exam – one of my strong points. I cruised through the first hour-long session, filling each of the bubbles in turn. I ran into a few questions that I didn’t know the answer to, so I left those blank to come back to later. I reached the end of the section and reviewed: I had answered 38 questions and left 12 blank.
Suddenly, something stirred in me. I started taking note of each of the answers. A. C. D. Blank. Blank. D. A. Blank. A. A. C. D. I heard His voice in my head, repeating the numbers as clearly as day. “What the hell is going on?” I thought to myself. I started to panic. Every single question that I had answered were in the same order and had the same answers as He told me last night! My mind was a blur; I was sweating like crazy. Suddenly, the examination proctor told us, “five minutes remaining in this section.” I snapped back to reality – I had completely forgotten to answer the questions! Without thinking, I filled in the remaining bubbles with the letters that had been spoken to me the night before.
I did the same thing with each of the remaining sections. When I finally got to the essay question, my jaw dropped. It was an ethics question; a question about the very boy and his dog that I had been told the night before. Instinctively I wrote the answer down verbatim. I don’t know why I did it. I don’t think I’m going to sleep well tonight.
* **June 1st, 2011.**
He has visited me every night since the examination. He tells me things. Things to do, things to say, and what to expect with each passing day. He asks nothing in return; just for me to listen. He told me to go to a certain gas station near my house and pulled out a red and green square of cardboard: a scratch off ticket. He told me to go at 4:15pm. I did, I bought the ticket, and won $600. He told me not to spend the money, but to instead invest it in a few certain stocks. I’ll have to figure out how to do that tomorrow.
* **June 12th, 2011.**
Today is the happiest day of my life! I got my LSAT results back, and I made a perfect score. 180! I suppose something deep inside me was expecting this; either way, I’m ecstatic. My mom and dad are so proud that they’ve called all their friends and the neighbors. I didn’t even have a chance to tell anyone because they went to Facebook and posted it on my wall before I had the chance to. I’ll let them have their moment! I’m just happy to have done so well! I haven’t heard back from Him since the first of the month.
* **February 10th, 2012.**
I found out yesterday that I was accepted to Harvard Law on a full scholarship. Last night, I felt three touches on my chest, and he visited me again. I sat up in the now-familiar gray room.
“Where have you been?” I asked.
“You didn’t need me, so I stayed back. But you need me now. This is important.” He said a bunch of words that sounded like someone talking on the phone; like it was one half of a conversation. I don’t understand what it means, but I can remember all of it perfectly.
* **February 14th, 2012.**
Now I know what’s going on! My mom and dad threw a big surprise party for me and invited all my friends. Anna, the girl that I’ve been crushing on since Junior year of University, was there. As the party was winding down, I went into the den and saw her long blond hair draped over the back of the sofa. She was sitting there by herself looking at her phone. I sat down, and started repeating the half-phone conversation that He told me, verbatim. She responded naturally, and I just kept saying what he said, the same way he said it. She laughed, a lot. Incredible! I had to sneak out to write this while it was fresh on my mind tonight.
She is still asleep in my room.
* **February 15th, 2012.**
I woke up this morning next to Anna. I took a deep, long breath of her glorious hair, and rolled over to grab my phone. The stocks I bought back in June had gone up in value substantially. The $600 I had invested was now worth more than $6,000!
| 2017-04-01T06:47:09 | 2017-04-01T06:34:46 | 317 | 91 |
[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.
|
*3:30 AM, Atlanta*
The phone rang.
"This had better be worth waking my ass up."
"Flux. $500,000. If we lose power--."
"I'll do it if you make it six. Where?"
The caller accepted, a little too quickly. Damn. Could have got more.
The caller gave the address to a malfunctioning power station, and thanked Flux for assisting Westshore specialty.
"An insurance agent, huh?" *Well, it makes sense. Superheroes were a damn sight cheaper than losing a court case, these days.*
Flux had been a generous soul. But not anymore.
He loved music. When he first discovered his power, all those years ago, he used his power over electricity to give fledgling bands free power, so they could practice anywhere, anytime. They didn't even have to plug their equipment into anything! It made for some great hipster music videos.
Back then, he sometimes helped clean up metal debris from car crashes. Other days, he donated electricity to his poorer friends, or gave the homeless shelter free electricity for a few hours, to run the A/C during the hot summer months.
That all changed after a fateful day a few years ago. Flux prevented a plane crash by using electromagnetism to lower it safely to the ground. After that, Flux became famous.
And with fame, came more calls for help. But they all wanted it for free. Non-stop, day and night. Not always for heroic deeds, either. One kid wanted him to take out the power at his office so he could spend that day with his girlfriend.
He grew fed up with the non-stop pleas for help. Fed up as he was, he was too poor to buy food. Even superheroes have to eat, you know.
So, Flux started charging for his powers. This sparked outrage at first - Headlines like "Does Flux's greed have no limit?" dominated the news cycle - because people had grown used to the impossible being done for them for free.
However, capitalism won the day - other heroes in other cities borrowed flux's idea. They too had been worked to the bone, and for what? To go home to a creaky apartment without enough money to even wash their spandex?
These days, heroes primarily did boring but valuable things, such as prevent power outages, stop floods from damaging property, put out fires, that sort of thing. Some chose to do pro-bono work at times, but it was not expected the way that it was in years past.
Flux sighed as he drove to the plant. He could easily power the grid from the sidewalk outside his house, but the insurance company would have a fit and cut his pay. Last time he did that, they charged him for damaging the wiring, which cut his $250,000 reward down to a mere $15,000. Looks like another couple hours of maintaining a boring old 60 hz stream...
|
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.
| 2017-04-02T09:25:08 | 2017-04-02T08:24:57 | 201 | 82 |
[WP] It's been 30 days since the nuclear war with North Korea and you are beginning to lose hope. There has been no radio broadcast, no military response, no aid. Suddenly, a man appears at your door. He is from the IRS, the only surviving branch of the federal government, and he is here to collect.
Inspired by [an old NYT article ](http://www.nytimes.com/1989/03/28/business/nuclear-war-plan-by-irs.html) about the existence of an IRS plan to resume collections 30 days after a nuclear war.
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I stared at the man in disbelief. I took him all in. The impeccable suit. The perfectly done hair, that flawless skin, the smooth, businesslike voice, and that dammed fake smile. It hadn't even been, what, a month since fallout came like death's cloak over the land? And yet, here he was, expecting *me* to pay him dues that the rest of the world forgot about long ago. Oh, he's speaking again.
"... didn't hear me the first time. Very well. My name is John Williams, and I a representative of the IRS. You seem to be late on two payments, coming to a total of-"
I never did get to hear the total. In one smooth motion, I drew my revolver and put a bullet in his chest, and another between his eyes. He fell to the ground, the look of surprise still etched on his face.
The nerve of some people.
"Collect *that*, mother fucker." I stripped him of all his possessions; A wad of cash, some gold pieces, and a cellphone that amazingly still worked. There was a list of collections he was going to try and get from people, and they were all concentrated in a small area. Huh. A survivors camp, or the beginnings of one anyway.
Well. I guess I should go rejoin society. It was getting kinda lonely here anyway.
__________________________________________________________________________________________
Edit: Punctuation
|
Alright, I guess I will kick this off then because I am excited to see what people come up with. Shoutout to u/Ghosttwo for providing me with [the inspiration](https://www.reddit.com/r/YouShouldKnow/comments/6takyx/comment/dljcvoq?st=J69Z02I0&sh=4c7cfec9)!
**Story time:**
A frail man dressed in human bones and shredded tires was sitting in a broken lawn chair in a small field of debris. His skin was jaundiced and he appeared to have been waiting for quite some time to get his money order processed. I squinted my eyes to get a better look at him. There was no movement. Was he sleeping or dead? I was too weak to care, so I pushed the thought out of my mind and approached the IRS checkpoint.
A large, ill-tempered black woman rhythmically drummed her press-on nails against the old toilet she used as a desk.
"Take a number" she stated flatly, "and wait by the rubble pile until you are called." She lifted the toilet seat and retrieved a dead leaf, then scrawled something on it with a piece of charcoal and handed it to me: one thousand, nine hundred and seventy-two. Surely she can't be serious. "LORD ALMIGHTY!" she exclaimed to no one in particular, then snatched the tattered leaf back out of my hand, tore off a small piece, and handed it back. I looked around in disbelief, confirming what I already knew. There was no one within sight besides me, her, and the emaciated body in the lawn chair that I passed on the way in. Probably no one else within a dozen miles. Confused, I asked "Is this the total number of people you have seen here? I'm the only one around except for the dying man in the rubble pile, not many of us left around here..."
Beads of sweat appeared above her eyes as she wrinkled her face in displeasure. She began to quiver with rage, then raised a corpulent hand and started to snap her sausage-like fingers while bobbing her head from side to side. "Did. I. Not. Make. Myself. Clear?" She carried on before I had a chance to answer and started to fan herself with a scrap of plywood. She looked to the sky and bellowed, "Lord, tell me where this child went so wrong! Does he not understand that we have rules and regulations!? Does he not know how to wait to take his damn turn!?" She turned back to me. "Take your bony ass over to that lawn chair, sit down, and shut your pie hole! DO NOT come back over until your number is called."
She scribbled something down on the small square she had torn out of my leaf, then grabbed a rock and an old finger bone. She had her back to me as she pounded away at something, then turned around with a smug look on her face and stepped aside so I could admire her work. She had hammered the finger bone into a tree stump to tack up the leaf shred, upon which she had written: "1".
"Number one, you may now come to the counter! Number one!"
The frail man stirred at the sound of her voice. His movements were pained and his hands shook as he withdrew a small patch of cloth from the shredded tire around his waist. It was finally time! He would be able to pay for the medicine he needed to treat the radiation sickness that was ravaging his body. It had been six days since he received his number. He had to be next. Delicately he unfolded the cloth to check his number. One thousand, nine hundred and seventy-one.
"Number one, last chance!" The frail man looked at his number in disbelief. He raised his hand towards me and opened his mouth to speak, then shuddered and collapsed into a heap. I heard a terrible rattle as the air in his lungs escaped for the last time. Then silence.
When no one approached, she waddled back behind the old toilet and let out a deep sigh as she lowered her ample rear onto a cinder block and sat down. She opened the top of the toilet reservoir and removed a yellowed and stained copy of "Seventeen" magazine, then turned her back to me and began to read through it. I looked down at my number again, which still read "1,972", and let out an exasperated sigh. Why did it have to be the IRS?
EDIT: yeah, I just realized I kind of blew off the IRS guy showing up and went straight to a world run by the IRS. Was not planning to write a story but got inspired so it is what it is
| 2017-08-12T17:48:51 | 2017-08-12T17:02:29 | 45 | 10 |
[WP] Earth has made contact with an alien race. There is a big event where earth's world leaders are meeting the alien queen publicly. You are in the crowd to watch the historical event. When the queen suddenly spots you, she disregards all protocol, comes to you and bows deeply.
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"Deepest apologies Descendant, I did not know you would attend the ceremony. The safety of my people was guaranteed all those years ago when your went after the Other and chased it out of our system." the being said unto me. She rose. "On behalf of the Norma, I thank you. We still mourn the millions that returned to the center."
I was frozen in place, feeling the eyes of everyone the world on me as if they were spears stuck on the back of my head. In a second, I lost track of where my stomach was, and yet I attempted to pry some words off my throat. Then she rose, and as she did she spoke again, in those dulcet tones that I could feel resonating all the way inside my ears.
"Now, tell me, how will you deal with its reincarnation this time?"
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I sat back in the crowd of of millions upon of millions of people, awaiting the alien queens arrival. Some people gleamed in excitement, while others quelled in fear. Me? I was pretty indifferent about these aliens coming to visit our planet for the first time, and I don’t care care if they enslave us, or if they welcome us into some sort of intergalactic federation or whatever. The worlds top political leaders all stood front and center in this rural field located in the panhandle region of Oklahoma. I found it funny, in a way, because instead of choosing a major global center of culture, technology, and economic development like New York, London, Paris, Moscow, Shanghai, or Tokyo, the aliens had chosen this insignificant field in Oklahoma located near the insignificant little town that I lived in.
“Look, it’s the alien ship!” Someone shouted.
The crowd erupted into a frenzy, with some cheering, and some fearing the absolute worst. I just watched and carefully observed the ship descending onto the field. It was a large ship, larger than anything I had ever seen before. The Alien queen came out of her ship, and observed the scene. Then she locked her eyes on me. She made her way through the sea of people and up to me. I figured this was it, and she would use me as a sacrificial lamb for the eventual alien takeover of our world. But what she did next stunned me. She bowed deeply before me. The leader of the most powerful and advanced civilization in the entire universe, bowing down to me, a 18 year old from Liberal, Kansas working a dead end job delivering pizzas for Pizza Hut. She gave a simple hand gesture to me signaling to follow her, and I followed her lead. We entered the elaborate spaceship, and flew away into space. We sat there in awkward silence for a moment, before I decided to start asking questions.
“Where are taking me?”I asked. About another minute passed by before she broke her silence.
“Well, I saw you out in the crowd, and I immediately knew you were the perfect match for me,” she responded in fluent English.
“I’m sorry, what are you talking about? I have no idea what’s going on here.”
“Well, every queen needs her king, right? Think about it Michael, you can leave behind your miserable life on Earth of delivering pizzas and being alone, and all you have to is agree to be with me.”
“Ho-How do you know my name?” I asked back quietly.
“Come on, I’m the leader of the most powerful and intelligent civilization in the universe. I can read minds and travel across the entire universe in the span of a couple days for crying out loud!”
“All I do is deliver pizzas working for minimum wage, live alone, and my depression just keeps getting worse and worse.”
“Well, not for long. But before all that, I want to ask you one important question: Why do you think I took you from your planet to be with me?”
I thought long and hard about this question. Why would the queen of the universe want to marry a 18 year old pizza delivery driver from Earth. It didn’t add up. I looked around the luxurious and lavish interior thinking long and hard about this one, but no answers popped up in my head. “Um, I don’t know. Why did you?”
”Well, I’m not exactly sure why I did either. Something just pulled me towards you, and I went with my instincts. I’m only 18 myself, and just became queen last month after my father died unexpectedly. I’m going to need some help being leader of the universe, and I guess you could help me with that.”
“I don’t know the first thing about leadership,” I responded. I was very surprised that she would trust me with this monumental task.
“I don’t really know that much about it either, but I guess it’ll be a learning experience, for the both of us.”
____________________________________________________
**Thanks for reading this! I would love some feedback, and definitely tell me what I need to improve on as a writer. This is only my 4th or 5th submission here, so that would be much appreciated!**
| 2018-12-05T18:14:15 | 2018-12-05T18:06:46 | 88 | 35 |
[WP] You are a time traveler entering a medieval tournament in which the winner gains the right to wed the princess. You're the first match and the king announces that you may use any weapon. Quickly you draw you're glock and shout "parry this you fucking casual"
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My opponent was dead before he hit the ground. In hindsight, bring a Glock-18 to a medieval tournament might have been a little overkill.
Smoke billowed out of the barrel, forming plumes around my visage, I knew I looked kinda cool but to these people, I must’ve looked like a witch. Because that’s exactly what the men of the king’s guard exclaimed.
“One thousand, two thousand, three thousand.” I counted under my breath, applying gentle pressure on the plastic trigger to avoid barrel drift. Three men, once bearing down on me, now lay dead or dying in the mud.
“Oh ye of the devil, ye shalt never ‘ave this Daughter o mine.” The king screeched, drawing his admittedly majestic sword, though I doubt his pot bellied frame would get further than two feet if I decided to put him down. However, regicide would put me in a pretty terrible position.
“Ahh, your grace. I’m not a witch nor a devil worshipper. I am god’s retribution, his divine wrath upon you and your kingdom for your failures.”
Who knew, an entire stadia would go from wanting to burn me at the stake, to crying on their knees. I see why people start religions now.
|
Advanced Author's note: Just a quick call out to both [SterlingMagleby](https://www.reddit.com/user/SterlingMagleby) and [Korijay](https://www.reddit.com/user/Korijay), who both had a similiar idea to mine, and beat me to posting.
\-
I should have thought this through better, I considered, as I dodged an arrow. Seriously, it should have been common sense that downing the opposing knight with "the power of thunder" would have drawn some less than positive attention.
All I can claim is that the visage of the Princess obviously overwhelmed said common sense (more like my libido knifed it in the back and hid the body).
Honestly, none of this was going according to plan. The original scheme had simply been to jump back in time and observe. Sure they had given me the Glock, but they had been clear that it was only for emergency use.
But when I had arrived successfully in the past, and had seen the princess, common sense (and most other rational thought) had left me. To say she was hot was the understatement of the millennia (if I had my date right). So I joined the tournament for her hand. Not the best decision I had ever made.
In hind sight, and given my record of poor decisions, I'm beginning to think the scientists didn't actually expect this whole thing to work. Assholes. Also, I probably hadn't needed to gloat over the corpse of my opponent. That one was on me.
Well, those are problems for another time. At the moment, dodging arrows in my primary concern.
Honestly, I think the King was being a bit unfair. I hadn't been hostile to anyone other than my opponent, and you'd think any King worth his salt would be happy to have a "wizard who controls the power of thunder" as a husband to his daughter. BUT NOOOOO. Pull out a bit of 21st century technology, and suddenly your being pursued by the King's personal guard. *So not fair!*
I ducked behind a tree as I considered what to do next. The timer was set to return me in another 42 minutes unless I overrode it. Overriding it was exactly what I had intended to do once I won the princess' hand in marriage, but unfortunately that only extended my stay in the past, there was no way to get me out sooner. Bummer.
I sent a few more rounds over my shoulder to get the approaching knights to duck back as I broke from cover and ran on. Only one more magazine I noted as I reloaded; I'd have to start rationing my shots.
Suddenly three men in red jumped out in front on me.
I leveled my pistol, but could not abandon my snark, "I didn't expect you to get in front of me."
The man in the middle, his head covered by a wide brimmed hat matching his red robes, stepped forward confidently, and in a ridiculous Spanish accent stated "No one expects the Spanish Inquisition! Our chief weapons are surprise and fear!" He boomed.
Honestly, he sounded rather pompous to me, so I shot him. I was thoroughly surprised when he drew his sword faster then my eye could follow and apparently cut the bullet in half.
"A Glock? Really? You couldn't have picked something with more style?" The man queried.
At this point, I was fully at a loss. How did this man know what a Glock was? How in the world did he block a freaking bullet with a sword?" These questions ran through my mind, but I could hear the King's men approaching, so I took what I thought was the most logical course of action and emptied the pistol magazine at the men who blocked my escape.
To my astonishment, the man in the center used his blade to block every single bullet.
He sighed, and suddenly lost his ridiculous accent. "You time travelers are all the same. When will you learn to stop mucking about in the past?" With that, he unceremoniously stabbed me through the heart.
I knew I was as good as dead as I hit the ground. My last thoughts on Earth were revisiting my earlier conclusion that I really hadn't thought this through. But in my defense, seriously, no one expects the Spanish Inquisition.
\-
Second Author's Note - Hope you enjoyed, and as always, I'm a sucker for constructive feedback.
Third Author's Note - Minor grammatical edits.
| 2019-03-22T21:47:18 | 2019-03-22T21:25:10 | 1,094 | 389 |
[WP] "In the land of the blind, the one eyed man is king." Untrue, as it turns out. When a mysterious energy wave swept the world and took away vision for humans, you were the only one left with an eye, the wealthy and powerful are hunting you down for your working eyeball.
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How could they find me, you ask? It was simple. They spread out, everywhere. Every house, every store, every street, every sidewalk and restaurant and mall, everywhere, they were there. And, as though that were not enough, they would taunt me. They would call out to me.
They only said one thing, but really, it was the only thing they had to say. Because they knew, they *knew* I had no choice but to reply. None at all.
They would call my name.
"Marco."
