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timestamp[ns]date 2012-07-26 17:01:55
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[WP] Many years ago, an alien invasion nearly wiped out Humanity. Now, the galactic government is desperately trying to reason with a vengeful Humanity by saying that it was a rogue mining company that attacked without their approval or knowledge.
|
"It's a virus"
"What do you mean"
"It's a computer virus, it is a small computer program that enters a system and destroys it from the inside".
"That's ridiculous, the hegemony has had computers for 3,400 years and no species has ever created software designed to destroy them. It is suicide. Computers run outside support, medical regen facilities, defense command, financial services. no sane being would create something that destroys the only thing that keeps is from living like animals. What if it gets into the climate control system. Are we going to have weather again? That's ridiculous."
"What do you mean if? It's in the system. Frongline is being hit with hurricanes. I had to look up the word for that. It is a massive low pressure storm. The entire coast is under water."
"Has the ship that sent the communication sent any demands?"
"Only one,. They have requested the heads of everyone who works for the Thran Mining Consortium. Everyone. From the Board of Directors to the drilling apprentices. Not only the ones involved with the 'unpleasantness' on their home planet. They want everyone. They provided a list. Their 'hackers" didn't even stop when our system warned them that accessing that information was illegal"
"And that's what they require to stop this unsanctioned attack?"
"No, that is what they require before they will accept our unconditional surrender".
|
“All rise. The Intergalactic Federal court is now in session. High Judicial Archon Irk’nCzrwyon presiding. Please be seated and come to order.” A being of nebula, serves as the bailiff, towering in its enormity vibrates sounds and light as they were being translated to the floating balcony’s desk, where seven humans are seated.
The eternity were filled by elder gods, cosmic celestials, ethereal beings and ancient deities, all were in their overwhelming presence and glory eclipsing the enormity of the planets we considered the largest we could ever fathom, gathered as spectators of the trial.
“Criminal case filed by the prosecutor’s office against the humans of planet Aran’k-sakratin, known to its inhabitants as planet Earth. Counselor? How do you plead?” The entity of three pairs of burning wings spanning in immeasurable size in the most high pedestal in the skies, thunders before the human man in the middle of the seven.
“Not guilty, your honor!” Shouted the man.
“Your honor, these humans have killed thousands of the Tharn’likans after they started mining in the Aran’k-sakratin! A planet legally owned by the Tharn’likans through inheritance. It has been with the Tharn’likans for trillions of aeons. These low life parasitic species who infested the planet have become uncontrollable invaders of the planet and acting they own it!” A being of black void with trillions of small sparkling glitters scattered to its shapeless existence, vibrated towards the High Judicial Archon, which were being translated into words for the humans.
“Objection! Speculating.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Unless you have evidence, prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l that the humans are parasitic species, you must redirect.” The High Judicial Archon thunders.
“I have evidence, your honor. Exhibit A, these are the actual visual documents that shows, that the humans are the parasites to the planet Aran’k-sakratin.” A cloud of burning gasses come together to create a 3D visualization of the human’s exploits of the Earth. “As you have witnessed, your honor, it just 10,000 years, these parasites manage to destroy the natural balance of the planet’s atmosphere and create global warming that can occur naturally for millions of years.”
“That’s is not true, your honor. We have not destroyed our planet as it is the only planet where our specie can thrive! Why would we want to destroy the only place that gives us life?” The human lawyer interjected.
“Because they are parasites! Parasites are ought to kill their host slowly to survive. Isn’t that what they are doing?” The prosecutor asked.
“And what the Tharn’likans were doing is not destroying our planet?” The human councilor asked back.
“The Tharn’likans were just mining molten irons from the planet Aran’k-sakratin as what part of their rights in owning the planet. By expediting the warming of the planet, it also expedites the melting of iron in its immediate outer core. Threatening the balance in the mining industry of our galaxy! Not to mention the merciless massacre of the innocent Tharn’likan miners who have no idea, these low life creates are capable of mass destruction!”
“Your honor, i request that the prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l must refrain from calling our specie as low life specie as we are also capable of sentience! And to be allowed to represent ourselves in this court acknowledges us as such.” The human lawyer interrupted.
“Prosecutor Mktoloktuhulan’l, please refrain from using that term in the future.”
“Your honor! I continue to call their specie low life creatures, because even though they are showing signs of sentience, they are categorized as parasitic creatures based on their environmental and evolutionary behavior towards their ecological environment.”