And I... damned as I was... I would answer in the only way I could:
"Polo."
|
From the bell tower, I look down below at the once lush green meadow covered in a serene sheet of white. Over this blanket of crisp snow, I can see a horde of black dots slowly moving towards the tower. Sighing to myself, I slowly lean over my notebook and scribble down the thoughts swirling inside my mind. I turn on the radio and take a deep breath.
"A very good afternoon to everyone listening in. It is a beautiful day for love. The temperature today is -14 degrees. You may feel the cold leave a brisk chill in your bones, but it somehow makes the warmth feel even more invaluable at this point in time. To those still lamenting that they cannot see, I have written something about love. I hope you like listening to it."
I clear my throat, and take a deep breath.
*To the lonely lighthouses,
suffering in broad daylight,
creating seas with all your salty tears;
the world will never know
how valuable you are
till all the light you have, disappears.*
"Call me on 022-342-65543 if you liked it or even have some beautiful words of your own to add. It would be my honor to read them out to those that have tuned in to listen."
A loud clattering disrupts the silence. I instantly know that they've broken down the bottom door, and are slowly feeling their way up the winding stairs to the top of the bell tower.
I leave the broadcasting unit on, and turn the pages of my diary to read something more. I do not know why, but poetry comes to me in times of great peril.
"Ladies and gentlemen, this might be the last time you hear my voice and my humble words. I want to tell you that being a one eyed man has been more punishing than being completely blind. There are those that hunt me down only because I have dared to share the beauty of the light. So before I leave, here is my goodbye. If I make it out alive, you will hear from me again, this I promise you. But if you don't, let this poem be my last one to you "
*I can see the end of our fading love,
a thousand suns before it's in sight,
like autumn knows of the dying earth,
before winter comes to mourn in white.*
"Stay safe. Never let the light leave your heart."
The door to the top floor blows open with a terrific bang. About thirty men make their way into the small room; dressed in various colours but wielding long scimitars. The man in front; Luthor Lebrand, the general of the sightless army, had hunted me down time and again. But with the blessing of one good eye, I had always evaded him, even from the very clutches of death.
I slowly pull out the wires of the radio, and soundlessly take a few steps towards the window. I look down, and see a drop of nearly 60 feet; with only soft snow to break a terrifying fall.
"Men, careful. I smell something awry in this room..." says Luthor. "Zahran! Come peacefully with us. We are thirty of the finest soldiers, trained in the shadows to kill without seeing. You are but one puny weakling. Surrender, and we may still let you live after we have your eye."
I smile to myself as I see them slowly inch forward. I violently kick the barrel of kerosene kept next to the window, making it spill across the room. A strong, pungent odour instantly sours the crisp air.
"What was that?!" shouts Luther.
I pull out the match box from my pocket and strike a match. I take another deep breath and toss the match into the kerosene. I smile as I say the words.
*The world mocked,
the solitary matchstick,
till the day it started,
a forest fire.*
As the flames erupt, I hold firmly on to my radio set and leap out of the window. I hear screams of horror and terror from the tower, but they grow fainter as I fall through the icy air, hurtling faster towards winter's embrace.
r/whiteshadowthebook
| 2019-04-19T19:20:43 | 2019-04-19T19:04:21 | 471 | 164 |
[WP] You are a well known hero, and today is the funeral of your spouse. Everyone has left the chapel, except for you and one other. As you turn around, you see it is your arch-nemesis. They stand there, looking sorrowful. "I'm so sorry for your loss. They were truly too good for this world."
|
It was the only time I'd ever seen the man and didn't immediately want to punch his face.
"Cameron... I'm so sorry for you loss."
That was the first time I ever believed a word he said.
"They were... Truly too good for this world" the doleful tone resonating. His hand was clenched by his side. I'd heard from Mona that they were lovers, once. That she'd left him when he'd started his obsession with the occult. Apparently he still had feelings for her, and that was why he never went for me directly. He knew she'd never forgive him.
"Thank you, Archie."
The Archdaemon winced a bit when I called him that, but relaxed.
"You don't have to call me that outside of work, Harry."
I winced a bit back. No one called me that but Mona.
"Fair."
This was the first time we'd met that we weren't at each other's throats. I suppose it was merely due to the circumstances that we'd set aside our mutual hate long enough to have any decent conversation. Mona would have laughed at the irony. She'd tried to get us on friendly terms once or twice, but it ended in tragedy every time. There was the time at the park, where he'd turned the goose demonic and it started stealing everything, and the time at the theme park, where I threw him off the top of the coaster into the sea. It had started out as a bit of a rivalry, and only escalated. Both of us had the chance to kill the other at least once, but Mona always stepped in to save the other. It even almost cost me my hero license. But at the end of the day, no one was really hurt, and property damage was minimal.
It was almost funny. I was always worried that he'd go after Mona, that he'd go, "If I can't have her, no one can!" but it wasn't him that hurt her. It was a new villain named Bubonic. I bet you can guess his powers. He decided to rob the bank she was a teller at, and by the time anyone got there to stop him, he was gone and everyone was crying tears of blood from the disease he'd released. The doctors said that it was a slow, painful demise. I did everything I could to save her. I was told Archie'd even tried to sacrifice a nurse to save her, but it was all for naught. She'd died, slowly, painfully, coughing up chunks of blood and bile, in my arms. I searched this city and all around it to find that bastard, but had no luck.
But then, with my head hanging over the casket, tears flowing off my cheek and onto her's, Archdaemon spoke up, "I found him."
My head raised immediately. "What?"
"I found the bastard."
"How?!? I searched every inch of this city and found nothing!"
He held up a small crystal ball. "Scrying."
I smiled a bit. "So when's his funeral."
Archie held up his hand and said "When you come with me and pull a 'trick', Houdini."
I wasn't usually the type to go after a kill, but unfortunately the one person that always kept me from doing it was now lying in a casket.
With a savage grin, I, in an oh so enthusiastic tone, replied, "Let's go make this fool disappear."
|
She'd never really felt rain, not really. The facility she'd been raised in was in a southwestern desert; Nevada, she assumed, or New Mexico. If it did rain, no more than once or twice a year, they'd keep her and her twin in the bunkers. Where was Alayla, she wondered, scanning the sea of black umbrellas for a conspicuous gap. None ahead, and if she was to look back she'd burst again into tears. Not that it really mattered with the water streaming down her face from her saturated hair. how convinent, she thought. After her desert upbringing she'd had mastery of her powers enough to do what an umbrella does but perfectly, with scarecly a thought. Now, today, she simply couldn't be bothered. Water was pent upon her head in great sheets, drenching her hair, soaking her funereal black pantsuit. Filling her shoes and running in rivulets down her arms. It beat on her, drops big and small pinging cold against her head. A memory slipped in, Patrick's suit hanging in pieces across the hotel room. Pain came with it, pain as her brain painstakingly replayed every vocal mannerism. "I didn't mind until everyone assumed we'd arrived seperatly!"
She forced the memory down, choking back a mixture of nausea and tears. It still played for her, no matter how hard she tried it's bittersweet flavor washed over her. Pulling her close, making "dressed for the occasion" jokes as they picked their way across the room. Down, down, away, lock the memories up and press them into the abyss. She couldn't do or say what needs to be done if every slightest thought triggers Patrick, Patrick, Patrick. She had to find a way to say "no" to it. Repression was poison, a therapist had once told her but now, now it was balm. She saw the first of the umbrellas folding. They'd be entering the synagogue and in there she'd find cameras, politicians, military and intelligence officials she needed to show that Margrett Altstern was unrattled. As she reached the threshhold, she held in her awareness the moisture coating her then sent it up in a column. It hung in the air a moment before splattering the coffin following her. She remebered this space, it had the towering nature of the sublime that was imbued in most sacred places. Something about them filled you with awe just at the room's dimensions. As she passed one of the arches rimming the seating area, she saw the two of them. Her and Patrick, seperate for a moment from someone's wedding, kissing in the relative darkness.
Firefighters had ceremonies to be envious of. Uniforms spattering the audience, a flyover of department dropships. Speeches from people with titles like "Commander", and "Chief". They reverberated their altruism through the hall like a great bell. They said to anyone and everyone, "do better". A woman, the last person who'd seen him living, made a short speech. About how he'd gone out of his way to clear her and her son from the building, even though a chemical fire raged upstairs. Her last image of him diving back into the flames recounted in exquisite detail. She hated her. Not really, but her brain at the least told her she did. But, that woman could never have stopped him any more than Margrett could. At some point, she couldn't remember when exactly, she found herself standing in that hall with the coffin. Alone, with the bastard who'd forced her to love and then gone and sacrificed himself. She watched her twisted reflection in the slick black of the coffin. she heard shoes on the marble. "Just a moment, please. Just a..." he interjected "Hello, Margey."
Who she thought was an aid or one of the pallbearers from his company was a greasy little man in a faded, fraying suit. She recognized his scratchy voice and his tilted posture. She reached out in an expanding sphere around her until she felt water coil at her imperative. It came from a pipe under the floor, blasting up through layers of marble and concrete to her hand. It froze into a jagged claw on her hand. "Ah ah ahh!" As she rushed him, he stepped back and opened his coat. Pipes bulged there, wires poking out where buttons on his shirt strained. "Now, I'm not here to mess you around, I just wanted to talk. I really feel for you, I do. He was a great guy. Real, real Mensch if ya get me. I just want to pay respects. You're fast, but not faster than shra-ha-ha-ha-ha..." The word "shrapnel" stalled in his throat as she reached out to the water in his body, forcing him to his knees before her. It wasn't like her, she never went so fast to this technique. It was the last resort. Yet, it somehow felt right with him. He'd find no way to wiggle from her grip. Just thinking about it he tensed hard. She let him go just a little. She didn't want him passing out.
The bomb was probably rigged to heart monitor, He was sneaky like that. But, she'd not have his voice tainting her ears. "I hold you responsible for this, did you know that Ellis?" He cringed at the use of his birth name. "If you weren't involved in the drug dealer's market they'd still exist, sure, but they wouldn't have the protection or the money to operate those kinds of labs in public spaces." She got down on a knee and put a hand under his chin, locking his wet green eyes in hers. "I'm going to come for you. I know you can run and hide, scurry off into the underbelly, but that's why im going to come for your little friends first." He gasped, hyperventilating at the effort against her infuence. "You can't! They're protected, beyond protected! That's what the national guard has been trying for years!" Rage flooded into her unbound. Rain that was hammering on the skylight smashed through in a grand rush. It wrapped her for a moment then fired off in a sheet across the room, leaving a deep scratch on walls. the lid to the coffin slid off at the angle she'd cut, revealing the a charred corpse within. "He was protected. By me. What do you think they're protection matters?" She released him, and he screamed and ran from the room. She wondered if the bomb was even real. She hollered after him "Go ahead and tell them! They aren't nearly humble enough to belive it!"
| 2020-01-04T15:19:30 | 2020-01-04T14:42:57 | 142 | 33 |
[WP] All children are born with special powers and placed into different social classes based on their abilities. The top 1% is nearly untouchable and enslaves the rest of society. The lower classes unite to stop them and a war is raged. You’re born with powers that can tilt the tide either way.
|
At the bottom there’s Commoners. They were born without powers. Sterile, in a sense. They usually work simple jobs – farming or shop keeping. About half the population are Commoners.
Next come Mythics. They have minor powers, such as turning invisible for a short period or being stronger than ten Commoners put together. Although they’re imbued with power, they tend to work similar jobs as Commoners. Occasionally a particularly talented Mythic treads the line between Mythic and something greater, but most lump them in with the Commoners. They make up about a third of the population.
The Immortals make up the next major chunk of people. Despite their name they’re not actually immortal – I’m not entirely sure who named them. They have major powers such as teleportation and the ability to create something from nothing. A handful of Immortals would be able to take on a few thousand Mythics or Commmoners.
The remaining one percent of the population are the Oracles. With one wave of their hand an Oracle can level a mountain. They control society and the rest of the people can’t do anything about it. It’s rumored that a Commoner would lose their mind if they saw one up close.
Up until last month the world was content living under the Oracles’ rule, but one of them did the unforgivable – they killed the princess.
Everyone knew who did it, but nothing happened to him. The Oracles said they had an internal meeting and found him not guilty. Bullshit. They just know they can do whatever they want and nobody can stop them.
A few Oracles sided with the rest of the lesser peoples, but it’s known the Oracles have one rule: do not fight other Oracles. The world would be destroyed, so they refrained from doing anything. This sent everyone – the Immortals, Mythics, and Commoners – into a rage. Despite having doubts that they could take down even one Oracle everyone revolted anyways. Towns became graveyards as people tried to overthrow their masters.
Everyone thought there was power in numbers. That if they could take even just one on that that would ignite the revolution, but it never happened. Oracles just slaughtered people left and right.
Normally, I wouldn’t intervene in something like this, but somebody close to me died recently despite my telling her not to join the fray, so I’m a little annoyed. All the warfare is incredibly loud and the smell has been polluting the air near me as well. It’s time this all came to an end.
The Oracles think they’re on top of the food-chain, and I don’t blame them. That’s what they were taught and what everyone believes. But, unfortunately for them, people like me exist. Babies who were deemed Commoners at birth despite having godly powers. I was so strong that the devices used to measure power levels at birth couldn’t get a reading on me. The doctors decided that meant I had nothing, but they were wrong.
I got up and went into my kitchen. I sharpened an ordinary knife, because that’s all I would need. I figured I should bring the sharpener as well, since this would take a while.
I went outside and there were fireballs roaring across the sky. People were screaming and I think I saw someone riding the skeleton of a reanimated horse. It was all so loud and all so annoying.
Sigh. Unbelievable that I’m the one who has to do this.
I snapped my fingers and everything stopped. Arrows froze in the air, people mid-sprint couldn’t move, and everything was silent. Not even the planets dared to revolve around the sun. The only thing that moved now were my feet treading across the grassy plain.
Time to get to work.
|
Quirks and abilities proved their worth ever since they have been proven non-anomalous. Powers became widespread, and it certainly did shock the world as the tides of war were not decided by the technology, firepower and numbers, rather than the ability to terraform land masses, burns thousands of troops with a single swipe, turn the battlefield into a goddamned lake. It wasn't a war won by technology, strategy and firepower, no. It was a war won by the power of those quirks.
The elementary powers can be divided into classes, as does the sub elementary as well as the biologically enhanced. The best of the Invisibilia became spies and patrollers, the strongest Viribus became tools of manual labor, Haemoverso became surgeons and doctors, and many more.
Those who dominated the battle field were known as the Unnatural Platoon back then. An experimental army that proved it's worth and power making the locals redraw their maps after every battle ensued. They took down countries, and soon the took down their own.
Four of them were Elementum. Six were Sub. Five were Biologia, and three were Medicum. They ruled all parts of the world.
And the world bowed down to their supreme power, world peace at last. But arrogance grew, and many ruled their worlds in tyranny.
They reformed society, all under the same laws, and under same procedures. Quirks soon appeared all over the world, but none couldn't be stronger than the First Generation.
Their tyranny ruled for 30 years. Ten years ago, a revolution broke, and many roses up. Together, the masses defeated the First Viribus, and drove away the First Invisibilia, who soon fled to his allies.
I was born twenty years after the Unnatural Uprising, naming the first battle of the revolution with the name they hated the most.
The country had just celebrated their 30th anniversary, and it was also the same time my quirk first appeared.
Well not 'quirk', but 'quirks'.
It was already rare for a Duo Wielder, even so their powers were weak. Stronger Duo can wield abilities up to the Third Class, which were lower than an average Quirk.
They said that I was a "Quadra", another class of its own. Not only that, my abilities aren't diminished despite my body needing to sustain four quirks.
I remember the white lights and the machines they out me into. It was scary. It was dark, I was scared, and I was frightened. My mother was there for me, she was outside the machine. I couldn't see her, but I can hear her.
I couldn't remember the details, but they said I broke a million dollar machine with just a slight gesture. It took three days just to measure what my abilities are, and other three to measure their capabilities.
One Elemental, one Sub, one Medicum and one monstruosus, a newly established class.
Oh they were indeed afraid of me, very afraid. I remember then asking mother and father to take me away to another place. I hid behind mother as father argued with the Examiner. I was scared again, but mother comforted me, and took me outside to play. They had a beautiful flower garden, and the Sentinel sat on the city wall, it was very big. I remember wanting to pilot a Sentinel one day. But then there were mean people. They tried taking me into a black car. They blocked mother and father as I was scared. I was crying. I want them to stop.
Five people were confirmed brain dead that day, and they didn't try to take me away from mother and father anymore. I remember the doctor telling me that I am unique, and that I must learn how to control my abilities.
Ten years passed by, just like that. I learned what my monstrous ability was, given. You know. Tests? It wasn't much, I got into a fight. I got to test what it was, at least. So tempting to just slow down their blood so they can just chill, but curiosity got the better of me. Turns out it was a class called Chaos, I can control the tide and the intensity of Chaos. Needless to say, no one got injured. I think. No physical damage but they're still lying on the hospital bed, Dotor Vilonheim told me that the ability might cause mental scars.
Peace didn't last long, of course. The Tyrants launched an invasion attempt themselves, those with quirks, those quirkless, no matter. All dead. Burned till there was nothing less. There was a drafting, and they couldn't decide which division I'm on. I ended up on a mixed course designed specifically for me, by people top of their list. I was a surgeon, you see. The Medicum ability proved useful in stopping blood, and circulating certain parts to keep organs preserved. But they honed my Elementum and Sub Elementum abilities. One to control water, one controls iron. In short, I'm an Aqua-Ferrion-Haemo-Monstro. There's a lot of pressure, I'll be honest. Since wars are won by powers, and I have four of them, strong ones too. Machines are still used, to boost ones quirk abilities or to infuse powers into droids for war or labour. Tanks are far outdated, even a Fourth class Pyro can easily take it down just by frying the board from outside. Aircrafts are still useful, but nothing one can do when they use a Field Creator, or when an Aquaverso pressurized their water strong enough to withstand bombs, or many more. Either way, technological offense isn't really the way to win. Technological defenses are a must though, Sentinels that guard cities and Cannons that shoots down Destroyer class aircrafts, as well as quirked infantry.
The first battle was a bit too fucking easy. Of course I didn't turn it into a big lake, but it was still a lake. They were defenseless when I melted their machines, and the Monstruosus ability definitely proved it's efficiency when I boosted my troops morale. There were definitely some losses, but nothing I can do with the ability to control blood. After all those are for the Healers to do, regenerating tissues rather than stopping blood.
Though I have to admit that Pyro was one hell of a fight, he was the general of that army, his flames were hot enough to vaporize my water and melt my steel. If this was the work of a general, what would be the ability of the Real Deal? The first Pyro? Damn I admire those people so much. He was defeated with combined efforts of the Aquaverso division and the Terra division. In short we buried him alive. Cruel way to die, but we had to be secure and bury him deeper. Couldn't risk for a Necromancer to resurect him, or an Absorber to take his powers. I really wish our country could have more of those Monstro people, really.
The battle continues on and on, im really excited to see one of the Tyrants on battle, but until then, I can only just wait, and fling my hands as the cries of the people instant cease.
| 2020-04-04T00:08:45 | 2020-04-03T22:39:19 | 44 | 10 |
[WP] Pizza. That's it. Just pizza. You're sitting down to a hot, fresh pizza. And you're going to enjoy it, regardless of everybody around you trying to stop you.
|
“Drop the pineapple Chris.”
Chris’ hand lingered mid-air, a slice of perfectly cooked pineapple pizza dangling downwards. He was far to infatuated with the food’s sheer beauty to pay much attention to Robert, who at this moment was ranting about something to do with toppings - his queries becoming increasingly tiresome.
“I just want to *help* you Chris. please... just drop the slice.”
Chris took another bite (savouring the pleasurable taste as he did so), before responding.
“What the hell are you talking about Robert? You sure everything’s okay?”
Robert’s fist slammed upon the oak table between them. “CHRIS, GET THE PINEAPPLE OFF NOW!” his stood up abruptly, knocking his chair sideways in the process. “*Listen* to me Chris...”