“Councilor, the prosecutor is correct. He has reasons to use the term as the evidences they serve categorizes your specie as a sentient parasite, and that is the lowest category in the intergalactic federation racial hierarchy. Unless, you have evidence to counter the prosecutions allegations against your specie, they have the upper-hand in this case.” The High Judicial Archon said.
“We would like to request for a recess, your honor.” The human lawyer requested.
“It looks like you really needed one. The court will be in recess and resume in three solar cycles of the Planet Aran’k-sakratin. If the defendant can not provide counter argument on the next session, I will read my verdict. ” The High Judicial Archon opened its third wings and a loud banging echoed in the eternity and all were gone.
“We’re screwed!” The second chair of the human lawyer whispered.
| 2022-12-17T21:51:38 | 2022-12-17T17:34:16 | 150 | 34 |
[WP] You've noticed a man in a suit approaches one home a day in your neighborhood and is invited inside every time. Shortly after he leaves, the resident(s) commit suicide. Today, he's approached your home.
|
"Shhh, shh. He's coming!"
My little girl squealed as she threw open the door for the stranger.
"Hello, Mister!"
"Hi there Caitlyn. How was your morning?"
"It was great," she said while shyly swaying side to side. "Daddy made us special
pancakes. These were my favorite."
"Oh I know," he said with a throaty chuckle. "You probably stuffed yourself again, too!"
Caitlyn covered her mouth and giggled through her fingers.
"Are we all set, sir?" I asked.
"Most certainly Jacob. Let me have you sign the final release form, and I'll be out of your hair. May I have a seat?"
"Oh sure, sure. One second, I'll get my wife." I closed the door behind him and made my way to the kitchen door. My wife does everything last minute so I was sure she'd be in the garden. "Sara! He's here! We need to sign one last thing."
"Well he's right on time, then. I just finished trimming the last bush. Don't you think they'll love them?" I looked around and took in our wonderful backyard that I had just spent the summer on. Sara's landscaping meshed perfectly with my woodwork in this beautiful August light.
"They'll be speechless, I'm sure. Come on love, it's about that time."
She wrapped her arms as far as they could go around my broad shoulders and planted one of her softest kisses on my lips. "I can't wait."
I led her into the house and sat down at the table next to our guest, opposite my wife and daughter.
"Alright! Same way as before?" I asked him.
"That's right."
He pulled a small device out of his left suit pocket and attached it to his finger. It looked like a thimble, but with a needle at the tip that was so small it was almost invisible in the sunlight coming through the windows.
"Right hands, please." We held them out and quick as a flash, *fft fft fft,* he stuck the needle in our index fingers and transferred the thimble to me. He opened our scroll and at the bottom I wrote in our red ink, "**The Lyons Family**."
"Very good," he commented. "That's all I needed from you. You have until the end of the day of course. And we certainly appreciate the care you put into the house during your stay."
I smiled wide, adding, "The family before us had that jacuzzi installed in the bathroom, so we thought we'd add our own bit of personality too."
"Oh it's the least we could do. And that won't be necessary, we've already got Caitlyn started so we'll be joining her shortly" Sara said.
"And I put all my toys on the bed so the next girl can choose her favorites!" Caitlyn grinned up at the man, who was standing to leave now.He bent down and gave her a kiss on the cheek. "I'm sure she'll like that very much."
"Here Caitlyn, here's your juice." I handed her a juicebox, straw already inside. She took it from me with both hands and started to gulp madly. Caitlyn loves her juice!
The man straightened his black tie and waved with his large, tanned hand. "It was very nice to know you all. You're a very deserving family and I'm sure you'll enjoy it."
I stepped over my daughter's convulsing body and asked "Would you be able to tell us your name before you go? For the survey once we get there?"
He bowed low. "Sure. My name is William. Congratulations again to you!"
"Thank you!" Sara said.
I pulled my revolver out of my pocket just a--**BANG**-- just as Sara blew chunks of her brain matter into my hair.
As I pointed it under my right ear and pulled the trigger I thought:
*William.*
*What a nice name for an angel.*
|
The first death was understandable. Leonard was 57, divorced, on the losing end of a bitter custody battle. Rumors murmured that the reason why--and why his daughter, Chelsea, wouldn't speak to him--he'd beaten her mother, forced her to flee to some kind of shelter. The house was quiet the day before, crawling with police the day after. It all seemed settled. Nobody came around to ask Mrs. Withers if she'd seen anything suspicious. Yet at the time it wasn't suspicious--the young man could have been anyone.
The second was on the tail end, a copycat, another man. Bill, 34, unemployed for the past two years. The house was mortgaged, the savings sunk in a pyramid scheme. He'd no way out. The cause of death was different. He had no enemies. Mrs. Withers remarked to herself (as all her remarks were) that he'd also had an unexpected visitor.
The third became a news story, though more common, people still got outraged about this kind of thing--mothers aren't supposed to kill their children. A couple of middle-aged men, no one notices but the neighborhood! the families left behind. But here there was a heavier grief, a stillness that settled over the neighborhood, the wake of mourning. The Samuels boys had been terrors, but they were only children. The media descended upon them, knocking on all the doors. Mrs. Withers did not answer the door when they knocked. She didn't believe in profiting from tragedy, and besides, they'd trampled her rosebeds. By now she knew there was a connection. The man in the suit had visited all three houses. But no one asked.
The fourth attracted its own kind of attention. Jason Ross, a teenage boy--Mrs. Withers couldn't picture his face--the young had all started to blur together a bit, their names and faces generic carbons of each other, only remarkable for particularly annoying habits (the Simmons girl with her cigarette butts, the Mitchell boy with his godforsaken muffler.) Ross was a name she didn't know. But she knew, with a sense of dread, that there was something stalking the neighborhood, dressed in Brooks Brothers, driving a Prius. The devil is fuel conscious. She couldn't shake her unease as she watched the news reporter, a mealy mouthed bitch if there ever was one, mouthing words about the unfortunately contagious aspects of suicide--how the rash had struck this quiet Sunnyside neighborhood, how all the residents were pulling together in mourning. Mrs. Withers snorted as she looked out the window at her gawking neighbors down the street. Pulling together in rubbernecking and fame-seeking, more like. She hovered at the window a minute, then she saw Him.
He walked up the smooth path and knocked at the door. She answered it out of reflex. When Death comes knocking you can't avoid the answer.
"Can I help you?"
"My name is Bob Beasley, and I'm a lawyer--I was wondering if I could talk to you about a class action lawsuit. There's a dangerous chemical in your water."
She eyed him. "Funny time to come ask." Gestured to the circus unveiling down the street.
"Yes--unfortunate. Do you have time to speak with me?"
She invited him in. What else was there to do? She served tea. (Two sugars, in case you're interested.)
"Now, I'd like to talk to you about--"
"Why are you here?"
He blinked. "To talk to you about the lawsuit--"
"Mr. Beasley, I'm an old woman. I don't have time for games. Are you here to kill me?"
He laughed. "Why would I do that?" There was no nervousness in his answer. But Mrs. Withers could see the coiled up snake lying behind the gray eyes.
"I am old, not stupid. You have visited each of my neighbors and they all have become dead soon after. It's no coincidence. What I don't know is if you're a serial killer, the devil, or Death himself. Either way, let's get on with it."
"Are you saying you want to die?" There was something cold and clinical about the question. At last they'd got down to business.
"Not at all." Her response was quick enough to surprise even her. He sat back. "I'm not in the business of killing." A pause hung in the air.
"What is your business?"
He spread his hands. "A little complicated to explain here--but my business is chaos. Mechanism to speed up the death of the universe. Get some of the...fluff...out of the way."
"Fluff being people."
"Yes."
"But you don't kill them."
"No."
"Why are you here?"
He steepled his fingers. "To be frank, my job is a little more on the...persuasion side. Encouragement. Most people are on a seesaw. I just give them the facts, to weight a little balance in the right direction."
"So you encourage people to kill themselves."
He nods slowly, eyes locked on hers. She feels dizzy. "You're not the Angel of Death, then," she says, to convince herself as much as anything.
"Let's say we're associates." He grins his shark grin. "I will say I'm surprised you figured out so quickly what I'm here for."
She shrugs. "I'm old. We think about death a lot."
"Wishing for it? Longing maybe? Just think, no more arthritis. No more loneliness. Constipation. Pain. Humiliation. Being afraid of not being able to take care of yourself. All of that just gone. You'll rest. You won't know a thing. It could all just be peaceful in a few moments..." His voice glides over her like oil and she closes her eyes to imagine it for a minute. Peace.