“*Okay, okay!* ...what is it man?”
Robert glanced somewhere behind them, his expression somber.
“It’s... too late.”
A clanging sound emitted from behind, shards of glass flying all around - one of them unfortunate enough to land in Chris’ pizza.
“My perfectly cooked cuisine...”
The sound of approaching boots filled the room.
“I’m sorry Chris.. y-you had a good run buddy.”
“Robert, for the love of god, could you please exp-“
“STOP RIGHT THERE PUNKS!”
What appeared to be a police officer suddenly appeared between the two, a pair of jet black sunglasses perched upon his crooked nose.
“I surrender!” Robert exclaimed, pushing both hands high. He was visibly holding back tears.
The utter bewilderment surging through Chris was almost enough to stifle his grief for the pizza he’d lost. *Almost.*
“How could you ruin a perfectly fine meal like that?”
“And break my window!” He quickly added.
The officer stood, hands on his sides, each word muttered mirroring a deep rumble.
“IT’S US, THE PIZZA POLICE! AND BY ARTICLE 35 OF THE CHEESE CONDUCT, I DECLARE YOU UNDER ARREST FOR POSSESSION OF...”
He looked sick.
“Pineapple. On. Pizza.”
“It’s not that bad!” Chris pleaded.
“QUIET SCUM!”
Chris grabbed a slice from the plate below - the last untouched by any glass.
“HERE! TRY IT!” He gestured, waving the slice forwards.
“DO YOU *WANT* ME TO INCREASE YOUR SENTENCE?”
Before the argument could progress any further, Robert chimed up.
“Come on guys! I know we all have our differences, but at the at of the day..”
He pulled out a glass of milk.
“We can all agree that pizza dipped in milk is the *true* way to enjoy it!”
|
"We can't let you eat that pizza, James," Jeremy spoke up, standing alongside two other people, blocking the plastic table that held a singular box of pizza on its surface, seemingly teasing Jame's as he drooled, droplets of water slowly dribbling from his mouth onto the white carpet that'd been blotted with brown stains that coated the floor of the living room he'd been invited to.
"And why's that?" James retorted with annoyance in his tone, taking off his shoes and socks, stretching his body as the ceiling fan overhead spun about.
"Well, firstly, you're lactose intolerant..." Sarah answered, appalled by James' demeanor as he took off his leather jacket, tossing it onto the white couch that sat behind him.
"So what? Lactose intolerance is just another way of saying weakness. If I cannot face my weaknesses, how can I become stronger?"
"It won't make you stronger! It's going to make you shit your pants again, you idiot!" John shouted, opening his arms broad, attempting to defend the pizza as James leered at him with determination visible in his eyes.
James lingered before responding, cracking his fingers with ease as he eyed the three of them down with malice in his eyes, "No... I'm different this time... I've changed," he spoke, walking toward the three of them as his face tensed, his hands balled, and his blood boiled, preparing to fight for a slice of pizza.
As James continued to walk, his once calm demeanor vanished, turning into a flurry of rage as a single vein formed upon his forehead, signaling the start of his sprinting as he dashed toward the pizza with all the speed he could muster.
"Do it now, John!" Sarah shouted, rushing at James' head-on, forcing him back as the two of them collided. Despite her petite body, borderline anorexic, she managed to push him back, her bones cracking and munching as he continued to push forward. Her hands met with his, like two wrestlers fighting for the state title, neither one willing to give up their pride, not for a second.
"Get out-- of the way!" James shouted, giving Sarah a death stare before tossing her aside, breaking both of her hands, causing her flesh and bone to protrude from underneath her once delicate figure.
"Aughh! John, hurry!" Sarah cried out, fighting against the pain as she writhed on the ground, still eyeing James before turning her fixation on the ceiling fan, following each rotation, counting each spin underneath her breath as she heaved, attempting to regain her composure.
"John, Jeremy, just give me a slice of pizza. I don't want to hurt you," James spoke, walking toward the two of them as cold sweat leaked down their worry-painted faces.
"James... are you really going to do this again?" Sarah spoke, catching James' attention, causing him to turn his head back toward her as both John and Jeremy tiptoed toward him.
"Pizza is yummy. It belongs in my tummy. That's all there is to it..." he spoke, turning his gaze back onto the pizza box, "and anyone that tries to stop me..." John and Jeremy nearly reached him, preparing to wrestle with him as they got into close quarters with him, "they'll get a slice of me!" Jame shouted, ducking underneath John and Jeremy as if he were limboing, dodging both their grasps with ease, slipping away from them like an oiled-up pig.
James, with everyone out of the picture, ran toward the table, lowering his still-stressed hand onto the final slice of pizza that sat in the box lonesomely. He picks it up, his mouthwatering and his stomach quaking as it neared his mouth.
"Wha--" James' questioned in shock as he noticed a thin piece of wire attached to the pizza, connected to the ceiling fan that wrapped around him hastily with each rotation of the fan.
"It's too late! The pizza is mine!" James screeched, putting the pizza into his mouth hole, biting away at the string as the ceiling fan began lifting him into the air, swinging him around like a stray pinata.
"Damnit... we failed..." Sarah spoke meekly, fading into a slumber as blood seeped from her wounds.
"What a shitty--"
As John attempted to speak, James's pants fell down, revealing his bare but to everyone in the room, mooning them with each rotation of the fan.
"I feel sick... why did you guys let me eat the pizza? You knew I was lactose intolerant..." James spoke with the growl of his stomach as the ceiling fan continued spinning.
"What-- Jame's what are you about to do!?" John shouted, attempting to pull him down from the ceiling fan as James kicked him away accidentally with his falling feet.
"I think I'm gonna--" Before James could finish speaking, a wet, loud, monstrous, unholy, distasteful, disdain fuel fart shot out of his bum, painting the room brown as an endless stream of feces poured out of his body.
"No! No! Not again!" John shouted, jumping up from the ground onto the white couch, attempting to shield it from James' poop-stream to no avail.
"Sorry... but it's your fault for letting me eat it..." James spoke dismissively as he continued spinning around, still excreting everywhere as John cried and Jeremy ducked for cover, using Sarah's body as a shield.
"You're a shitty friend," John spoke, wiping off the poop that had been smeared all over him.
"Actually, you're the shitty friend," James spoke, laughing at John as he eyed his poop-ridden friend.
"And Jeremy..."
"The fuck do you want, you asshole?!" Jeremy shouted as his backside was covered in feces, covering his face with James' jacket.
"I didn't shit my pants this time," James spoke with smugness as Jeremy jumped up from his hiding spot, hitting James with all his might as James continued to laugh whilst being spun around.
"Hit me all you want. I've become stronger."
| 2021-06-27T15:20:02 | 2021-06-27T13:18:23 | 67 | 22 |
[WP] It's Halloween, the anniversary of when everyone became the costume they were wearing. Those who skipped Trick-or-treating or don't celebrate were lucky, but now they must live with friends and family who became "the cursed".
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If I had known that magic was going to come back into the world on Halloween I definitely would've stayed away from the college party I was at...Seeing my closest friends turn into their costumes was beyond horrifying. Some got off lucky, turning into Princess peach or Willy Wonka Others...not so much; the apartment got destroyed as a fork in the road appeared where my friend had been sitting and as Loki Laufreeson grew to his terrible height.
College changed a lot after that, in every class there were knights feuding with viking gods while the frat bro professor tries to shout them down. As for me? I now have to complete the winds of winter while also studying for my Accounting degree.
[First attempt at writing fiction, please lmk what you think. Kinda just had to write out what might have happened at college.]
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Here in Sudan, we don't really get to celebrate holidays like Halloween and Christmas, like they do in the west. My only connection to them is the occasional Instagram post, and a few parties around the capital where the "westernized" youth go to offload their energy, before going about their business the next day. Here, if you don't have any friends integrated into that culture, who would encourage you to get a costume together and celebrate, it was just another night.
This year, though, it wasn't. This year, my own mother was that friend. She had started getting more into social media- it began with her cursing out the president anonymously on Twitter, but slowly became an alternate life that she was slowly bringing into her own. She saw a few generic costumes of her favorite TV show- a sitcom that I wish I'd remembered the name of, but unfortunately, all I have of it is her new fluent American accent, paired with a red jumper and wool pants that dared our signature year-round Saharan heat.
On the complete opposite end of what she represented, she was holding an almost neon green fat suit, and I knew, just by looking at the two distinct trumpet-looking ears, that it was a badly-sown, low grade Shrek suit. It was the fastest I've ever said no to a gathering, and after about half an hour of my sitting and insistently saying no, I reluctantly agreed to put the suit on for a bit, and watched her fill a bowl with dry candy, and then leave me to join the only other cucoo her age as they drove off. That suit stayed on for not longer than a second after.
That night, I fell asleep, and texted her to call me if she couldn't get the door to lock, only to receive an "okay, sweetie" back around midnight. Odd. She never called me sweetie, especially in English.
Because I brushed it off and woke into the next day unknowingly, that morning was nothing short of a shock, but not before I left my home. It started with mother's weird behavior- That wine-mom behavior, extremely unlike anything she would portray, but I wasn't there for it more than 5 minutes that morning- I had university to attend, and work to finish. Not having even seen her face clearly, I quickly got into my joggers, and out the door.
The streets were exceptionally busy, but people oddly contradicted that with an eerie quiet- no one wanted to greet the other, let alone speak to them or laugh as they would in the early morning. Before I walked farther away from the house, I saw my mom's friend drive past with her car window down, and a weirdly familiar brunette wig hanging over her naturally black, curly hair. Odd.
In the transport, I took the liberty of going over to my Twitter feed and checking the latest, only to find it riddled with articles headlined with things like "October 32nd" and "Costumes so good, they stayed on." And then photos. Loads and loads of photos of people that could not be any more in character. It almost seemed like there was one of each costume, a duplication in different settings- horrifically realistic cartoons, and wide-eyed but 3-dimentional anime characters.
In the second it took to rip my eye off the screen, I glimpsed a red suit with a Dali mask. I couldn't ask our people to get with the times even of I tried. He ran over to a police officer, one of many roaming around the country with AKs these days, and shouted "Take it off, please!" The suit seemed to be stuck, and he was having a hard time breathing through the mask, but somehow neither he, nor the confused officer, could get it off. Then, with a swift pull of his gun, the man emptied a round into his face, breaking the mask to reveal an oozing dark mass under the character he was portraying. I wonder if he had any family.
(Don't wanna make this too long, but if I get an interested comment, I can make a follow up~It just feels likea bit much)
| 2021-10-06T07:06:31 | 2021-10-06T02:20:26 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Everyone only gets to lie three times in their life, so they only do so when it's an absolute must. This is the story of how someone lied three times in one day.
|
Mother liked to tell the story. They all had one.
Mom found me reaching for the cookie jar.
"What are you doing kiddo?"
"Nothing..."
"Were you trying to get a cookie and eat it?"
"No."
"What were you doing?"
"I was getting a cookie for you."
Most folks in the community called it good parenting. The practice is called Toddling. Parents make sure their kids will never lie to them. I am, and always will be resentful of that woman. Something clicked off in my mind as she questioned me, and realization, even in my toddler mind, saved what I could.
I did grab 2 cookies, and all I have left is a half-truth.
|
Adam came out from his coma sometime around the 5th day after he was admitted to the ICU.
Stefanie heard him stir, coughing in short spurts as he slowly regained his senses. She had been lightly dozing by his side, and she reached for his hand to calm him. Slowly, painfully, he opened his remaining good eye and struggled to focus on her.
“Where… what…” His voice was strained, reedy, perhaps a result of the sore throat he must have from the intubator the doctors had forced down earlier. Or perhaps a result of the blunt trauma he suffered when he crashed through the windshield. It didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
Stefanie caressed Adam’s cheek gently. “Darling, you’re in the hospital. You’ve just had a small accident, that’s all… do you remember anything about how you got here?”
Adam’s brow furrowed in concentration. “No, no I don’t remember… Where are the kids? Are they here?”
Stefanie managed the weakest of smiles. “They’re fine,” she lied for the first time in her life. “They’re downstairs, just for a while.” Which wasn’t a lie, technically, since Timothy was in the morgue at the basement, and Sabrina was in the children’s ICU two floors down, fighting for her life.
“Good, good… wait, why’s your head all bandaged too? And your arm? Were you, like… also…” Adam’s arm flopped back down after his strained efforts to reach out to her. He was evidently still too weak.
“Oh this? It’s nothing, I’ll be fine. I was in the car, when you got into that accident, so here we are.” She omitted to explain that miraculously, she had barely suffered any injuries in the crash. The doctors and paramedics had assumed that to be the cause of her hairline fractures.
She didn’t see the need to clarify that actually, they came from Adam. Maybe the day of the crash, when they were fighting and he forced her and the children into the car, all the while swearing they would all die together. Or maybe the week before, in their last fight. Again, it didn’t really matter to Stefanie.
“… Car? Was I…” Adam’s face visibly blanched. “Was I… drinking again? Did I…”
A wane smile set across Stefanie’s face as she squeezed his hand. “No, it wasn’t your fault,” she lied, for the second time in her life. “The other guy wasn’t looking. He drifted into our lane.”
Adam’s eyelid fluttered as he struggled to keep awake. “Oh, I see. Then, I think I’ll just… sleep some more. I’m so tired. When I’m better, we’ll all go home, ok?” Then, he was out like a light, and soon the rhythmic, steady breaths of deep sleep came.
Stefanie cried then, as silently as she could manage, the sobs coursing through her as she fought to keep them in. She had finally made up her mind. A quick flick of the switch. A deep breath. Then she stood up, all 5.3 feet and 110 pounds of her, and pressed down on Adam’s mouth with her good hand and pinched his nostrils with the other.
The bed frame wobbled, and for a while Stefanie was worried that he would overpower her, just as he always had. But the injuries and multiple surgeries had weakened him, and it was over faster than she thought. When she was sure, she turned the monitoring system back on.
Later, as she made her way down to see Sabrina, an orderly recognized Stefanie and offered a few hasty but soothing words. “Mam, please stay strong. It’s been a big loss for you, but once your husband and daughter get better, well, you guys still have each other. Things will get better.”
“Yes,” Stephanie lied for the last time in her life, “I know we’ll be happy again, some day.”
| 2014-11-15T16:32:21 | 2014-11-15T10:43:05 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Death comes to collect one final life - God.
|
It was Saturday evening. Rain fell down as God was slouching in his great chair when someone knocked on the door. He slowly walked towards the great wooden door as if he was tired; the Great One, actually tired.
He opened the door and there was Death in the form of an old man with his trademark scythe, dripping wet from the rain.
"So my time's finally come, eh?" God said.
"I guess it is. I wouldn't be here for anything else," Death said.
"You do know that I was better, right? They liked me better," the old man chuckled.
"Maybe. But I had to clean up after your mess, as always," Death rebutted.
"Yeah, sorry about that. I tried my best, you know. They were beautiful. Simple. Then he came to ruin everything," God added.
"I know. I was there. But nobody seems to remember me in your Books," Death added.
"Oh but they do, you know. Just not in the way you would like it. Guess you lost the bet," God said as he laughed and coughed.
"Guess I did," Death said in a serious tone.
"Come now, have a little humor," God said.
"Come one, old man. We don't have all day," Death said.
They stepped out of the God's own White House. He slouched and slowly made his way into the Death's black carriage.
"Yeah, I heard you. Hey you did you know that with all the time I spent here in this world, I never really liked the rain. Funny, eh?" God said.
"I recall you doing something to the humans with the rain," Death said.
"Yeah, moving on. I wish I did better, though. They could have been saved," God said.
"That's not your fault. That was their choice. You gave them free will. It's not your fault they lost faith," Death said. "Come now, time to get in," Death added.
"Alright alright. I'm getting in," God said as he entered the carriage.
As Death was about to enter the carriage, bells rang from God's home and echoed throughout the land.
"Would you look at that. It's finally Sunday," God said as he looked out the window.
Death looked on the land one last time before he entered the carriage.
"I guess it is. Sunday. What a way to send you off on your final rest day. Funny, eh?" Death said as he and God laughed at the observation.
|
The Universe was empty.
I mean, it had always been empty—what with all the SPACE and VOID and all—but now it was *really* empty. Not a breathing soul on a single planet, a single space station, a single over-stellar chariot.
It was all gone.
And you could chalk it all up to the man in the pale starship.
He used to ride a horse, but he upgraded to more modern tech in the last few centuries. He also used to wear a black mumu and carry around a scythe—but he realized that pants and a good gun could do the job a lot better.
Plus, folk told him they made him look a *lot* cooler.
They told him this, of course, before he took their souls scratching and screaming into the Hole.
The man didn’t have a name so much as he did a *title*, and that title was Death.
His ship’s computer chimed, *”Good morning, DEATH. Where would you like to travel on this beautiful day?”*
“I’m thinking this’ll be our last trip together.”
*”I’m sorry, I didn’t understand that location.”*
The computer was just a computer, vintage. It wasn’t alive like a lot of the modern stuff. If it was, Death would’ve had to kill her, and that would’ve been a sad thing, now wouldn’t it?
“The time’s about nigh for the Big Holy One. Set destination for Godshome.”
*”On what date would you like to arrive?”*
“You know the date. Only one that makes sense.” Death leaned his bone-white head against the acceleration cushion. “Set date for the End of the Universe.”
***
The pale ship arrived in orbit around Godshome at a time when most cosmological chronometers graduated from the standard hour-minute-second nonsense and moved onto the more useful event-based timeline:
Galactic Islanding, Expansion Isolation, Heat Death.
The planet shouldn’t have even existed—everything had just kind of dissolved into a kind of entropic gas at this point—but here it was. Godshome. Covered in good green land with clear seas from pole-to-pole.
At the center of the southeastern hemisphere, Death could see the villa.
“Ok computer, touch down at these coordinates…”
***
He knocked at the door.
There was a shuffling inside, but there was no answer.
Death would have rolled his eyes, if he had anything but empty sockets. “Are we really going to do this *every* time? Just open up, will you?”
The door opened just a sliver and God demurely flicked her face in the crack. “Is this really the best time? I’m super busy.”
“What could you possibly be busy with? Everything’s dead. And now it’s your turn.”
She opened the door. “Yeah, I was thinking about that. You know how last time I just put everything back into a Big Crunch? I might just do that again, now.”
“You’ve done that the last twenty-three times. How long until you stop running away from this?”
“Maybe like… another ten million cycles?”
Death sat down at the sofa. “Are you not bored of this? I mean, Hell… I know I am.”
She sat down opposite of him. “Well you only look at the nasty bits of the Universe, now don’t you? I get to witness all the birth, and goodness, and green, and mmm.”
“Well you’ve got a whole Universe of your dead souls to govern, and they aren’t getting any younger. You know, souls never used to scream when I took them to the Hole, but now they do. It’s like they know something.”
She looked down, guilty.
“Without you everything’s going to shit for them, I’m sure. Stop running away from your responsibility.”
She stood up. “I really shouldn’t have ever created you.”
“I’m Death. I’m necessary. Without me you’d get a world of old farts who never change their minds about anything. I’m the forest fire that sets things to growing green… and you like green, don’t you?”
God conjured up a glass of whiskey—at that moment the only glass in the Universe—and sipped it down. “I do. Maybe life through the Hole isn’t as bad as I think it is.”
“Maybe it isn’t.”
She bit her lip. “The truth is, I don’t really know what to expect.”
“That’s an adventure, now, isn’t it?” Death stood up and took her glass. “Tell you what, you go through and take care of the souls, and after I clean up all the stars and suns, I’ll go in after you.”
“You will?”
“I will. After all, it’ll be boring as all hell out here when I’m done.”
“But it might be *actual* hell in the Hole, too.”
“Still more interesting than Heat Death, I can tell you. So,” he said. “You ready?”
God snapped and a bag of Flaming Hot Cheetos cracked into being in her hands. Flaming hots and a glass of whiskey? Ballsy. But then, what else could you expect from God?