Not on this time. She heaves herself to her feet. "Not interested, Bub."
He stands too, a flair of dislike in his eyes. "What do you have to live for? You're nothing but a burden on society. No one cares if you live or die. No one respects you. Your life isn't worth all that."
She smiles at him. " you'll have to do better than that, I'm afraid."
"Do you REALLY want to live to see the new millennium? I'll tell you what it holds. Terrorism. Children killing each other in schools, right here in America. The death of American ideals. War. You're Catholic--the disgrace of your religion. All your gods are going to fall. You'll have nothing, you'll be nothing. Just quit while you're ahead. Nuclear war. Economic collapse. Death of the rainforest."
She shuffles to the door and holds it open. "If you don't plan to kill me, I've got gardening to do."
He walks to the door, then stops. "I have to say, I thought you'd be easier," he said, staring straight ahead. "The mother--now, I thought she'd be difficult. But she took the boys too...I don't understand it. What is it you have that is so precious to you, that you're willing to endure all that's coming for you?" He faces her then.
She smiles. "Hope."
| 2014-06-16T21:51:07 | 2014-06-16T21:46:08 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] The lottery is an Institution designed to catch Time Travelers.
|
Have you ever wondered what happens to all the lottery winners?
Wealth, particularly spent frivolously has a tendency to lead to some measure of fame in our society. So where are they in the public eye? If we can dedicate hours of our lives every week to watching Honey Boo-Boo be a redneck with a modicum of wealth where is the $150 million lottery winner from deep south Alabama buying himself a new mansion filled with Confederate flags? Beverly Hillbillies was a widely successful show. I can only imagine it being more so as a reality tv spot.
These questions plagued me for years. They kept me up at night and as time went on I asked myself more and more. I'd watch news spots with lottery winners and try to track their lives. I wasn't as surprised as I should be to find them missing after a relatively short time. To find the media attention suddenly dying down, or only staying local. That's when I made my mistake. I followed up in person.
When doesn't matter, I find that when hardly matters to me at all anymore. The where, however, was a small town in Southern California. I saw a news spot about a man who had just won the lottery and was "going out to the bar to celebrate. Drinks on him for the night," and I immediately ran out the bar. "Big Ron Shuffles" was his name and after convincing a girl I was acquainted with I was going to hang out with "that guy who won the lottery" I was throwing her into his arms and he was inviting me back to his place. Ron got really drunk that night. I made sure of it. He told me he came from a century in the future and he spent his life savings on an illegal time jump back to our time because nobody had won the lottery this week and he could still get the numbers. Of course I didn't believe him, but I should have.
We were only friends for a week when things went wrong. He slapped me awake out of a drunk stupor at 3 in the morning. "They're here," he yelled dragging me into the bathroom with him. It turns out time travel IS real and not only that but it's a lot easier to go forwards than backwards. Before I knew it we were 20 years into the future and he was withdrawing money from a high interest account he had opened in a fake name. In short, it turns out that the only reason the lottery exists, and the only reason the value gets as high as it is is to catch illegal time travelers. TP;NPs (time perp;no permit) they were called. I know nobody is going to believe me but I have to get this out there. The government is being run by the future. Everything is being guided the way they want to. We have no choices left.
If you need more proof the numbers for this week are 5, 26, 32, 34, 38, 42. I wish I didn't know but now that I do I want to be free. Free from a time controlled government. Free from the future where they rule the world with an iron fist. I want to be free, and I need your help.
|
Looking around, I noticed the little convenience store was full of stereotypes from the early 2010's - young adults glued to "smart" phones, texting and snapping selfies. Selfies, so glad they phased that term out. Urban youth with those cheap, overpriced headphones blaring shitty dubstep into their empty heads. Overweight people, wow! what a sight they are. It's still so odd to me seeing them scattered about, without a care in the world.
I'm next up in line to purchase my winning lottery ticket, it will be my third in the last month. I've spread my redemptions from the last year all over the east coast. Small jackpots, all with different names and social security numbers, hasn't failed me yet. This would be my final one. I can disappear after this. Maybe fly out to Iceland, enjoy it while it lasts - Iceland, that is. It won't be long until the volcano with the impossible-to-remember name blows a crater in that country that can be seen from space. I remember thinking that all the pictures from there were so beautiful, like they were taken on another planet. Yeah, Iceland. Spend a year there then check out Japan before it sinks.
"Five lotto tickets, please," I say as I step up to the register, nerves beginning to flare up.
"What else d'ya need, darlin'?" the middle-aged woman says. I bet she was beautiful before years (decades?) of cigarettes and booze claimed her. Or maybe that word, darlin, just reminds me of simpler times and I see her through rose-tinted glasses. AI isn't programmed to use words like darling, sweetie, and honey in normal conversations. They're very cold, aloof. It's so nice to hear the little human nuances again.
"That'll do me, I think. Actually, give me a trashy magazine. Some kind of tabloid, if you have any." I can't help myself. It's amazing they used to publish this shit, back when people's biggest worries in this world were what a celebrity wore to an event, or which woman with undeserved stardom is expecting a child.
With my five blank lottery tickets - four of them just for show - and my tabloid, I get into my rental and reach for the laptop on the floorboard of the backseat, my precious laptop that has 200 terabytes of text data directly uploaded from over 10,000 different .wiki sites from the year 2092. Years of lottery results, sporting victories, dates and locations of natural and unnatural disasters, dates of presidential assassinations, and the dates when the borders of each country inevitably shut down, permanently.
As I grabbed the laptop to pull it to the front seat, I hear a voice, my voice.
"They're coming for you. For me."
I turn around wildly to see a man sitting behind me. It's me. A grizzled version of myself, a bit older, and he looks like hell. I'm not as shocked as I thought I would be if this ever happened, but it's odd, to finally see your own face, not as a reflection. It's backwards. Is that really what I look like? Fuck.
"Did you hear me? They're coming. Your plan to go to Iceland? Yeah, you should have done that yesterday, but no. You had to be fucking greedy. How much do you even have now? 800, 900 grand?
"1.2 mil," I told myself. This angry, self-loathing clone. Wait, can you even call him a clone? Shit, the whole time-paradox situation breaks my brain. "Who's coming? Old government or our government?"
"Old, probably. There's no way to be sure. It was old government that came for me on this night. There's no way to know if our government have begun hunting for refugees - for you."
"This happened to you? What do I do? What did you do? How long do I have?"
"You have an hour, if I remember correctly. I lost track of time when I turned around and saw my doppelganger sitting behind me. It was all a blur after that. A bloody blur. You look like you're handling it better than I was. We peeled out of here, they caught up to us on interstate, and long story short, they found his dead body after the wreck and called off the search, not knowing there were two of us. I'm hoping we both make it out alive this time, and not just you. We need to ditch this car, it's what they're looking for."
"Well what do we do? Do you have something else?" I ask as I grab the laptop and we exit the car in perfect synchrony.
"Yeah. There are woods behind the store, a house on the other side of the woods, and a car waiting on us in the driveway. We need to get moving, now. It might not be just cars coming for us this time."
We set off into the pitch-black woods, the blind leading the blind. I walk with a hand in front of my face to guard against stray limbs, struggling to distinguish the sound of his footsteps from my own. "How far?"
"Not far. I need to do something first, though."
"What's that?" I say as I bump into him, he has stopped moving.
"A favor, for both of us. It's hell from here on out, you saw what I look like. It's all shit after tonight. I'm sorry, but if you could, you'd thank me. You *really* would."
The chirp of a silenced pistol sounds off and only one remains. The man presses a button on a device in his pocket, and a moment later reality itself distorts and a hole in the fabric of space-time opens and out steps an androgynous humanoid.
"There he is. The last one." The man said, motioning to the corpse on the ground. "He said he has 1.2 million, he never made it to Iceland."
"Good. Collect the money, do what you please with it. You are to stay in the United States, we will know if you leave. You're now a free man." The figure bent down and placed its hand on the corpse and the pale green hole from which it came engulfed the two of them.
The man sat in the woods for some time, trying to wrap his mind around what he had done, and how he would spend the two weeks before the world went to shit.
| 2022-01-03T09:57:27 | 2014-10-30T18:59:38 | 751 | 27 |
[WP] The lottery is an Institution designed to catch Time Travelers.
|
Have you ever wondered what happens to all the lottery winners?
Wealth, particularly spent frivolously has a tendency to lead to some measure of fame in our society. So where are they in the public eye? If we can dedicate hours of our lives every week to watching Honey Boo-Boo be a redneck with a modicum of wealth where is the $150 million lottery winner from deep south Alabama buying himself a new mansion filled with Confederate flags? Beverly Hillbillies was a widely successful show. I can only imagine it being more so as a reality tv spot.