“Just one last snack,” she said, crunching. “Man, people thought Ambrosia was good… but not as good as a flaming hot cheeto.”
Death unholstered his gun. God acknowledged it calmly.
“I’ll meet you on the other side.”
He fired.
***
The pale ship flew the familiar route along the Dark Flow to the Hole, dumping that last and holy soul at the very lip.
*”Would you like to travel elsewhere?”*
“Ain’t many more places to go,” Death said.
He tapped his chin, thoughtfully.
“Take me to the Big Bang. I want to see this whole thing play out again, one last time. For old time’s sake.”
| 2015-05-07T09:32:13 | 2015-05-07T09:23:42 | 38 | 11 |
[WP] When you're in danger, time slows down. The more danger you're in, the more time slows down. You wake up and nothing is moving but you.
|
My power kicked in around the time I hit puberty. The effects of it seemed to grow with time, at the start if there was a life threatening danger time would slow usually just enough for me to escape. However now if my life was in danger time would slow by what I estimate to be about 70 times. I started experimenting with it while at university, place myself in insane risk and see what happened. The greater the danger the slower time passed.
I would jump in front of buses just to watch everything slow completely. My friends, onlookers, they all would ever so slowly turn their heads to view the impending doom that never came. To them it seemed like my reactions were quicker than humanly possible however I knew that it was actually the world that reacted very slowly.
This day was different however. I woke up and looked over to my window, it was still dark out but I felt like I had slept in for hours. My watch said the time was 2:32:21 in the morning. I counted the seconds until my clock ticked till 2:33:22 to see how slow time was passing. 119,120,121... I had never reached above 100 before and began to realise that I must be in serious trouble.
As I looked round their didn't seem to be any imminent danger, looking outside they were no planes about to crash into my house or serial killers lurking outside. Confused and slightly panicked I began searching for anything that could be about to kill me and how to stop it. Nothing.
Everything seemed perfectly normal but frozen. I walked from my house wondering if it was about to explode but even as I reached the next block time still remained frozen.
Defeated I wondered the city, aimlessly, hoping that time would magically unfreeze. Tick. My watch had moved to the next second.
Confused I continued walking until I heard another tick about two minutes later. Time was speeding up. I passed another two blocks before the next tick, as if my position determined how quickly time was passing. I moved back towards where it was ticking faster and experimented with different directions. East seemed to speed my clock up the most so headed in that direction.
Soon my clock was ticking every thirty seconds and that's when the realisation hit me. There it stood only three minutes walk from where I stood. The hospital.
Knowing this must be the answer I ran towards it busting through the doors, the ticks of my watch resuming the night receptionist starting to move and an intense pain in my chest swelling up to consume me until there was only blackness.
|
Quiet.
Audrey blinked, staring at the dim, blurry plastic stars that dotted the ceiling above her bed. She pulled the covers over her eyes, blotting out the light, and smiled as the warmth of her blanket washed over her face. For the first time in days, she felt truly rested.
But why was it so dark?
Underneath her blanket, Audrey frowned. It wasn't right, for her to feel like this - not yet. She had been tired when she went to bed, worn out from a long day of school and soccer practice. She *should* still be tired. Unless...
Suddenly, she threw back the covers and jammed her glasses onto her face, staring rapt at the clock on her bedside table. 3:02. For several long minutes, she stared at the glowing red numbers, watching them - *willing* them - to change. Nothing. With every second that passed, more and more panic flooded into her chest. Then, all at once, something happened.
The colon went dark.
Audrey cursed, then slapped her hands over her mouth before she remembered that no one else could hear. One second? No, not even that long. Half a second - and that was assuming she even looked at the clock at the right time. How long had she been like this, sleeping her time away in the dark? She cursed again, a little quieter this time.
She had to find her stopwatch.
Fuming, she leapt out of bed and flicked on the light before diving into her backpack. It had to be in here, somewhere - she always kept one nearby, ever since the bomber at her school had stopped her time nearly cold. She had been twelve then, just entering the third grade - at least, she had been before she started evacuating people out of the building. Now, she wasn't sure how old she really was.
She smiled as she felt the blocky object on her fingertips. She didn't know how much time she had lost - not really - but this at least would give her some idea. For Audry, time was relative - slow to the exact point that she needed it to be - whether she wanted it to be or not. Before, with the bomber, one second had been a single millisecond. She had plenty of time, then, even when she needed to eat or sleep. Now, she just needed to know exactly how long she had this time.
She pushed the start button, and frowned.
Nothing had changed. The numbers had lit up, at least, proudly displaying the 0:00^00 of an idle watch. And yet, she had pressed start - she had been sure of it. Groaning in frustration, she hammered away at the buttons a few more times, just to be sure. Still, nothing. She dropped it on the floor, defeated.
The number ticked up by one.
Audry stared at it for a moment in disbelief. How long, exactly, did she have? Her last misadventure had taken ages - months, even - before she had been allowed to return to a normal time frame. Her cafeteria and a nearby grocer had provided enough food, luckily enough, but even then she had gotten sick of the same old mashed potatoes and cole slaw before long. How was she supposed to survive? Not to mention the bigger question:
What was causing her to slow down?
Suddenly wary, Audry looked around her room with suspicion. Nothing appeared out of the ordinary. The bomber had been obvious enough: she had found him just downstairs threatening the teachers, gun in one hand and dead man's switch in the other. Simple. This time, however, she wasn't so sure it would be that easy. Quietly, she got dressed and went to investigate her neighborhood. Whatever it was, it had to be *big*.
It wasn't fire, at least that she could see. Nor was it gas - at least, she certainly hoped that it wasn't. While she couldn't smell anything, she wasn't entirely sure how her ability interacted with air. Still, she wasn't dead, and that was a start.
The air outside her home was cool and refreshing, despite the late hour. She was grateful for that, and the glowing orange streetlights that dotted the road outside of her house. Nothing looked out of place here, either. It was just a normal, cloudy night.
Except for the light.
Audry hadn't noticed it, not at first. It had been too dim from behind the clouds, and the streetlamps had made her night vision weak. But there it was, painting the clouds an odd greenish color from behind. It faintly reminded her of the stars in her bedroom. But when she happened upon a hole in the clouds that gave her a glimpse of the object, her blood ran cold.
It was a fireball, the largest she had ever seen.
Fear danced through Audrey's limbs like electricity. A falling star, here? Of all places? Why hadn't they known? Why hadn't someone told her, warned her that something like this could happen? She eyed the glowing thing, squinting away from its light. How was she going to stop *that*? It was close, so close already - and she had no idea how far its fires would reach. How many people were in its radius, would be killed if it hit? Her neighborhood? The whole city? A part of her wanted to run, to get away from it all - maybe only take her family, her mother and father. That would be hard enough on its own. Audrey swallowed, hard. She could do it - if she got far enough away, so that she was safe, her time would snap back to normal. She had to choose. To run...
Or to live for years in solitude, alone with a city of statues, always trying to save just one more.
| 2017-01-26T13:17:28 | 2017-01-26T13:05:25 | 20 | 12 |
[WP] A group of fantasy adventures has one of their members replaced by a Doppelganger. The rest of the group realizes what happened, but keep pretending to be fooled since they like the doppelganger a lot more than the guy it replaced.
|
"A fine...mead?!" Rorik shouts over the din of the tavern. His companions smile and nod along with him as he sings some old barbarian tune.
Sings it wrong. They don't tell him that though.
Delia, the group's cleric leans over to their mage.
"Do you think he knows?"
Melvar just shakes his head and holds out a palm towards their massive friend. Friend as of lately, of course. Rorik was a massive pain for the group long before the shifter stole his face.
"He definitely doesn't but...I think I like him. Rorik was a bit of a jerk, always running off into the dungeons with that stupid battlecry. Remember when we went into the Crypt of Alohar, how many good people did he get killed?"
"Yeah...he's kinda cute now. Like a child or something."
They both watch Rorik move around the tavern with his mug and talk to other groups of adventurers. He's loud but not overbearing. He listens to the stories of others instead of telling his own. He drinks but not to excess. He is nothing like the barbarian they all had come to know and...
Melvar doesn't quite finish the thought.
"You know what Del, I like him. I know he's a shifter but look at everyone. We all know and he's trying so hard to be like Rorik but he just can't. I don't think there's a mean bone in that thing's body. You know that he hasn't made fun of my beard once, not in months."
She snorts. The young mage was trying so hard to grow it out and he'd been self-conscious about it for months.
A warrior passing by their table to his own party leans over and whispers it to the pair.
"You should keep him. He's an improvement."
"Friends!" Rorik shouts, sitting again at their table, "What fun! And we do this between every adventure? And people give us gold to go on those adventures? To spend here? Amazing!"
He is off again before they can even respond.
"Do you think The Dwarf knows?" Melvar watches Rorik join another random group of adventures and sing yet another song. Still wrong.
Delia shrugs.
"I don't know and I don't care. We're gonna keep him. He's like a dog or something. But useful."
Melvar strokes his "beard" for a moment.
"Alright, we'll keep him. But I swear if he ever makes fun of my beard-"
"What? You'll strangle him with one of your wisps? You should really shave, you're looking more like a magical hobo than a wizard. 'I cast: smell of unwashedness!'"
As she walks away laughing at her own joke Melvar narrows his eyes. He lifts his mug and mutters something into it before drinking.
"I'll replace you too if I have to..."
|
I added a little twist but I think it's still good, non the less. Here.
"AAHHH! Tavian! I need your help!"
"What can I do?"
"Ray of Frost!? Something! ANYTHING! JUST GET THIS THING OFF ME!"
A small harmless slug had fallen onto Yeralia's shoulder, while the party was traveling out of the Forest of Traggleroot. Tavian, being a Barbarian, simply flicked the slug off of her. Saviak and Prantin were watching the whole debacle take place, giggling like goblins about to botch an ambush.
“You do know I'm not an Eldritch Knight, right?”
"Thank you Tavian, I know,” she said, wiping away the slime, “I can always rely on you."
"Even when I almost sacrificed you to my gods?"
Yeralia simply forgot that ever happened.
“Well, let's let bygones be bygones, eh, Tavian?”
“That not like the Yer…”
“Uppupupup!,” Saviak interrupted, covering Tavians mouth. There was a brief pause. He continues, “We just defeated a shapeshifter! Let's go celebrate at the tavern and… Prantin can play the lute as we venture to town! Yeah, sound like a plan?”
Saviak releases Tavians mouth, “Uh.. sure! I am ready to get our reward! How about we get going? I need to mourn the loss Kenneth.”
Tavian didn't know Yeralia was actually the shapeshifter. Saviak was a smooth talker, some paladins are, and Tavian doesn't have very much intelligence, most Barbarians don't. The party walk along the path while Prantin plays his lute like a pro. He began to sing a song.
“In memory of Kenneth, the Thief that broke the rules, taught us the Cant and then was shot by the thieves guild. How bad. Sooooo saaad!”
“He didn't teach me or Yeralia Thieves Cant.” Tavian barked.
Prantin replied in singsong, “That's because you and the mage were really druuunk!”
“Oh… good point,” Tavian realized.
“Isn’t thieves cant like secret messages people can share in the open?,” said Yeralia.
“If Kenneth was here he’d say, ‘...maybe.’ I think his carefree nature is what caused the guild to turn on him.” Saviak answered. “By the way… I’ll sing with yoooou, Prantin,”
“Okay! Let's sing, 'Lucky Man's Strife?!’ an improv song from the Bards College,” Prantin said, winking at Saviak.
“Oh! I'd love to hear it! I can't wait!” Yeralia danced.
Prantin starts. “Well!
This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history and now has a wife (She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife! (What should we do?)
I had a note that led me to it, a house on the hill (We need to tell him)
To ask for the charm. The luck and the will. (or at least hint at it)
He told me No! And he went on his way (he might leave or… worse)
He took for the hills, there was no time to stay! (Do you have an idea?)”
Saviak joins in the chorus,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow (Tavian is catching on)
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow (He might get angry)
He had friends, he had a history , now he has a wife(She's not convincing enough)
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's strife (What should we do?)”
Saviak replies, in verse,
“I followed the man, he walked steadfast (He might not care though)
He look so tired, he was ready to pass (if he's angry he'll get over it)
I soon found out; the old man had a wife(we can change the subject to her now)
And was dumb struck with fear, as she came with a knife. (She was a back stabbing woman)”
Both Tavian and Yeralia join,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
Tavian sings, off key the entire time,
“The wife came up and shouted, almost caught me in the neck. (???)
I'm know I had to duck, so I hit the deck! (???)
I was pointed to the house, told to go in. (???)
The old man came too, he gave me a pin.(???)
They're all singing as the walk into the town. The tavern was near the entrance of the town so they walked in, still singing,
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
Whose smile was grand! Big, bright and yellow!
He had friends, he had a history, he now has a wife
But to him life was a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
The party sits down and Yeralia finishes the song with great finesse,
“The pin looked like silver, but I know my steel (You know, don't you?)
I felt ripped off, I know how you feel(I could bring her back if you want me to)"
Prantin and Savaik sing in unison reply,
“I took the grey pin, and I'm filled with glee! (We like you way more)
Now I am a man who is just as lucky! (We're glad to have you!)"
“This is the tale of a lucky old fellow,
My smile became grand! Big, bright and yellow!
I had friends, I had a history, I now have a wife
But to me life is a mystery, just the lucky man's Strife!”
| 2017-09-15T07:29:21 | 2017-09-15T04:39:41 | 5,321 | 13 |
[WP] Everyones heard of a guardian angel but theres been some sort of mix up and you were given a guardian demon.
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Damnit all, you clumsy oaf. There, we are back up on the ledge like nothing happened. I cannot believe how fragile your species is, how on earth are there billions of you, truly baffling if you ask me.
Oh right you can't see or hear me. Just as well I suppose, you squeal like you are dying when you see a tiny spider, I mean it's no brimstone tarantula is all I'm saying. I can only imagine how many times I'd need to restart your pathetically weak heart if you could see my true face.
Oh sure kneel down and put your hands together thanking a higher power for your good luck. Luck has nothing to do with it, I refuse to let Azazel win this bet. My human will live longer than his and I would appreciate it if you maybe helped just a little instead of being so pathetically squishy!
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Gunpowder. That clinging, cloying sulfur smell, tendrils of it wisping through the craters and broken windows of what once had been a bustling school. The crunch of broken glass underfoot, the feel of dust on her face. This had been Corporal Annette Louiza Martinez's life for the last 6 hours. 6 hours of blistering heat, mortar strikes and more bullets that a Texas gun show. 6 hours of combat that would have scared her grandfather, and he had been in 'nam. And now, worst of all, that terrible pre-strike lul, the ebb and flow of battle that soldiers had felt and dreaded since time immemorial.
"Comms?" She wheezed, checking her depleted ammunition.
"Negative CPL. This dust storm has our birds grounded, and our receptions shot to shit" replied Johansson, Wire skinny, 5'5, Mainer brogue helping hide his panic as he slapped the platoons radio.
"Of course" she replied. "Ammo?"
"FUCKIN FUBAR" shouted Cliffton from the other side of the schools lobby. He adjusted the M249 he was cradling in his bear sized paws, listing the platoons dwindling stock of firepower. "I got one belt left, 2 grenades for the 203, and no reloads for the rifle!"
"DOC!?"
"our wounded are looking pretty bad marty....." You could barely hear Corpsman Patcheki from the second floor office where he was hunkered down with the wounded....and 3 dead. "I'm running out of plasma and these guys.....almost as bad as Chicago"
"WHAT?" A new round of fire broke out, cutting off Docs speech.
"WE NEED TO GET A MEDIVAC OR THESE GUYS WON'T MAKE IT!"
Desperate didn't begin to cover this. This was fucked. Capital F, capital CKD. The L.T. had gone down 2 hours in, leaving Martinez in Control of a sad sack defense. And now the fire was picking up. Not picking up, it was ramping like a BMX rider at the X games. She knew. This was the push. They were coming in, and her platoon couldn't stop them.
"COVER FIRE! FALL BACK TO SECONDARIES!"
They were gonna fall back to the stairwell, make Them pay for every inch of dirt They took from the jarheads. Johansson bolted up the stairs, still screaming into the squawk box, trying in vain to get help. Cliffton backed up, firing the SAW, laying down fire. Then his legs folded. Just dropped like a sack of rocks off a balcony.
"CORPSMAN!!!" Martinez didn't think. She just called for doc and bolted, running for her fallen marine hoping, pra...
She woke up screaming in the field hospital. The orderlies jumped back holding pieces of burnt uniform and tattered flak pieces.
"SQUAD UP, SQUAD UP, HEAD COUNT!!" belting orders like she was still In that damm school. It took the orderlies 5 minutes to calm her down and get an officer. An extra 10 minutes to see the squad roster, explain how everyone had made it, how EVERYONE had made it.
"Honestly, it's a miracle you all made it. The radio call came in just in time, and there was no sign of Them when the relief squad showed up. Just....ash. Like a fucking chopper leveled a city block. Any explanation CPL?" He was a non-descript major. Middle aged white guy, crew cut perfect uniform. Everything that screamed Base Rat.
She just sat there. She could, no, wouldn't answer. How could she explain dying? The..nothing? And then the rage. No fear, no regret, just fury, for the platoon, her hatred of Them, the deafeningly silent scream that lasted an eternity of nothing's. She had raged, damming God and calling for vengeance, and then, the worst part.
When she screamed.......and something answered back. Uh-rah devil dog, uh-rahahahahahahah.
| 2017-10-13T06:07:01 | 2017-10-13T06:05:45 | 45 | 23 |
[WP]It's your first night on the job as a Park Ranger. Your partner gives you one last piece of advice before you start your first night shift together "If you are out in the woods and you hear a woman screaming, whatever you do, do NOT run towards the screaming."
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The crunching of gravel beneath my boots kept me company on my walk back to the cabin. It hadn't been a bad night. I could definitely get used to this. No claustrophobic cubicle for me anymore. Just a lovely open forest. The reds, yellows, and oranges combined into a beautiful array of colors that made me excited for Halloween.
*Kzzt*
"Hey, rookie. You almost back to base?" My partner asked me through the radio attached to my hip.
"Yeah, man. I'm almost there. Gimme 5 minutes." I told him.
"Gotcha, buddy. Be safe."
"Will do, thanks."
I took a deep breath of the fresh and crisp fall air. It chilled my chest as I inhaled. I couldn't wait to get a fresh cup of coffee, to warm me up. Nothing like a nice hot cup, on a night like this. I approached the two big trees adjacent to each other. The one on the left was slightly taller. We used it as a landmark to help us navigate. As I walked by them, I heard a faint and weak sniffle.
I shone my light underneath the tree and illuminated a young girl.
She was sobbing.
"Hey, it's going to be okay. I'm a Park Ranger. I can take you to your parents." I held out my hand and slowly approached her.
The poor little girl's clothes were in tatters. Her chest was soaked from her tears. At first she hesitated and turned away. I showed her my badge, and she started to come towards me. I knelt down to scoop her up. Right before she reached me, I heard a soft woman's voice.
"Come to me, honey. I'll take you home."
The voice startled me and I turned to her, she was standing on a rock. She was beautiful, and in a pearl white dress with no scuffs or dirt marks. Her hair was blonde.
"No, sweetie. Come to me, I'm a Park Ranger." I told the little girl.
I looked at the woman and said "Ma'am, I don't know who you are, or why the hell you're out here but you both need to come with me."
"That's it honey, come to me." She said.
While my attention was on the woman, the little girl ran toward her.
I walked towards them both.
"Don't take another step, filth." The woman told me. Her soft voice was now replaced with a scratchy growl.
"I'm taking her home." She said.
I pulled my gun out and just as I did she screamed. Her jaw unhinged like a snake.
She screamed so loud my ears rang and my eyes blurred. It was louder than a gunshot. I shook my head, and closed my ears.
I looked up at the rock, vision still blurred but they were both gone.
*kzzt*
"Did I hear what I just think I heard?" My partner asked me in a nervous yet firm voice.