These questions plagued me for years. They kept me up at night and as time went on I asked myself more and more. I'd watch news spots with lottery winners and try to track their lives. I wasn't as surprised as I should be to find them missing after a relatively short time. To find the media attention suddenly dying down, or only staying local. That's when I made my mistake. I followed up in person.
When doesn't matter, I find that when hardly matters to me at all anymore. The where, however, was a small town in Southern California. I saw a news spot about a man who had just won the lottery and was "going out to the bar to celebrate. Drinks on him for the night," and I immediately ran out the bar. "Big Ron Shuffles" was his name and after convincing a girl I was acquainted with I was going to hang out with "that guy who won the lottery" I was throwing her into his arms and he was inviting me back to his place. Ron got really drunk that night. I made sure of it. He told me he came from a century in the future and he spent his life savings on an illegal time jump back to our time because nobody had won the lottery this week and he could still get the numbers. Of course I didn't believe him, but I should have.
We were only friends for a week when things went wrong. He slapped me awake out of a drunk stupor at 3 in the morning. "They're here," he yelled dragging me into the bathroom with him. It turns out time travel IS real and not only that but it's a lot easier to go forwards than backwards. Before I knew it we were 20 years into the future and he was withdrawing money from a high interest account he had opened in a fake name. In short, it turns out that the only reason the lottery exists, and the only reason the value gets as high as it is is to catch illegal time travelers. TP;NPs (time perp;no permit) they were called. I know nobody is going to believe me but I have to get this out there. The government is being run by the future. Everything is being guided the way they want to. We have no choices left.
If you need more proof the numbers for this week are 5, 26, 32, 34, 38, 42. I wish I didn't know but now that I do I want to be free. Free from a time controlled government. Free from the future where they rule the world with an iron fist. I want to be free, and I need your help.
|
**November 1st, 2014, 17:24 EST**
I stood in the queue, reciting the small piece of data under my breath. *"1st November, 2014 AD. 5, 12, 23, 32, 45, 47, bonus 8. 1st November, 2014 AD. 5, 12, 23, 32, 45, 47, bonus 8. 1st November, 2014..."* I noticed that the woman in front of me had finally finished, and I stepped up to the small stand, quickly jotting down six numbers, before I made my way to the kiosk and paid for it, taking my play-slip and my ticket copy. The lottery would be on soon, and although I already knew the result, I decided I would head to my hotel and watch it live.
---
**3 months earlier/27 years in the future**
I knew the risks of course. Everyone had heard about the Institution, how they policed the most common time abuses. It was set up after some mad-man had gone back in time and shot John Kennedy. The collateral from that had screwed up the future (well, the present to me) badly, and the World Security Council implemented a task force to catch unlicensed time travellers
Between the wannabe do-gooders who were stopped before trying to kill Hitler, Stalin or any other dictators, to those who wanted to kill Washington, Eisenhower, or even poor Queen Elizabeth II, they had their hands full, but Section 25 were dedicated to one task: apprehending all illegal time travellers by any means necessary. Funnily enough though, they spent most of their time chasing down those people trying to pull "get-rich-quick" schemes.
Shares bandits proved tricky to catch, as they could never tell who got a lucky break from the real time travellers exploiting the stock market. It drove them crazy until some genius came up with the idea of 'The Lottery'. For a few US dollars, anybody could win millions, just by guessing 6 numbers correctly. Of course, it had to be foolproof, so they set up a computer to analyze the historic results of the 'clean' draws, pick a 6 number combination nobody chose, and select those 'randomly' from a machine. A paradox engine would prevent it picking up results from winning time travellers, allowing the swift capture of anyone who was illegally jumping.