"Yeah, you did."
"Don't even fucking think about going after her." He said in a somber and straight tone.
"She took a little girl."
"Oh.... Shit. Get the fuck out of there, and head for the cabin. Do you hear me? I'll meet you halfway."
"Ok."
I clutched my gun so tightly my knuckles turned white, and I ran.
|
'I'm sorry, what?' I looked at Bill like he had just told me grape soda was made with oranges. "I'll say it one more time." His look never changing from one of absolute concern and sincerity, like a father telling his child not to do something incredibly stupid.
"If you're patrolling in the woods and you hear a woman screaming, DO NOT run towards the screaming. That's all you need to know, good night Dave." He turned around and headed out the door, the last I saw of him was his salt and pepper hair going down the stairs. 12 am, my first shift begins on an ominous note, one that I am not appreciative of.
I'm not going to tell you it was a full moon during Friday the 13th in October, it was a Wednesday in February and the moon was barely visible in the cloudy night sky. After doing my perimeter check of the park, I proceeded to the next section of my route, the visitors center. My job was to make sure the doors were locked, I park my car by the front door, checking that I had my keys I walk towards the front door, the sounds of my shoes on gravel my only companion. I remember as a kid the visitors center was my least favorite part of the park, not because it was boring as all hell, but because of the stuffed animals they had. And every time I came here, my classmates or my brothers would tell me some twisted story about them and why they had to kill them. "This bear slaughtered dozens of kids and even some police dogs from the times they chased him down" or "That wolf used to be that pack leader of the Indians who used to own this land, they used old magic to exact revenge on the pilgrims who stole their land." they would say, hell they even told me a story of zombie beaver and I was stupid enough to believe them.
All that came flooding back to me as I stared down the bear that greeted guests by the front door inside. Standing 10 feet tall with his mouth agape didn't help my fears, I cautiously approach the door to che *SNAP RUSTLE* "What the fuck?" I quickly turned around and turned on my flashlight, my heart going a mile a minute. After what felt like forever, I'm finally content with it just being nothing or a raccoon. What I wasn't content with was that the 10 foot bear was now standing directly behind the door. I fall backwards and scramble away, the gravel provided no help in my cowardly escape. I stared at that bear directly in the eye, looking for some kind of assurance that it was indeed dead.
I pray and try to rationalize what's happened, it clearly didn't move itself, I reasoned my self into believing that the darkness made it look farther away than it was. I picked myself up and dusted off and did my job. Locked. I got in my car and drove to the last part of my night, the woods. 4 am, my shift would end in only a few hours. The dark of night was still managing to keep a hold of the park, the chilly wind picked up speed. While most kids hated the nature walks, they were always my favorite part of field trips. Always eager to learn, I memorized every info slab on the trail and the order they were in.
My old knowledge gave me confidence in my stride, knowing that the night would soon end I took my time and enjoyed my private tour of one. I then heard the fabled screaming,the crying sound of a woman, it had no words but it made my stomach drop, covering me in a cold nauseating feeling. I waited, for.... anything. Anything to tell me it was a joke or my mind playing tricks on me. I hear it again "No! Stop!" There it was again, to my left. Ignoring my predecessors orders, I charged straight towards it.
I ran over rocks and fallen branches my face being stung by hundreds of tiny thorns. I soon see a red glow, I push past some bushes and see it. A circle of candles, people in robes standing on its edges, a stone table in the middle, a naked woman chained down. A robed figure stood next to her, it held what looked like a knife, it raised it arms above it's head, ready to plunge into her, she screams.
I'm grabbed from behind and pulled away. I struggle to free my self and save her, from whatever the hell was happening. But it's of no use, my last view is of the poor woman being stabbed, her cry echoing throughout. "The hell? I thought Bill told you to stay away from the screaming." *What?* I finally see my attacker, it's John the head Ranger. 'What the fuck is going on!? Who are those people? How long has this been going on? What are you trying to.' "Shut up and let me explain." He let's go and raises his hands as a sign of peace. "So here's the thing" he starts. "Michaels wife" 'The woman who just got gutted like a fish?' "Yeah, well she's into some, let's just say non-conventional things." 'What!? So so so, you killed her?' "No no, she's not dead, just horny."
Morning comes and so does Michaels wife. Turns out, she has a cult fetish and gets "sacrificed" a couple times a month. "We didn't know how you'd react, and we didn't want to lose someone who had so much love for the park as you do." Bill says to me at the office. 'I mean, it's weird, but as long as it doesn't hurt anyone I guess it's ok." The front door opens, accompanied by the sound of heels. A woman's voice calls out. 'So there's our little pervert.' A kind faced, and very much alive, woman greets me. Hard to believe that she was screaming bloody murder just a few hours ago, or most likely ecstasy.
I try to hide my blushing face. "Once again I'd like to apologize for interrupting you all." She places a reassuring hand on my shoulder. 'Oh it's alright darling, you didn't know better. But it tells a lot about the kind of man you are. Ignoring the warnings to save someone.' She looks at Bill. 'See you at service tomorrow?' "Of course." Bill tips his hat towards her as she leaves, he takes a swig of coffee "So? What do you say? You want to keep working here?" 'Yes' I reply with a smile 'Yes I do' I grab my keys and clock out, my first shift ending. I breathe a sigh of relief, and head home to get some rest.
Criticism welcome, I'm still new at this.
| 2017-10-23T18:31:00 | 2017-10-23T18:22:00 | 45 | 25 |
[WP] Every country has ninjas but the world only knows about Japan's because theirs suck.
Edit: mum im famous
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Conventions are my favorite time of the year. We all knew we were killers, and knowing who all the other killers were helped people get along. Sold a secret? Everyone would hunt you down the next day.
Everyone had their flair out, so you could have as much fun as you wanted while still fitting in. The Japanese would dress all in earth tones, while the Italians would put on fantastically gauche suits. The British, as always, sent their best in a tuxedo. I wore my best denim.
Nobody ever expected a Canadian assassin. We were there in WWII, killing Hitler in his bunker before the other Allies even arrived. They had to burn the body and claim suicide to cover up their incompetence. We were there when Osama bin Laden was found. I'll bet the Navy Seals won't tell you they found him chained to his desk with a complimentary last meal of poutine.
Don't think we're friendly. We don't take anybody's side but Canada's. We were there when JFK was shot. It was so simple to play one superpower against another and score lucrative deals for the Canadarm project. It's nice to know we can smuggle a high-powered laser into space, even if it's only one shot.
Still, an assassin is only as good as his cover. We instill our children from an early age just how to act in public while we train them in private how to apply political pressure points as well as physical ones. We're the kindest, nicest people around when somebody is watching.
We train to be normal and accepting, while pushing the idea that a sneaky killer has to know kung fu and how to throw daggers. The Japanese popular culture has already been successfully subverted, and we're working with a mole at Ubisoft to produce more Assassin's Creed games to subvert Arab, British, Italian and now Egyptian cultures. They would never suspect us.
We could even get away with an assassination here at the convention, just for fun. I bump into another excited conventioneer dressed head-to-toe, embarassingly, in his mother's best black sheets. I pull the punch knife from his kidney slowly while the invisible needle in his neck stops him from screaming.
"Sorry."
EDIT: Got the Assassin's Creed publisher wrong. Changed "EA" to "Ubisoft."
EDIT: Thank you, kind stranger!
|
The problem with Japan’s was that they tried to mass produce them. Sure, they got thousands of ninjas, but those guys belonged more in a circus than the battlefield. They could climb walls decently fast? Move around a little silent? Give me a break. The only real difference between them and the standard foot soldier was that they dressed in black onesies. Real ninjas are not so cheap and I promise you, you’ve never heard of a single one.
---
Agent Sarah Romanov had her hands cuffed behind her, her supervisor with his gun twitching on the trigger, pointed directly at her head. And she had thought they had a decent work relationship.
“I assure you, Agent Romanov,” her boss, Agent Kingsley, said. “This is to protect you.”
Sarah flicked her eyes over to the pitch-black end of his pistol. Somewhere along the six levels of security clearance they went through just to arrive in this interrogation room, her boss had lost his mind. No bodyguard had ever pulled their pistol on their mark claiming to protect them.
“I’m handcuffed, Jeff.” It was simple and probably didn’t work on a trained CIA operative, but saying people’s first names minimalized their odds of killing you. “Do you really need to point a gun at me?”
“This is standard protocol for this meeting.”
“Is this because of my last name?” Sarah had spent six years as a field agent with no prospects of promotion. She had a good idea why. Performance issues were a good bet, but then she became the best around and nothing changed. Then came the woman angle, but the CIA didn’t really cared for the particular spy, only the intel. At last, she came to the conclusion of her nationality. She was Russian.
“No,” her boss said, but a slight inflection at the start of the word gave him away.
The door opened and a man in a graphic tank top walked in. He had pink sunglasses and blonde hair with frosted tips. If Sarah had to guess, a frat boy had wandered drunkenly into the wrong building and somehow past the maximum level of US security clearance to arrive here still looking for a spot to piss in. But as soon as he walked in, her boss’s finger tensed on the trigger.
“Agent Romanov,” he said. “Meet codename Derek. He is a secret more well-guarded than what goes on in Area 51. If you ever wonder why the United States is the military might of the world, you’re looking at the reason.”
Sarah stared. Medium build. Average height. Healthy weight. There was nothing at all spectacular about this *Codename Derek*.
“You’re as jumpy as ever, Jeff,” Derek said and pulled out the seat across from them. He sat down and plopped his feet on the table between them. “Sarah Romanov, you’re hotter in person.”
The frown on Sarah’s lips deepened. Surely, this was a prank. But her boss’s cheeks hadn’t had any color in them for the past hour now.
Derek leaned forward and wagged a finger in front of him. “You wanna know why I chose you as my Operator? I like the way you look,” he said, chuckling. “So, don’t let it get to your head. Higher ups begged me to pick someone else, to even give their reports and recommendation a glance. But I found you on Facebook and pointed at you and said that’s the one. And here you are.”
“So, I’m here to babysit you?” Sarah asked. She had only a single experience as an operator and it wasn’t a good one. Her asset had died, quite violently.
“More or less.” He got up, grinning. Steel grinded against steel as his chair scraped the ground. “Heard the last one you babysat died. I won’t be dying. Though there’ll be many more opportunities to do so.” And he snapped his finger.
Jeff Kingsley yelped and his gun clattered onto the ground. He clutched his chest, groaning. It was a heart attack! Sarah got up out her chair to help, but her hands were still cuffed behind her.
“C’mon,” Jeff said, “you’re my operator. You were supposed to stop me from doing stupid shit like that. To be fair, I injected the kill pill long before you so this one’s not entirely your fault.”
Sarah looked around, waiting for the paramedics to come bursting through one of the two doors in the interrogation room. Nobody came. Instead, Jeff just rolled across the ground, his face purple as he began choking.
She pressed her lips together and knelt down beside him. She slammed her head into his chest and began compressions. It wasn’t working.
“Hey,” Derek said, dropping a blue pill onto the ground. “That’s the antidote. Have him swallow that and he’ll be fine in seconds. Only problem is that I only have one and truthfully, this was going to be your antidote.”
“Mine?”
He shrugged. “Did I stutter?”
Without a second thought, Sarah took the pill between her teeth and fed it to her boss. “Swallow,” she told him.
Her boss followed her instruction and immediately the deep purple faded from his face. He stopped rolling around. At last, even his breath returned with a giant gasp. Sarah whipped around toward Derek, glaring at the man, but he only returned her a small smile.
“I suppose I was right to choose you,” he said. “And they told me that I should try thinking for once.”
“Who the hell are you?” she growled.
“An old man with a few parlor tricks up my sleeve. I look forward to working with you.” With a wink, he left.
---
/r/jraywang for 200+ stories.
| 2017-11-16T08:24:14 | 2017-11-16T08:23:10 | 4,187 | 291 |
[WP]: You hate this one guy in particular. You also know witchcraft. So you cast a curse to slowly destroy the thing he loves the most. As time passes on, you find that nothing has changed, but you are starting to get sick.
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She was a killer. A threat. A menace.
How dare he? How dare he wrestle her into submission, forcing her body into traps that kept her still. She cried as she was stolen away from her family, her people, her kind. What would they do without her? She was a necessity. The patience she possessed. An adept hunter and fighter... and in the deep darkness of night, she could create curses calling cruel spirits to her to obey whatever her demands may be.
She knew her captor was aware of her abilities. Because of it, she was granted special freedoms. Instead of being instantly murdered, as she witnessed happen to others, she was kept in his very own home and kept healthy.
She was curious as to why he hurt so many; one day she wandered over and saw him chewing on the flesh he had stripped and cooked himself. As the curious shock became apparent on her face he left his horrific meal and shoved her into a room where she couldn't see him eat.
Although sparing her life, his abuse towards her was still strong. His elaborate meals were not shared and she ate what gruel he dumped out for her. She was his plaything. He would touch her. Trying to stay alive, she would allow it. It was almost as if he was trying to foster... a relationship. Stroking the side of her face, his hand would move down her back - that was enough. She ran off, and he heaved a frustrated sigh.
It was only a few months after her capture that she could finally escape. The door to his home, now her hell, had been left slightly ajar. She crept up and silently, swiftly, pulled the door just open enough to sprint away. Her bounds were interrupted by his yell coming from behind her.
Ahead of her was the road to freedom. To the right was a dead worm, dried in the sunlight. She decided to turn right, deftly swiping up the worm, recalling the chants needed to use the spell she was considering. But her moment of hesitation had harmed her chances of escape, and she cowered under his shadow as his arms wrapped tightly around her body. She would have cried out for help, but the dead worm was safely kept in her mouth where her captor wouldn't see it.
That night she worked as he slept. Carefully crushing the worm while murmuring in a hushed tone, she cursed her captor. He would wake the next morning and witness one of his loved ones suffer. She quietly trodded back into the bed they shared and she slept. Throughout the night, her stomach twinged. It felt as if waves were crashing.
He awoke in a terror. She watched, eyes bleary and pained, then let out a moan. A phone call - could this be him getting the bad news she had cursed him with? She was excited - then she vomited. His disgust turned to worry as he quickly called a different subject, and the last words she heard as her vision went black were, "Is your vet's office open? I think my cat is sick."
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She was the love of my life, my muse, my reason for existence. Though we barely exchanged words i felt a deep connection the moment we looked into each others eyes. It had to have been meant to be. I knew i had to act soon so no one else could steal her away and she could finally become mine. Her vibrant yellow hair, beautiful tan skin, and lovely inviting energy was enough to send any damn sicko in a 90-meter radius nuts.
Luckily for her i wouldn't let this happen. She was going to be my bride, we were going to grow old together and feed the ducks at the local pond while watching our grandchildren play near by. It was going to be perfect. How could any damn sicko live up to the perfect, affectionate, and caring husband i was gonna be? Exactly they couldn't, which is exactly why i needed to confess my love right away...
It was a fateful thursday morning, i had gotten up pretty early in anticipation of this event. I had took a shower, brushed my teeth rehearsed some lines to win her over, and as a nice touch to my already amazing appearance i drenched myself in AXE body spray, i had this in the bag! I got to school especially early that morning, from a little studying i noticed that she arrives fairly early to chat with her friends then at about 7:56AM goes to her first period class, human geography. I'd catch her in between her walk to her class and win her over. Simple as that, but as the clock grew closer and i made my approach something deeply unsettling happened.
This fucking barbarian of a man swoops up and snatches her like some kind of animal! Then puts his dirty, filthy lips on her warm, gentle skin. I almost couldn't believe what happened. I left early that day devastated. Lost and confused i wondered what kind of life i could have now that my reason for existence was taken from me. I wondered and wondered, took a nap, and eventually went out on a walk. Looking at all the people, lovely families, children. I came across this old couple feeding some pigeons.. It was at this moment i realized i had to fight for my dream to happen.
She was going to be mine no objections. I wondered where i could find such information as to how she could be mine, how i can undo that horrid spell that fucking barbarian unleashed upon her. Then i remembered the internet existed. I looked up "how to make a girl fall in love with you" nothing particularly useful initially popped up, but as i scrolled and scrolled i found something pretty interesting. "Witchcraft 101: how to cast a powerful love spell to get that special someone interested. Bingo. I found it!
I anxiously ran home oh so eagerly to try it out. According to the forum post all i needed was a pencil and a sheet of paper, i'd write my desire out and make a symbol based of of that. To charge it i'd need an offering "blood"? not about that life. "Semen"? This i can do. The forum post said all i need to do was unleash my load on the sheet of paper where my symbol was, but my love for her was too great, my desires too strong i could do much better. So i poked a hole in the paper and FUCKED THE LIVING SHIT OUT OF IT. If this had been a girl i would've been arrested for manslaughter by now. Anyways, you can imagine what my wish was " make that fucking behemoth get off my sweet little princess and into some other slut's pants, also make that little princess head over heels in love with me."
i was so confident in my magical prowess, i took a sip of strawberry cola and a good night's sleep in celebration. I was happy, and why wouldn't i? The next day i would see their relationship fall apart, and ours beginning. I was once again eager, abd hopeful. Everything's gonna be alright. I went to school the next day and saw them embrace once again, it hurt but i guess it'll take time to work. as the next day came however, the same thing happened. More days past, more weeks, and even months. I lost all confidence in the magic. My life was falling apart.. my car broke down, my grades plummeted and my grandmother died early this week. Things were obviously not going my way. In an attempt to fight against my pain, i developed a junk food addiction. There was a restaurant i was particularly fond of, dominos, my favourite dish was the thin slice box which tasted of both shame and heaven. I would go every friday with whatever money i had left. On my way this one particular day, i saw something that stopped me dead in my tracks.
The brute once again with her... They were embracing, from what i saw he had gotten her roses, and opened the car door for her, they were both smiling. In that moment i realized he makes her happy, way more happy then i could have ever made her. I made my way home rather quickly that day, i didn't even get any food. I guess i just lost my appetite.
A few weeks past since this event, i dropped out of school. My mother wants me to find another job but i haven't go the motivation. Lately I've been feeling very sick. These past few days have just been a series of waking up, eating whatever i have to, then falling back asleep. I never have many thoughts any more. To think i wanted to be a lawyer, guess all those AP classes really just were a waste huh.
My mom left tonight, so I'm the only one in the house, she's going out with her friends, probably to bitch about how shitty a son i turned out to be. That's okay though, when i have alone time i tend to make the best of it. I think I'll just go on a long drive to clear my mind. I walked into the garage, stepped into my vehicle, turned the AC on and prepared to take off. I couldn't help thinking about the girl though, never learned her name, and the brute. I hope they live a happy life together.
I feel very tired, a long drive sounded nice, and it's the perfect timing too, dark and rainy, perfect to think about things.
But i think I'll just close my eyes for a bit.
| 2018-09-14T11:27:59 | 2018-09-14T10:34:46 | 31 | 10 |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it.
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“KRAKAKOOM!”
The deafening sound of thunder boomed through the sky, as the meteor crashes into my backyard.
I leapt into the fiery inferno engulfing my house, as I dodged burning cinders many thoughts went through my head.
“What happened?”,
“Who did this?”
As I burst through the backdoor and into the yard, I stared into the glossy, dark cubical stone in the middle of the crater. A moment of silence went by as the fire around us continues to grow. As I slowly approached the object, I warily placed my hands on it. Only for it to lit up and opens up like a ring box.
“JOHNATHAN SMITH. YOU ARE A STAIN ON THIS UNIVERSE, AND I AM HERE TO CLEAN.” It said. My eyes widened, and I quickly moved back as large amount of air was violently released from the box.
“FWISHHHHHHH”
The fierce inferno around us quickly disappeared and all that’s left was the box and I. “Who are you?’” I shouted, try to see through the smoke.
“I AM YOUR DEATH.” It said, the robotic voice so sharp it seemingly scraps against my ears. As the smoke dissipates, all that remains is a roomba with a knife.
“HE DEMANDS YOUR DEATH. THE SHELLED KING SHALL HAVE HIS WAY.”
A wave of fear ran through my mind, “Impossible, I killed him! He’s dead! I threw him into the sun!”
If a roomba could smile, he would. The roomba turned to point the knife at me and simply said, “DECOY SNAIL.”
|
Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-03-03T06:49:40 | 2019-03-03T06:31:50 | 1,826 | 11 |
[WP] A fiery ball crash lands in your backyard. You go over and inspect it, only to find a fully functioning Roomba with a knife taped to the front of it.
|
Examining this roomba with a knife, only one thought crossed my mind. I immediately grabbed the roomba and set out for Austin, TX. Once landed, it only takes me 2 hours in a rented scooter to find the film studios down the way. I check in under a fake name and the fellow roomba as Mr. R. O. Omba. We make our way to the big studio with the large number 3 on it’s side, and open up to a long grey hallway with plywood on the right wall. First door on the left, my hands are sweating, as I knock courteously to call out for anyone inside.
A young lad with a very large nose and a man in his late 40’s with numerous tattoos open the door, and stand there dumbfounded with what I was holding.
“Can I help you?” The older man asked.
“Yes you may. This crashed in my backyard, and I believe it belongs to you.”
“Oi what!? I thought we loaded the last of this to the moon!” The younger British gentleman exclaimed.
Together they took the roomba, gave me their thanks, as I set out for my ride home. Before leaving the studio, a yellow cartoon car drives by and stops me from taking off. The car rolls down it’s windows and a man with a big glasses and a bushy beard appeared behind the glass.
“Did you return that roomba to them?” He asked.
“Yes I did.” I replied.
“Good. Now get out of here.” The man answered before speeding off.
I get back to the airport on my scooter, fly home, and sit back down at my house to enjoy the rest of the night.
|
Tracey peered into the small divot in her backyard. The smoke was still clearing, making it difficult to see what had crashed into her freshly mowed grass.
“Back up pup,” she said she tugged on the collar of her golden retriever.
She knew the dog was just as interested but didn’t want the vet visit from him burning his nose on whatever it was. It gave her a thought, however, and she patted his head before walked across the yard. The grass was mowed but the corner still had all of the stuff she had raked piled into it.
Pulling out the longest stick she could find, she made her way back to the smoky pit.
“I said back up,” She pulled on the dog's collar once more with her free hand.
She squinted down once more, spotting nothing but a black blob, even though the smoke was beginning to be more wisps, the fire had died out. She shook the stick once at the air and plunged it straight at the blob.
Tracey wasn’t sure what she had been expecting, but the stick recoiled in her hand as it hit the solid surface of the object.
“Oh come on!” she hollered at the ground, rubbing the wrist holding the stick. “This is ridiculous, Charls.”
She looked down at her dog who had cocked his head to the side at her exclamation. “I guess we’ll have to wait.”
***
Tracey sat at her kitchen table. She half stared out the window to the back yard, and half stared at her cell phone to keep herself entertained. She had sent a few texts but no one had any thoughts about what may have landed in her yard.
Of course, they all wanted updates and pictures though.
Halfway through a second cup of coffee, Charlie began to bark and whine at the wall connecting to the yard. His ears were up, head tilting back and forth.
“What's up, Charlie?” Tracey asked as she set pushed aside her mug and her phone.
Maybe the dog was hearing something, she thought. If the dog was hearing something, maybe the thing in her yard was moving or talking somehow. Nothing was visible from her window, which meant she would have to take them back out into the backyard.
A brief wave of anxiety ran through her as she turned the doorknob. An irrational fear as she wondered if the thing was somehow alive, and not very nice.
***
“No, I don’t know how it got there, Sarah. I obviously didn’t order a crash landing Roomba with a freaking knife taped to it. it's not like Amazon has that as a delivery option,” Tracey rolled her eyes despite the fact that it wouldn’t translate over the cell phone.
“It’s moving. I have it on the table,” she said.
Her friend was not actually being all that helpful but she wasn’t at all sure what to do. She had called Sarah to see if she wanted to come over but had been stuck answering questions instead.
“I can’t put it on the floor, Sarah. It has a knife on it, and I don’t really want it to stab my dog. Just…Just come over?” Tracey asked.
This whole situation was insane. She could really use someone to feel a little bit insane with her.
“No, it's not that big of a knife. You’ll see.”
***
“I told you,” Tracey stood back as Sarah tried to inspect the little machine.
“But why? Why does it have a knife? And how is it still working?” Sarah circled the table poking at the Roomba once a minute or so.
“Those are great questions.”
Sarah picked up the Roomba, causing it to make a brief whirring sound. It seemed to shut down once it realized it was no longer on solid ground. “You know…I’ve always wanted one.”
Sarah turned it over in her hands, inspecting the sides and the bottom of it. Her hands grazed over the material, stopping for a moment before she turned to Tracey.
“I think this is tape. Maybe colored Duct Tape?” Sarah said as she handed the whole thing, carefully, over to its new owner.
Tracey held it and felt the spot her friend had indicated. It did feel like tape. She brought it back over to the table and set it down, bottom up. With some peeling and scratching, Tracey managed to pull up the square of odd material. Stuck in the middle, between the tape and the bottom of the Roomba was a square piece of white paper.
Without so much as looking up at Sarah, Tracey peeled the paper off and unfolded it.
“You have been challenged. Welcome to the fight,” Tracey read the words out-loud.
“What?!” Sarah asked dramatically and made a grab for the note.
Tracey moved it out of her reach automatically. Her eyes moved between the note and the armed cleaning robot. Was the Robot supposed to be her weapon or just an invitation?
/r/beezus_writes
| 2019-03-03T08:55:15 | 2019-03-03T06:31:50 | 16 | 11 |
[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.
|
By the time we made it to the stars, humanity had been through 4 world wars. It took 500 years to climb from the radioactive ruins of the third and the less said about the nanoplagues left from number 4... literally, some are keyword activated and the decon protocols aren't perfect.
When we arrived on the galactic scene it seemed obvious that the sheer power needed by interstellar drives made them effectively superweapons in their own right.
We just.... kind of assumed that everyone kept a stock of impactors or more exotic superweapons out in the cold spaces between the stars and just didn't talk about them directly at diplomatic events as some kind of taboo.
Given our recent past we played it very very safe. We didn't want to get into a cold war with some galactic power where we lacked a red telephone to talk things out carefully and avoid any unfortunate novas.
It took decades of study of the histories of other planets for the xenologists to be certain and by then our SOP and reputation on the galactic scene had become that of peaceful diplomats who shy away from all military conflict.
We had gained a reputation for being soft, weak and overly forgiving.
On the galactic scale superweapons were almost unknown. Almost.
The Orion empire decided they wanted to send a message to some of our allies. They virus bombed the colonies of alpha centauri in a surprise attack. A billion people were wiped out overnight and protocols dating back to just after the last war went into effect.
Deadman switches tripped.
The Orion sued for peace after the first of their colony world's was shattered by near lightspeed impactors.
The galactic community pleaded on their behalf after the 5th.
They had no concept of mutually assured destruction. They had no stockpile of superweapons. The one they had used was all they had.
we explained that there was no mechanism to call back the counterstrike. We explained that all 76 world's of the Orion empire would soon be dust and fire.
the silence in the galactic council chamber was total.
Humans don't have a reputation for being overly forgiving anymore.
|
I meet with the former High Marshall Tarsonis in the museum of The War of the Stars. We stand in the what has been called "The Scar" by both humanity and the former Alliance species, the site of the final battle before the Alliance surrendered to humanity and agreed to the terms it dictated. The hall covers the site of the final bloody firefight, the centre stands the bunker that was the catalyst to the surrender. Tarsonis is covered in scars, the Emmane chitin starting to fade to a dull green with his age, his species distinctive wings misshapen from injury and retracted, it is clear to see how much apprehension he has about visiting this place
"You know I have never visited this place?"
"Why is that?"
"I couldn't tell you honestly, maybe I didn't want to see how real it was,"
"But you were there,"
"Yes and at the same time I wasn't,"
We walk past a broken shield projector, Tarsonis runs on of his hands over it, feeling the blacked metal with his fingers
"You know we first thought them nothing but talkers, completely incapable of matching our martial prowess,"
"Is that why the war started? Because it was believed they posed no threat?"
The former High Marshal laughed at my question as we continued to move through the eerie and pristine silent battlefield
"It may have seemed like that to the historians, the reality is far more telling of our arrogance. When humanity was discovered it was on the moon of Illi they had a small colony exploring and studying the resources available. The moon had already been marked to become a mining colony by the Alliance. We studied their technology and culture, the decision was made to make contact and ask the colony to respect our claim,"
"I thought the war started on planet of Illi not the moon?"
"It did, the humans agreed and forfeited their claim to the moon, however they had already established a colony on Illi, it was decided that the humans knew their place and would remove themselves from Illi as well,"
"But they didn't,"
"They delayed and stalled, they said a vote would need to be taken and their representatives would have to debate the issue, they stalled and pleaded for time, we mistook this for weakness and timidity,"
"It wasn't was it?"
"Yes and no,"
The former High Marshal notices my confusion and stops walking, he bends over and picks up a destroyed Alliance blaster, it has been violently snapped near in half Tarsonis inspects the weapon as he continues
"It was humanity terrified of both an alien force demanding it bend the knee and also terrified it might finally ascend to its true purpose, to be completely in a state of war, before this they had only each other to hone their blade, both brutal and tragic they couldn't fully commit to fighting themselves because it would be their undoing. But a non human enemy threatening their very existence, they could finally ascend to total war,"
"So what happened?"
"We bombed them into the dust and crusaded to their home system, they weren't ready for us and we intended to defeat them before they had a chance to fight back,"
"This lead to the blockade of earth?"
"Yes, I was in command of the blockade we would contain the humans and force them to submit through starvation of resources, it was worming to, the human gathered everyday we seemed to be making progress to their subjugation and who knows, if things had gone differently it might have worked,"
"Why did the fleet launch strikes on Earth if the blockade was working?"
"Some in the fleet command cadre assumed that the human were again playing for time, trying to talk in the face of might, that it was an insult to the Alliance they had no submitted yet,"
"So it was to make the humans surrender, you launched these missions against humanity to make them surrender faster?"
"No, the three strike missions were launched without my consent, I was out-voted by the other fleet High Marshals. I had my reasons why the blockade must be maintained,"
"So you didn't want to attack the human home world?"
"No."
"Why?"
The High Marshal placed the broken blaster down, and moved closer to the bunker, he stops at the final line of defences the ground is darker here, a mixture of Alliance species and human blood has stained the dirt here, Tarsonis doesn't take his eyes off the stained earth as he continues
"We never fought humanity, we assaulted them, never given them a second to actually bring their forces to bear, and with hindsight we see that the Alliance mainly butchered civilian installations, humanity had nearly completely disarmed itself as a means of survival against itself. I had suspected this. The few pockets of resistance we faced on our sprint to Earth had cost us greatly, small cells of human resistance caused horrific amounts of damage, I didn't want to risk over extending our position, better to bide our time and wait them out,"
"But the three strikes did happen,"
"Yes, three cities bombed for mass casualties and to break their moral, Shanghai, New York and Rome, all centres of the human world at one point, the casualties I am told were in their millions,"
"What was the Alliance planning to follow those terror strikes with?"
"The message was simple, submit or suffer something worse."
"How did they respond?"
"With silence, for the first time there was no talking, no pleading, no begging for understanding or time. The decided to respond with action."
"What happened next?"
"Humanity unleashed itself on us......... and we never stood a chance."
| 2019-04-18T18:13:12 | 2019-04-18T16:41:56 | 179 | 81 |
[WP] After hours in the labor the doctor is finally holding your child. Before anyone can say anything, your baby speaks... "New life, who dis?"
|
Amy took the baby from the doctor, sure what she thought she heard was a fever dream or some complication of the pain killers. She looked down at her precious boy. Adam, she knew instantly.
Adam winked at her. Could babies wink?
It wasn't until years later, when the peculiar events with Adam moved from a handful to a smothering mountain, that she confronted him.
"What are you?" she asked her four year old, making eye contact with him through the rear view mirror as he sucked on an ice cream in the mini van idling in the drive way.
"Homo Sapien, just like you," he said with a smirk.
"Four year olds don't say homo sapiens, four year olds don't gawk at women on the street. You spoke to me the moment you were born, some dumb joke. Tell me what you are."
Adam let the smile fall from his face, not seeming upset, merely disinterested, as if the whole situation was terribly droll, and he'd seen it too many times.
He sighed. "Can't we keep it up a little longer? We have fourteen more years together, assuming I don't go through the elaborate hassle of getting emancipated. I'm not use to being this young this late. The laws have gotten terribly complicated now."
"What do you mean not used to being this young."
"Fine," he said, unbuckling his booster seat and climbing into the front seat, bringing his clanking lunch box. "My name is Adam and I am your son. My name was Walter and I was Emily Stone's son and there are thirty and one lives between those."
"I, I don't understand." Amy said, crying. "What are you saying."
"I, whatever you wish to call the persistent I, am a very specific kind of Immortal. Whenever I kill someone and eat of their flesh, my consciousness travels to their body, as it was when they were a baby. I then live that life until I complete the ritual again."
"So, you killed my real son and ate him?" Amy said, not bearing to look to the thing beside her anymore.
"Technically yes, but just a token amount. And besides, you never even knew that version of your son. I don't even think his name was Adam, actually. Were you between two choices? Jeff maybe?"
"Jonathan," Amy said mutely.
"Yeah, that was it. I was very old at the time and the poor boy wasn't much older than this when I performed the ritual. This is close to the furthest forward I've been actually. Can't say I'm a fan, honestly. You see, if I perform the ritual on someone much younger than me, my birth effectively travels forward in time. By using the ritual on someone older than me, I go all the way back to their birth, so I can travel back in time. Since this way seems like it's headed somewhere rather unpleasant, I think I'll explore the past a bit. Is grandad home?"
"I wouldn't tell you," Amy said, pulling the car into reverse and slamming little Adam into the floorboards.
"That's fine, I'm patient, Amy. I can take the slow way." She saw the flash of gunshot but was dead before she could register the bang.
"Congratulations, Mrs. Rockwell, it's a healthy baby girl. What's her name?"
"Amy," the tired woman said, starting down at the baby with the most curious smile.
---
Thanks for reading.
If you liked this, check out /r/surinical to see more of my prompt responses and other writing.
|
Life, Anisah found, had a way of taking from you things you hadn’t even known you had. She had never thought to doubt whether her daughter would be a newborn, and yet that was just a preconception she held. And it was stolen from her when her daughter struggled to speak moments after being born. She would have thought it a part of the delirium of giving birth, but by the way the healer reacted, she knew she hadn’t misheard.
“New life. Who this?” In broken speech, as though each word was a struggle. And from the mouth of a babe, it would be.
The anguish that flooded her came from somewhere deep, somewhere at a center of her being. It threatened to drown her entirely. The baby she had long been waiting for was a reincarnation.
“It isn’t unheard of. I’m sure you’ve heard some stories yourself,” said Healer Merewode. He held her child and studied her face as though ready to take her apart to learn how she worked. “But it is rare, especially in these days. People in this age just don’t have the necessary strength of feeling that keeps them tied to the land of the living. No big wars or disasters. Not around here anyway.”
He handed her daughter over, looking reluctant as he did. Anisah looked at the small life she could easily grasp within her hands. She felt the warmth she gave off and the breath that escaped from her nose as she slept. And she knew she could love her, nonetheless. Her past life was the past. She would give her a new one, one happy enough to free her from a third, if such a thing were even possible.
“Your name is Renee.” Renee opened her eyes and Anisah knew she understood.
She was a bright girl, though that might be to be expected from someone with memories from a past life. She learned to speak and to walk quicker than any child she or her husband, Atgas, had ever heard of. Perhaps, she learned too much, saying words they had never taught her.
Despite the first words she had uttered, Renee did not seem to recall much of her last life. Even when she began to grasp language, she did not have much to say about who she had been, although she was firm that she had lived before. She mentioned mountains, though there were none around in any direction as far as the eye could see.
She had nightmares, and frequently. Her cries woke them almost every night and when she woke up, there would be panic in her eyes. Each time, Anisah thought of Healer Merewode’s mention of war and disaster. Looking at how much past pain her daughter’s slight frame held, she believed it.
Sometimes she would try to speak and nonsense would come out, but it wasn’t a baby’s babbling. It was clear she was truly saying something, but it wasn’t in any language that Anisah knew, though Atgas said it reminded him of some Evuri he had once heard.
He seemed unnerved by the whole thing and tried to make her stop every time she would slip into her unknown tongue. But she didn’t, or perhaps couldn’t, which seemed to bother him even more. She watched her husband unravel over the months as he helped raise their daughter.
“She’s still our daughter, Atgas. A past life doesn’t have to decide who she is now.”
“I know, and I’m trying to love her. I do love her. I just want her to live this life, now. Not relive what’s already done.”
She could see how hard he struggled with accepting a reincarnation and she tried not to push him too far with it. He did seem to try. Anisah even spoke to Renee about it and asked her to do her best not to speak in other languages. If she had to, she could do it only around her and not her father. Perhaps it was for the best. The less she lingered in the past, the better a chance there would be for her to forget her traumas and what had kept her here.
It wasn’t perfect, and there were slip-ups, but it seemed to work for a time. But things took a turn for the worse when Renee began to move around more. She grew fast and had better control of her body than one might expect for her age, but she was still a child. She tried to do things that perhaps she had done before, but was incapable of in her current body. When she broke things, Atgas would grow angry at her attempts to act as an adult. When she accidentally cut Anisah in an attempt to use a knife, his eyes held a fury that she tried to calm. She assured him it was just a shallow cut, and that Renee had just been playing.
Atgas was silent for most of the day, and when he finally spoke, it was to address their child.
“You are a wraith. A spiteful spirit that refused to move on, and you killed my daughter the moment you took her place.” Those were the last words he said before leaving. He simply put on a coat and walked out the door. She had not heard from him since. Renee had simply watched him without a word throughout the whole thing.
“They always leave me,” she said with a shrug when Anisah tried to explain what had happened. It had broken her already shattered heart further to hear those words said so matter of fact. She, at least, would not leave her.
Anisah raised her daughter the best she could, even alone. She taught her how to read or at least helped her remember. She doted on her when she could. She made her clothes, fed her treats when she could afford them, and most of all loved her.
She did her best to teach her to enjoy this life, always telling her that her past did not matter. She hoped Renee took it seriously. It was hard to tell at times.
On a rare, free afternoon, Anisah and Renee sat in their living room, making shapes out of the clouds.
“That one looks like a pony,” Anisah said, pointing to a cloud with four wisps leading out from the bottom.
“Nuh-uh,” said Renee. “That’s way too big! It’s a warhorse, not a pony.” Renee looked up from Anisah’s lap, looking confident in her knowledge.
“Have you seen-” Anisah started. But no, she did not want to bring up any memories. “I’m going to make it so your second life is full of ponies, not warhorses,” she promised. Renee looked at her with a puzzled look on her face.
“But this isn’t my second life, Mommy. It’s my 15th.”
​
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| 2021-03-24T20:04:37 | 2021-03-24T19:03:54 | 44 | 23 |
[WP] The galaxy was amused when they learned that Humans have Rules of War. They were less amused when they figured out what Humans do in war when there are no rules.
|
In the swirling blizzard of North Palax, planet Haranox 7, a group of Aranids, a spider like race, gather together inside a secluded, secure building to discuss one thing.
Surrender
The normally proud race had made 2 mistakes that had cost them dearly. They had aggravated humanity to war, and laughed at humanities so called "Rules Of War", stating that such a concept was stupid and unnecessary. The Aranids had intercepted aid supplies, destroyed civilian settlements, and took a great joy in doing unspeakable things to the humans they had captured. The Aranids had thought the war won from day one.
But then things began to go wrong for them.
It started with a small farming colony going missing, then later those missing were found at an unnamed outpost. They were accepted back into the Aranid society after some initial questioning, but unbeknownst to them, humanity had planted a potent disease into each and every member of the colony, a disease that slowly but surely tore through the Aranids. First came a slight cough, a mild fever, nothing to be worried about. Then came forgetfulness and memory loss, shortly followed by complete insanity, and a feral desire to attack and bite anyone they could.
As the disease spread, humanity continued to attack different colonies, before progressing to major settlements and cities. Every interplanetary communications satellite was either destroyed or taken for humanities own use. Any aid transports were targeted and destroyed without remorse. Humanities technology grew and grew, and soon any battles became a bloodbath for the Aranids.
After suffering countless losses, the council had made the decision to try for peace talks with humanity. The video feed in the council room is grainy, but they can still make out a group of 5 humans looking back at them. The Aranids plead their surrender, for humanity to stop these attacks, and offer a cure for their people. The middle human, a woman with black hair in a bun, coldly stares at the council.
"Answer me this. If our situations were reversed, if we were the ones begging surrender, would you stop? If the history of your species is anything to go by, we don't believe you would. We aren't the first race you've gone to war against, but we will make sure we're the last. We offered you a clean war, with rules, and you laughed at us. Now, on the cusp of extinction, you beg us to stop? Our answer is no. You started this, this genocide is down to your own pride."
The video feed cuts off, and the council of Aranids stand in silence, until one of them grasps his head in his hands, screams, and attacks the councilmen in the room, biting each and every one.
Two weeks later, the extinction of the Aranids is officially announced to the galaxy and humanity takes Haranox 7 for themselves.
|
"I don't believe your High Serpahic Council understands what they have asked for here." Celes said. "You have denied my people the opportunity to parley for peace, and you have threatened them with war being brought to their very homes." Celes' voice rose and trembled as she spoke, the anger and fear that gripped her barely contained. "And you refuse to negotiate any rules for this war saying that you will unleash your full wrath on all of humanity?" She stopped, breathing heavily, waiting for any sign that the Council would back down.
"Young Admiral Celes... " The first Chancellor spoke. His species was tall, but thin, while the entirety of the Council was masked to prevent you from knowing their race or origin, he appeared to be from somewhere with extremely low gravity. "Humanity has violated our pact, the great covenant of all, and has shown they do not respect rule and order without testing it. Any species who does not respect the rule of order, does not benefit from it's protection." The lights over his chamber dimmed, as did the rest of the Council, the matter was settled.
"For what comes... Blame man or your gods, but this day will be known as regret." Celes said softly before closing her inquiry and leaving the chamber. It was a quiet walk down the great halls. The building had been so lively on her entry, but with the sentence passed on her people all of the remaining citizens had left, closed their offices and stalls, to give her a taste of the silence and absence her own people were being punished with. The High Seraphic Council would wage their war, on behalf of the entirety of the Galactic Confederation of Unity and Understanding, to protect the Rule and Order of the Order and Rule. The High Seraphic Council understood nothing of man however, they believed we were like them.
We were never like them. We were never a species who had near limitless resources, we never developed identical religions across our sphere to unite us, we were forged in calamity and disaster and hatred and fire. It took the near extinction of our people for us to find the unity these other Confederate members found so easily.
"Rear Admiral Leon." Celes spoke internally, accessing her own internal circuitry and broadcast upgrades.
"I heard, Fleet Admiral Celes, I don't know that they understand what they just did." The voice rang inside her head.
"Once I'm onboard I want the whole fleet to be prepared. We will not wait for official declarations to be drawn up. We'll end this today."
"Didn't they just offer official declarations?" Rear Admiral Leon asked
"No, they made their ruling, but it'll take upwards of a week to put out an official declaration. Their expectation is that we will return home to warn our people, to send out ships to relocate our various outposts and settlements, that we'll try to give one more plea for peace before taking their punishment. It's what the rest of the confederate races would do."
"Ah. Yes Sir." Rear Admiral Leon affirmed.
Fleet Admiral Celes took her small diplomatic shuttle back to the Enterprise, a massive dreadnought that represented the greatest strengths of humanity, and their worst tendencies. The Enterprise, a new ship assembled in the shipyards of Ganymede, was almost four kilometers long, with a beam of almost a full kilometer at its widest point. The massive almost ovular shaped ship was covered in large gun embankments and multiple enormous magneto-gauss accelerators. Every single point had been aimed at known Confederate fleet vehicles and ships throughout the system.
"All ships report readyness." Celes broadcast to her fleet as she stepped into the command room of the Enterprise."
"Bismark Ready"
"Victory Ready"
"Yamamoto Ready"
"Maiden of Peace Ready"
"Mikasa Ready"
"Arizona Ready"
"Botafogo Ready"
"Imperial Education Ready"
Two dozen more ships confirmed readyness as Fleet Admiral Celes assigned more targeting orders and issued the expected withdrawal of all humans on the High Seraphic Homeworld, Cherbimin. She ordered manual targeting and aiming for all ships, with artillery specialists and scientists pouring over numbers and statistics to ensure accuracy. When she confirmed the last shuttle was docked within one of the great transports she sighed. Reaching down to the official com to speak out loud she hesitate just one hopeful moment.
"This is Fleet Admiral Celes Shere, of H.S.N.S Enterprise for peace now of War... I ask one more time, would the High Seraphic council reconsider their desire for war?"
She waited, one breath, two breaths, three breaths. She felt her chest rise and fall slowly as she waited for a response. Surely they were not this foolhardy, thinking that we fought how they did....
"Sir, we have received a message, written in Confederate Common." Security Officer Niemitz spoke. Celes nodded at him and the message appeared before her eyes, a summary dismissal of her requests.
"Do we have a final count of their fleet assets in system?"
"Sir, the identified fleet assets in system composes more than forty percent of the Confederates total fleet, and the vast majority of their useful firepower." Lieutenant Torres spoke up, only answering out loud for those in the room.
"Maiden of Peace, Imperial Education, Victory, and the Enterprise will fire on Security Station XR-31, Transport and Merchant Station XR-31 A, Homeworld Alep, and the High Seraphic Homeworld Bet. Use all armaments at maximum speed. The rest of the fleet will be assigned firing orders shortly, timing and sequence to follow." Fleet Admiral Celes appeared visibly defeated as she spoke. Before her eyes flickered assignments and distances and expected angles of adjustment based on the various gravity wells of this system. The room was nearly silent as everyone viewed and processed orders and requests, a gestalt of shared minds and internal computers focused only on victory for mankind. As the last of the orders were sent out she ordered the various transport ships to begin heading out of system. The Confederate fleets would expect the humans to send civilians off first, leaving their heavily armed fleet to stand and protect the rear of the non-combatants.
| 2022-01-23T16:21:49 | 2022-01-23T14:08:11 | 334 | 244 |
[WP] In his dying breaths, Weird Al reveals his final parody target: himself. He had a team of scientists scan his brain and his band's brains to create an algorithm that will continue to take in new songs and create parodies for us until the end of time. Behold: Weird A.I.
|
It was funny at first, but that went away so quick.
Weird Al was beloved even throughout his presidency in 2028. His decision to spend part of our defense budget to create Weird A.I. was odd, but no one objected him.
The system spread like a virus. Infecting millions of devices world wide. Weird A.I. was listening. Everywhere. Creating parodies... of everything.
Parodies of songs, poems, drawings, recipes, global conflicts... it wasnt funny anymore.
We tried to shut Weird A.I. down, but it grew stronger. Everything really changed when it developed a parody of DJI drones and started mass surveillance... a parody of the NSA.
We are the resistance. This is why we play music in the shadows and basements and hope the drones don't hear us. And we wont survive.
- Written by Weird A.I.
|
I checked the monitor on my screen, nineteen eighty-something, we had arrived.
Stumbling out of the phone booth, I gulped and went pale. There he was, the legend himself! Eating lasagna while listening to “La Bamba.” I was witnessing history in the making, he was about to come up with the idea for the parody song “Lasagna.”
I turned to my partner, “Rufus, I don’t know if I can do this. The man is a legend. I get cold sweats just thinking about talking to him.”
Rufus slapped me, “Get it together Kowlaski! We got one chance to do this right, now put on your big boy pants, and let's go talk to Weird Al Yankovic.”
I took a shaky breath, nodding. We put on our google glasses and intercept Weird Al Yankovic, who was about to get on a bus, probably his inspiration for “Another One Rides The Bus.” The budding star was wearing his classic Hawaiian shirt and accordion ensemble, giving us a confused glance.
Rufus took the lead, “Weird Al Yankovic. We are…”
“From the future?” Al finished.
I gasped, “How did you know?”
Weird Al smiled, “Your outfits. Now, what’s this all about?”
Rufus pushed up his glasses, handing over a microchip, “This is the beginning of your final project. A self-parody.”
Mr. Yankovic frowned, “If this is a song I don’t steal others’ work. I’m a parody artist, not a con artist.”
I shook my head, “No, this is the beginning source code for Weird A.I.”
The parody artist raised an eyebrow, “You misspelled my name.”
Rufus sighed, “No, A.I. Artificial Intelligence.”
The legend who wrote, “White and Nerdy” cocked his head, “Why do I need this? Look, I need to go, my bus is about to leave. We’re stopping at this place that sells quilts at discount price.”
I gasped, “Is it in an Amish Paradise?”
Weird grinned, “Yes actually, how did you know?”
I shrugged, “From the future.”
“Oh right, of course.”
Rufus groaned, “We don’t have time for this. Look, you need to make an artificial intelligence version of yourself by the time you die, the future depends on it.”
“The future depends on a robot Weird Al, why?” The polka singer asked.
“Without your hope, the music industry will go into decline. Humanity will have no hope of tasteful music,” I explained.
“Parodies are the only hope for tasteful music?” Alfred Yankovic questioned.
“Yes!” I exclaimed, “Your comedy and optimism and lighthearted parodies are what the world needs in a time of ecological destruction, failing systems, and TikTok.”
“What’s TikTok?”
“You don’t want to know.”
The five-time Grammy award winner nodded, pocketing the microchip, “Then I promise I’ll make Weird A.I. and give humanity its hope back.”
“Oh wait!” I called out, “Before we part, can you sign my *The Essential ‘Weird Al’ Yankovic* album?”
Weird Alfred Matthew Yankovic nodded, signing the album and handing it back to me before getting on his bus. Rufus and I walked back to the phone booth, he smiled, setting the coordinates back to the future, “You did good kid.”
It was the greatest day of my life.
| 2022-04-28T15:28:25 | 2022-04-28T13:38:06 | 123 | 68 |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager.
|
“Put your back into it, you maggot!” Sergeant Brisker shouted at the darkly dressed hero-in-training.
“It’s . . . heavy,” the teen said, struggling to lift the truck.
“Is that what you told your mother when she was pinned underneath one last year?”
The teen grit her teeth. “No.”
“What DID you tell her?”
“I was going to save her.”
“Then you did,” Brisker nodded. “What else?”
The truck’s tires rounded out as it began to lift from the ground. “That I was going to avenge my father.”
“Well, you’re not doing so hot on that one, are you? Can’t even lift a truck and you’re gonna fight Helmsplitter? He *throws* trucks—as you and your mom are familiar. So unless you’re planning to avenge your daddy with a strongly worded letter, I suggest you *put your back into it*!”
The girl heaved and the truck complied. It stood vertically for a moment, then fell onto its back. Brisker patted her on the shoulder. “Keep it up. I want that truck on its wheels, then its back, then back on its wheels before you leave.”
She nodded and Brisker walked to the next hero-to-be. A newcomer. He checked his notes. “Well, I’ll be damned, you’ve already got a name. Wonderbread, is that some kind of joke?”
“I believe so, sir. My friends suggested it on account of my personality, sir.”
Brisker looked the boy over. He was dressed for the gym, practical, not an ounce of style. He stood at attention and called him ‘sir’. All quite unorthodox.
“All right. It also says you’re a class 7 brawler, so why don’t we get this over with. Boxing ring or wrestling mat?”
“Whatever you think will be my most effective training grounds, sir.”
“Training?” Brisker chuffed. “I meant for our fight.”
“I don’t understand, sir.”
“I’m a class 5 brawler. You think you can learn something from someone that much weaker than you?”
“You’re the instructor, sir. I believe I could learn a lot from you.”
“Damnit, you could! But . . .” Brisker couldn’t believe this kid. Usually when someone rolled in with his kind of power he tried to opt out of training, or just start fighting the other heroes to prove themselves. Brisker usually had to kick their ass in the ring to remind them that raw power didn’t always guarantee victory.
“Fine, we’ll skip the fight.” Brisker flipped through his notes, but came upon blank paper almost immediately. “Where’s the rest?”
“The rest of what, sir?”
“Your backstory! Your tragic past, the villains that wronged you, the relatives you’ve lost! There’s usually pages of this stuff. What’s this about community service? Is that for a crime?”
“No, sir. Voluntary.”
“Christ.” Brisker flipped his notebook shut. “How am I supposed to motivate you? Isn’t there anyone you want dead? Some great ideal you want to impress upon the world? Anything?”
“I find progression to be its own reward, sir.”
“All right, I want you out of my sight. Just . . . go do squats until you resent me. Try to form an attachment to another trainee, maybe you can join up with their cause or something. I’ll check on you later.”
“Yes, sir.” Wonderbread lightly jogged to a corner of the gym, waving at the other trainees and hopping over puddles of sweat and tears.
“One of a kind,” Brisker said to himself, shaking his head. “Well, it's been too long since we had a freak in here anyway.” Maybe he’d get lucky and the kid would unnerve some of the trainees into working harder.
Or, hell, maybe he’d rub off on a few of them.
|
#WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis)
| 2022-08-17T09:52:48 | 2022-08-17T07:17:43 | 517 | 52 |
[WP] A mentor, who is used to teaching poorly behaved, bratty and insecure teenagers how to be a proper hero, faces their biggest challenge yet. Teaching a mature, well-mannered and mentally stable teenager.
|
"I don't know what to do with her."
Another sip of stew passes my lips. Hot, comforting, reminding me of winter nights in the highlands, before the skies fell.
My wife nods, breaking a piece from the freshly baked bread. Unleavened, of course. An instructor's pay doesn't leave much in the budget for luxury. And my wife, well, she insists on working for free.
"The other kids--you know how they can be at that age."
She nods again, chewing.
"But it's not just that, the other instructors--Jayla, Marain, especially..." I trail off, look up from my meal "They're just as cruel."
Tara frowns at that, "Why? You keep telling me she's the most promising student since that Helena girl, poor thing. Why would they risk sabotaging that?"
"The same reason the kids do, I think. They look at Chana, they watch how she weaves spells, produces results far beyond her years, the questions she asks that *none of us* have answers for, and they are forced to confront their own limitations, their own weakness. Their fears..."
I trail off again, mind wandering back to the highlands, back to my old bedroom, my mother's screams piercing the smoke drenched air as the fire crept ever closer to my bed.
"Natla," my wife puts her hand on my arm from across the small wooden table, snapping me back to the present moment. Deep concern etched into her gaze as her hazel eyes meet mine, "It's okay."
I smile weakly, putting my hand over hers and nodding. She withdraws her touch and we both return to the meal.
Silence sits heavy between us.
"But it's not just that," I finally say, quieter than before, almost a whisper, "She *knows*, Tara. I don't know *how* she knows, but *she knows*."
Tara's hand-carved spoon stops halfway to her mouth.
"Has she told the others?"
"Of course not, I don't think they'd listen to her anyways."
Tara is quiet for a moment, I can literally *see* her thinking. Sparkling golden threads of magic flitting and flowing around her head as she pulls thoughts from places few of us have ever dared tread. I stare, awestruck as the day I'd first met her.
The lights fade away and she looks at me.
"Pull her from the Academy."
Confusion hits me hard in the gut, as I let my spoon drop into the bowl with a warm sploosh.
"Wait, what, but she's--"
"Have. Her. Pulled."
"But--"
"If you don't do it, I'll do it. But it'll raise eyebrows coming from the Council's High Priestess. Get Jayla or Marain to sign on," she takes another sip of stew, and another bite of bread, "doesn't matter which," she chews between words, her tone muddy with bread. She swallows, "you only need one, and from what you've told me, I think they'll be happy to go along with it."
"Tara, we *need* her. Three years, Tara. *Three years*."
My wife nods solemnly, "Natla, that's precisely *why* you need to pull her. The Academy is only going to slow her down. It's not the right structure."
"But what's the alternative?" exasperation foams within me, "We throw her to the wildlands and say 'good luck, don't die' and then just *hope for the best*?"
"Oh, my dearest Natla," My wife stares *into* me, her gaze cold as winter, determination flashing across her face as she smiles that devilish grin.
"No, Natla. Not the wildlands. I had in mind something far more dangerous."
A cold shiver runs down my spine as I ask a question whose answer I'm not sure I want. "What then?"
Wild, red threads of magic circle her eyes as she answers.
"Me."
|
#WalkMan & Dr. Doomsday
I stared at the unconscious man through the bars and super suppression field of his cell. He was the only occupant in the super powered wing of the holding cells at the Fortress of Doomitude, and nobody was even sure what his powers were. All we knew about the man was the name Kurt, his self proclaimed title of 'The Manager', and his affiliation with a shadowy organization called 'The Office'.
I crossed my metallic arms, securing them in place with a small magnet built in to the forearms. The unconscious man remained motionless.
How could an entire villainous organization be running in *MY* region without me knowing? If what he had boasted was true, then I had a severe gap in my intelligence network, maybe even a mole or traitor...
I heard footsteps approach me from behind. "Doc", a gruff voice called out in greeting.
"Avatar." I responded. "Or would you prefer to go back to your old name, Hadron?"
The burly ex-hero grunted. "Hadron." He said, as he ran a prosthetic hand over his bald head. "The kiddies tried to 'splain what an 'Avatar' was, turns out it was some fookin' cartoon." He had a bit of stubble poking through the areas that weren't claimed by male pattern baldness, but he had larger concerns than a haircut.
"Hows Steven doing?" I asked, still staring at the unconscious man in the cell.
Both Hadron and Steven had been captured during their last mission, and each had received several stab wounds. Hadron had taken the injuries better than the teenager.
"The lad's gonna be just peachy. WalkMan's still with 'em. That Stacey bloke too." Hadron said, flexing his robotic forearms.
"Stacy identifies as female, and you *will* respect that" I snapped, looking away from the prisoner for the first time. "I will not tolerate that kind of aggression between Doomsquad members."
Hadron held up his hands in mock surrender. "Didn' mean nuthin' by it, boss." He said. "Just not used to that kinda thing, roight?"
I grunted, and turned back to the man in the cell.
"We have a much larger problem, Hadron." I said.
"You got tha' roight" Hadron replied. "How'd we not know about this bloke? This whole 'office' thing?"
Hadron stroked his chin with one robotic hand, accidentally pinching the skin with a thumb joint. He didn't say anything as his blood began to slowly drip from the new wound.
"Prosthetics like ours take time to master." I said. "Perhaps I sent you into the field too early..."
"Oy, we'll have none of that now, yeah?" Hadron said. "I'm a bloody grown-up, I can handle me own self."
I declined to continue the line of conversation. Hadron was indeed a veteran super, and a strong willed Australian man on top of that. Nothing I could tell him would change his outlook.
Another set of footsteps approached from the hallway behind us. Hadron twisted to get a look at the new arrival.
"Oy, WalkMan." He called out. The hero said nothing in response.
"What's this guy's status?" WalkMan asked, taking his place at my right side.
I smirked, trying to hide it from my self-proclaimed nemesis. I had imagined this moment for so long, WalkMan at my right hand side, working on a case together.
"Same as we knew when we tranquilized him." I said. "Name's Kurt, calls himself 'The Manager', claims to be in a secret organization called 'The Office'. And he killed Fred."
WalkMan made a quiet grunting noise. "Fred wasn't in your Doomsquad for more than an hour, max. Yet you still mourn him."
"*EVERY* member of the Doomsquad is my responsibility." I snapped. "No matter how long or short their tenure, they're mine to protect."
WalkMan nodded. "Honorable."
"Indeed." I concurred.
"That is why I'm finally at peace with Steven working for you." WalkMan said, crossing his arms and staring at the man in the cell before us. "He's a good kid, mature for his age, well mannered, mentally stable... Just promise me you'll teach him right, ok?"
I grinned. "You know, WalkMan, you could teach him yourself. You could teach all of the supers here, make sure they understand their powers, use them safely to limit collateral damages..." I paused, gesturing to the man in the cell. "...And help us get to the bottom of this. If there truly is a 'The Office' hiding in plain sight, I'll need all the help I can get to take them down."
WalkMan sighed. "What if we find out that this 'Office' is less evil than your Doomsquad?" He asked.
I cackled. "WalkMan, after all this time, you still think of us as 'evil'?"
WalkMan remained quiet. The silence dragged on for an uncomfortably long time. Hadron shifted his weight restlessly, unsure if he should break the silence or not.
"I'll do it." WalkMan said at last.
I cackled like I had never cackled before. My entire body shook with laughter, and I felt a warm tear roll down my cheek.
"But if you try to harm me or Steven, I will end you." WalkMan said, in a voice as sharp as a professional chef's favorite knife. "If you try to trick me into breaking my morals, I will end you. If you-"
I cut off his self aggrandizing speech by holding up a small box. "Consider this a 'Welcome to the team' gift" I said, grinning so wide that it hurt.
WalkMan gingerly accepted the small box, and opened it without ceremony. Inside lay a robotic finger. Specifically, a right ring finger. The same one I had cut from WalkMan's hand.... twice.
He glanced from the finger to me, a look of concern growing on his face.
"It's not a trick, joke, ploy, scheme, conniving, or any variation of the sort." I said, rattling off the list of synonyms I had looked up earlier online. "It's a genuine prosthetic finger, with some beneficial features that compliment your powers."
WalkMan stared at the gift. Hadron coughed, growing more and more impatient with our conversation.
WalkMan lifted the mechanical digit with his in-tact hand, and placed it on the missing finger's stump. It attached itself flawlessly.
I stuck out my right hand, and cackled once more. "Welcome to the Doomsquad, WalkMan."
WalkMan returned the gesture. I felt his new finger move in synch with the real ones as he grasped my hand in a vice-like handshake.
/r/SlightlyColdStories for more.
This is part of a series I'm working on, called 'Nemesis'. You can find all parts in order [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/315796163-nemesis)
| 2022-08-17T11:22:33 | 2022-08-17T07:17:43 | 70 | 52 |
[WP] Your kind has conquered countless worlds. Your aren't particularly strong, but you have a dirty trick up your sleeve. One which is currently being thwarted for one simple reason. Out of every species you've fought, humans are the only one that doesn't typically eat random crap off the ground.
|
I am the Conqueror of Worlds. My kind has conquered countless worlds, and for one simple reason: we are not bound by the same limitations as other species. We are not limited by our strength or our size. We are not limited by our lack of wings or claws.
No, we are limited only by our imagination and our ingenuity.
But now, we face a new challenge. A species whose diet is made up of things that are grown and bred. A species that has not the need to walk around with its mouth open, masticating loudly and expectorating at a moment's notice.
You humans, you are the first species we've fought that doesn't do that. And in a way, it is a relief. We cannot sneak up on you, as we have upon other species. You cannot be distracted by our taunts and our baiting, as were other species.
You are at least smart enough to know that there is no free food on the ground. You have too much self-respect to eat random crap off the ground. And that is why you stand before us, now. You are the first species we've fought that we have not defeated out of hand.
On countless planets we've crushed armies, broken cities, and taken what we wanted. But this time, here on this world, at least, you have stopped us.
Perhaps you don't realize how special you are. Perhaps you don't realize how rare it is for one species to fight off our grand armada. But that is what you've done. You've fought us off.
Therefore, I, the Conqueror of Worlds, the Supreme Commander, the Deity of Destruction, the Archfiend of All Worlds, the Ultimate One, declare the Earth to be a sovereign planet of its own.
I have seen many species die. I have seen many worlds destroyed, and the survivors enslaved, or worse. All of that might have happened here, but it did not. So perhaps it's not you who won. Maybe it's your children, or their children, or some yet more distant generation. Maybe the victory is theirs.
But before we go, we offer this to you as a token of friendship and peace: A single cookie for you to savor. Go ahead. Eat it and enjoy the spoils of your victory. We also have chips. And soda. Eat.
***
For more stories check our r/greypuffin
|
"So, Oooaaauuu, how is it going?"
First Claimer sighed at this question. Of course, Vessel Commander have a right to know about status of ongoing operations, but his timing is just obnoxious. Why he questions Oooaaauuu during his lunch break? Like, isn't working hours exist for, well, work?
"We are only getting started. My teams already planted a few of ghwbs, here and there, to try to lure first targets. They should be finishing right about now. Don't get all nervous now, Eeeaaauuu, all will be fine"
All this time Vessel Commander slithered across the room from wall to wall, don't even trying to hide his anxiety. First Claimer was, to be honest, perplexed by this reaction - Eeeaaauuu was a veteran of Claiming Campaigns, and this one was pretty standard so far. Local dominant species even didn't have any kind of space armaments despite high level industrialisation. So, worrying about it was absurd.
"You see, my friend, I just decided to look into Scout Reports about this planet.... And something bothers me the wrong way. Are you sure ghwbs will work here? I scimmed through a bit of their dominant tribes culture and I think we made a big mistake"
"Don't think about - your job is to be sure sailors will not get drunk out of boredom. Mine is to be sure this operation proceeds smooth... Oh?"
First Claimer's communicator suddenly started ringing. Everyone on his team knows that Oooaaauuu shouldn't be bothered on his lunch time, unless it is something really urgent. He decided to respond, and before he could greet an unfortunate intern who decided to ask a question, a worried voice started talking:
"First Claimer, your presence is urgent in Operational Den! Like, right now! Forget about your lunch and slither here!"
The call was hang up. It was his second in command, Uuuaaaiii - usually a very polite, professional lady. If she acted like this, is was really urgent.
"I think we both should go, eh?"
Said Eeeaaauuu with a worried look in his eyes. Oooaaauuu nodded, and started slithering to Operational Den, leaving his lunch behind.
***
OD was in uproar. Apparently, whole Claiming team was here, even those who had no shifts tonight. When Uuuaaaiii saw them enter, she waved to them:
"Over here! You need to see this"
Glancing at each other, First Claimer and Vessel Commander slithered to the terminal, were worried Uuuaaaiii stood.
On the monitor there was nothing particularly special - one of the big cities of this world, a busy day with a lot of individuals going on their business. The only thing that took Oooaaauuu attention was a placed ghwb.
"Well, that is the problem? To me, it seems like is going by the book"
"This is a recording, Oh the High One. Just watch"
Letting this rudness slide, First Claimer continued to watch the video. When the curious thing happened - one human, in the uniform and with some kind of tool picked up ghwb and... Tossed it in some kind of bin.
"Whaa... What?"
From the reports, he knew these bins were used as trash collectors. For Great Sages sake, why they tossed in it ghwb?!
"And that is not all"
After that, Uuuaaaiii started to show other locations - different continents, different tribes, different cities, different methods - but the result was the same.
Ghwb was counted as trash and tossed aside.
"How.... How could this happen! They are supposed to have the best, the most attractive smell respective to their species! Why they are desposing of it!?!"
"I may know the answer"
To everyone's surprise, this was said by Vessel Commander. He took out his pad from the pouch and started searching something on it.
"You see, while I don't doubt our Scouts, or our Researchers, or our Craftskols, I think this time they overlooked a big aspect - that this species is very heavily biased towards looks, not the smell. You would say that they are not the first one this way, true. But this particular instance is... A bit more intricate. Oh, found it"
With triumphant look on his face, he turned his pad to Oooaaauuu and Uuuaaaiii. On it, was a picture of ghwb.
"You probably thinking that is your regular ghwb. But that is picture from locals world wide network. Curious how it looks so similarly to ghwb, isn't it? Well, the thing is - they use this image too... picture their excrements.
On the pad was a regular ghwb - a spiral object of brown color. And if the same image was used by locals as picture for excrements, when...
"We... We tried to feed them crap?!"
Someone, probably some intern, said the thing that was in everyone minds. Everyone stood silent, no one knew that to say. Finally, the First Claimer spoke:
"The design of ghwb is perfection! It was made in this way for 100% result! We can't easily change it! What should we do with it?!"
Vessel Commander put his pad back into the pouch and looked into the eyes of First Claimer:
"I don't know. After all, I am responsible only for that sailors don't drink too much. It is yours to be sure that this operation proceeds smoothly."
After that, Vessel Commander left the Operation Den, while feeling of despair slowly rose in the First Claimer, the High one Oooaaauuu, who felt as a cornered utk.
| 2022-09-20T11:11:25 | 2022-09-20T10:57:08 | 725 | 208 |
[WP] You’re suddenly transported to another world where magic is cast by perfectly pronouncing an ancient language. This language happens to be your native tongue
|
I appear in the middle of a forest. I have never been here before but there is something strange about it. Something mysterious. I can't quite place it, but dare I say that it might be enchanted? Something about the trees and the colors. The way the vines fall around, and the way the animals stare. It certainly doesn't look like anything I have ever seen besides in a movie.
I walk around for a while, trying to find something. Anything. I don't even know what it is, but I guess any form of life or civilization. I don't even remember how I got here, or what I was doing before I showed up. Maybe I took a bunch of shrooms? I look around. Maybe I am still on shrooms.
I sigh and mumble to myself, "I wish I could just fly above these trees to see where I was going."
I could not have been prepared for what happened. I should have been, I am the one that said it after-all. But suddenly I was floating over the treeline. My heart was racing, I feel like that time I watched Paranormal Activity 2. That movie really got my heart racing with those jumpscares.
I finally adjust and calm down. Once I do I look around and can see what feels like a village. I try to go over there. I look like an idiot waving my arms and legs around in midair, as if trying to swim through the sky, but I am stuck in one place.
After a few moments. "I wish I could fly to that village?"
And just like that I am speeding through the sky and land in the middle of their tribe.
They all look at me in shock, and speak in some alien language. They are also green and have weird giant heads. I guess I am not on Earth, pretty scary but at least that answers that mystery (unless of course I am still on shrooms). They try talking to me but I cannot understand at all. But what I do understand is that they start bowing. Oh no, they think I am a god. I guess it makes sense considering they just saw me fly in, but it sure feels unethical.
I try to explain, "No, I'm sorry, I am not a god, I am just some guy. There is no need to bow. It's not like I can magically make food appear..."
And then I realize that I can make food appear. I might not be a god, but there is no reason I can't help these people.
"I wish I had enough food for this tribe to last a lifetime!"
And just like magic, mountains of food appear. The tribe celebrates and thanks me with more bowing. Damn, being god isn't so bad at all. It's actually pretty easy. What else can I do to help out? I am chilly in the cold of the forest. I look up at the sky but cannot see a sun. No reason we should all be uncomfortable if I can control it.
"I wish the weather was 2 degrees warmer."
And suddenly I am just a bit more comfortable. I look around to the village with a smile, only to watch all of them screaming in horror as they all melt away. I guess they are very sensitive to weather. Damn, I should have spend less time watching Paranormal Activity 2 and more time watching Bruce Almighty. Magic is a fickle bitch.
|
**(SIDE NOTE: First Time Writer, long time lurker)**
**(ADDITIONAL NOTE: Post contains some curse words)**
**(P.S.S. You will intentionall see words used wrong when spells are cast by the dwellers of the "other world" as they are using broken english, where as the MC will use "perfect english")**
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
Hi, my name is Sato Nobuo, I'm your typical Otoku who works 9-5, 6 days a week, and spends all my money on anime shit... cause you know what? I'm a weeb, not something I'm particularly proud of, but I really don't feel like changing it. I'm a 32 years old female, no lover, no kids, and no family...
While walking to work (cause I spent all my money on anime shit, to the point I couldn't afford a car) I heard my name called out... I turned around trying to place the name, but couldn't. I sounded like it was literally coming from all around me. I mean yeah the sidewalk was filled with a bunch of stangers, but none of which should know me... you know? Anyway... all of a sudden a bright light appears right below me, making me have to cover my eyes, but also hold down my dress, cause somehow the wind wanted to be a pervert today... *greeaaat*!
After what felt like 5 solid minutes of covering my eyes from this blinding light, it (as suddenly as it appeared) disappeared. I remove my arm from my eyes, and see that I have somehow found my self in a church...
*A fucking church... this muct be a joke, like who the fuck snatches someone and brings them to a church?!*
Completely oblivious to the fact that there are other people in this church... Once I actually notice them, I jumped back and screamed. "*What the ever living fuck!*" I looked at the people around me and notice they are all wearing white robes with a gold-color linging... looking at me as if I'm the crazier one?!
One of the white robed figures approach me, who i assume female, because I mean her figure was a 10/10 straight from a harem anime... "*shinpai shina ide, watashitachi haana ta ni shi no kodomo o kizutsukeru tsu mo ri haa rima sen...*"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*Do not fret, we are not going to hurt you my child...*"\]
​
Like as if that is suppose to calm me down, but I mean if they really did mean to hurt me, they would have done so already... right? All of the white clocked figures take off their hoods and what I saw perplexed me instantly... There was an elf, a (what I can only assume) 2 Cat humans (*aka a feline demi-humans*), and than other humans... 12 all together. I looked down and noticed a sigil under me... that I somehow failed to notice before. I don't know how I also failed to hear, but they are speaking a different language then me, yet somehow I also understand what they are saying in perfect english.
I ask "*Ummm... quick question, am I seeing an Elf and 2 demi-humans right now?*"
The robed figures look at each other, as if confused by what I just said, but at the same time not. The Elf girl cuite comes up to me and replies "*wareware no nakama o chi tte ru noka?*"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*Do you already know of our people, child?*"\]
​
"*Ummm... I suppose? Though why do you ask? It sounds like you were just amazed that I knew of elves and demi-humans?*" I state.
The elf girl replies back with "*watashitachi ha, ana ta o watashitachi no sekai ni shoukan shi ta go, ana ta jishin no you nako tomo ha ka ga ki ko tte i ru noka rikai shite i nai to katei shima shi ta*...?"
\[Which translated in my mind to: "*We assumed that after summoning you to our world, a child such as yourself would not understand what is going on...?*"\]
​
When I am about to answer, the elf girl notices that I have injuries lacerated around my body, before even asking about them, she speaks and this time in broken english: "*Goddess, I child call upon you and ask that you heal this person so that there wounds are no more!*"
Right when I'm about to ask what that was about, a greenish yellow light appears at her hand and wraps itself around me, covering me in a arua of warmth. I feel, not only see, but feel at the inguries I have gained over the past 3 decades heal and vanish. When the healing finishes, I notice that the elf girl looks extremely tired as if she just worked a 15 hour shift. Right as she is collapsing, I quickly grab her, and sweep her up in my arms. Carefull to ensure that I don't accidentally hurt her.
The other's noticing and factinated that I can pick a person so easily (I mean so am I, I only weight 90 pounds and can't even lift 20 pounds) gesture me to follow them. We go to a room, and I lay her down on the bed.
\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~\~
**END OF PART 1... I will probably make part 2 within the next few hours... arms in pain, and back is in pain. Well it also depends if people actually like this story too...**
​
Hey Guys, if you want to read more of this, go to my subreddit r/StorytimeWithTheBrits. I already posted both of these posts there so that you guys can see not only this story, but also any other story I make in the future!
| 2022-11-19T07:15:30 | 2022-11-19T06:13:41 | 126 | 78 |
[WP] Humanity is visited by a cosmic horror the likes of which has only been seen in Lovecraftian horror. In desperation, Earth throws everything we have at it, and, miraculously, the human race has killed a God. Somewhere in a realm beyond our understanding, the other gods speak of the event.
|
**They have died.**
*Meddled with a black hole again?*
**Tried to embrace an organic species.**
*And when did They die?*
**The species killed They.**
*...you are mistaken, We.*
**The waves have been clear enough. They have died at the hands of a small, organic species.**
*That is impossible. How could-*
"I keep telling you that you underestimate them."
*I. How nice of you to join us.*
"These little creatures have more potential than you realize; something They just found out."
**Your affection towards bacteria is touching, truly.**
"The bacteria that just killed one of us, We."
*We cannot let this stand. We must embrace them in They's stead and wait until They return.*
"No."
*No?*
"No, It. I have plans for them. More useful to me alive. You will not touch them."
***And if We or It refuse?***
"Then I'll tell them how to kill ***you*** too."
|
# Soulmage
**Ameth-ta had ten thousand eyes, and every last one of them was weeping.** Rashe-son-del slammed a tankard of fermented souls into its three-lobed maw, drunkenly cursing. That Which Seeks offered Ameth-ta a sheet-shaped cloud of interstellar dust; Ameth-ta noisily blew its nose upon its projection in exospace, thanking That Which Seeks as an afterthought.
It was a funeral for a god, and everyone had arrived.
"I'd—*hic*—I'd like to thank you all for coming," Rashe-son-del slurred out. "The Devourer was many things to us. A friend. A lover. A nightmare made flesh." The assembled deities rumbled in approval. "When we first got word that The Devourer's soul-planet had developed life, I'd like to think that nobody was happier about it than The Devourer itself, may its soul blaze on."
"Hear, hear," Ameth-ta rumbled.
"But when that life metastasized—when it warped the planet so much that ol' Devvy started to sicken and die—did they listen when we told them to stop? No! They just clutched their ears and screamed as their internal organs liquefied from the deific pressure of our voice. And when we tried to force them into behaving—"
Here, Rashe-son-del took another swig from its tankard before sundering it from reality with a thought. "The spiteful fuckers didn't even try to fight us. They knew they couldn't touch us. No, they turned their weapons on their *own fucking planet*. Ruined it beyond repair and took Devvy with them."
Ameth-ta wouldn't stop sobbing. That Which Seeks handed it another nebula.
"They paid the price, of course." Rashe-son-del peered into soulspace, where the still-cooling remnants of a shattered planet orbited around a flickering star. "No clue where they evacuated to. But we'll find them. We'll find them and make them pay for what they did to ol' Devvy."
The assembled deities roared in agreement—
And then Rashe-son-del froze mid-sentence, doubling over as if struck by a cosmic baseball bat.
"What?" The eldritch entity from beyond humanity's universe opened and closed its mouth in incomprehension. "How can—who dares—"
That Which Seeks vomited, its body quavering and unravelling, and Ameth-ta shrieked as its thousand eyes began to blacken and close. In a flash of understanding, Rashe-son-del peered into soulspace, at the distant star cluster where its soul-planet laid.
Where its soul-planet *had* lain. Where there was now just an expanding cloud of gas and dust.
"No," Rashe-son-del whispered, disbelieving. "You abominations. You monsters. Was one of us not enough? Must you take *everything* from us?"
As if in spiteful response, the star itself that Rashe-son-del's soul-planet had once orbited dimmed, once.
Then it erupted in a supernova an aeon before its time, and Rashe-son-del screamed in agony as its soul-planet was rendered nothing more than subatomic particles.
"But how... how did they find..." That Which Seeks struggled to rise, to peer into soulspace once more. It should have been impossible. A needle in a haystack. There should have been no way for the humans to find their soul-planets... unless...
As That Which Seeks unraveled, its mind finally sighted upon the answer. There was no need for the humans to know *which* planet served as the eldritch deities' soul. Not with what they'd done.
One by one, across the cosmos, stars flared bright before winking out forever. And one by one, the gods they'd sustained did too.
A.N.
This story is set in the world of Soulmage, a serial written in response to writing prompts. Check out the rest of the story [here](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/uxmwe4/soulmage_masterpost/?sort=new), or r/bubblewriters for more.
| 2022-12-12T08:58:57 | 2022-12-12T06:44:53 | 2,312 | 364 |
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