I stood in the musty basement of a run down old building, with nothing but a roll of fifty hundred dollar bills, a fake identity and the clothes on my back. My left arm was bandaged, the ID-N-T chip implant removed by a backstreet sawbones. The basement was bare except a single table and a chair, in which my contact sat with a small parcel in front of him. Taking the roll out my pocket, I tossed it on the table. *”There, five thousand dollars, as stated. Now give me the device.”*
The man grinned, and his hands flashed out like a striking snake, grabbing the money and quickly checking the roll. *”Seems to all be there. Now enjoy your purchase sir.”* He grinned an oily smirk and slid the package over to me. Lifting the flap, I saw the single item inside, a one use vortex-hopper, usable for a single trip through time. Totally untraceable from both sides. Perfect for my plan. I pocketed it, and turned to leave. As I reached the door, I heard the man say *”It’s useless you know. Nobody’s ever won the Lottery and escaped Section 25. Nobody’s ever found out how to cheat the system!”*
I turned and looked him right in the eyes. *“I have.*”
---
Flinch was spooked. It was the easiest sale he had ever made, free from all the gang politics, but he was still unnerved by the young man he had just sold to. The was he looked at him, with that utter conviction in his eyes… It was more than just optimism, that boy had *known* he was right when he replied. *”Last time I deal outside the underworld,”* he muttered. *“At least with those psychos I know what I’m dealing with.”*
---
**November 1st, 2014, 19:01 EST**
Sitting on my bed in the hotel, I checked my numbers once more then turned on my television. The jingle of adverts eventually gave way to a serious looking man in a suit and a glamorous woman in a scandalously tight red dress standing in a studio, with a row of machines behind them. The man beamed at the camera with his showbusiness-white smile and began to talk. *”Hi there! As always I’m your host Jack, and this is The Lottery! With me is the lovely Helena, and tonight for the November 1st draw we will be choosing ‘Roosevelt’ as our machine. Helena, why don’t you go get Teddy’s motor running!”* Smiling at the camera, the woman sashayed sensuously over the machine, pushing the lever to start the balls spinning. *“And now, the winning number for tonight!”* I watched as the numbers I knew were coming were revealed.First out was 12, then 45, 47, 5, 32 and finally 23, and a bonus ball of 8. I looked at my ticket and smiled. Easy as candy from a baby.
---
**November 2nd, 2014 09:23 EST**
I greeted the clerk in the lottery offices with a smile like the cat that got the canary. Handing over the play-slip, she checked it over with the bar-code scanner then smiled. *”Thank you for playing sir, and congratulations on the result. Here’s your cheque, valid at any major bank. Have a good day.”* Thanking her back, I walked out the building, whistling cheerfully, nodding at the security officer I knew for a fact was a Section 25 agent. Reaching the street, I took out my wallet to store the cheque, I spotted my ticket still in it, and looked at the numbers printed on the front. I grinned. Three months, and nobody had caught on yet. On it, there were six numbers circled. 5, 12, 23, 32, 46, and 49, with the number 8 circled in the bonus ball section. Four numbers, plus the bonus ball. Same as every other draw I had played since getting here.
| 2022-01-03T09:57:27 | 2014-10-30T20:58:50 | 751 | 16 |
[WP]You live in a Dystopian world where eye color determines your social class. 20 years later a baby is born with red eyes.
This could be fun it already has implied racial themes, discrimination and anti-meritocracy. Do with it what you will.
|
Blue eyes, brown eyes, blue eyes, brown eyes – we were cast out. For millennia, we have been cursed. Watched and not able to speak of each specific person’s eyes lest our civilization be destroyed by the greens. Two hundred and one of us, stranded on an island, tasked only with creating endless logical riddles for consumption by the green eyed. Our escape would come only with the answer to one question: you may leave only when you know the colour of your own eyes. Alas, reflections were impossible with the resources we had on hand. We became exceedingly good at deduction and realized that this puzzle would never be solved… until one day, our salvation came: a child born with red eyes.
*Inspired as a prelude to [The Hardest Logic Puzzle in the World](http://www.xkcd.com/blue_eyes.html)*
|
About seven months into the zaftig I hit rock bottom. There were no eggs or rice or bread crumbs. Azure was begging for my milk but my own body was too frail to produce more on top of the demands of the tiny baby already growing inside. Apart from everything our landlord had no problem thank you very much with throwing us out if the rubles were not on his desk by 1600 hours. I would have to do the bad thing.
I woke up at 1300 and gently placed Azure back on the frayed rucksack we shared each night. I rummaged in the hearth for ash and finding some smoothly rubbed it across my eyelids. I caught my reflection in our rain barrel on the way out the door. My thick black eyelashes and dark eyes were illumed by the dusty paste of the ash. You might even think I was one of the mids if it weren't for my tattered blue cloak, brown skin and gapped smile. Not to mention I was barefoot and 8 months pregnant.
The alley way behind our apartment was drafty and smelled like urine and rotten apples and dog shit. I began quickly navigating passage to the main highway. I passed the baker's hut, Ruddy Creek and the clothes line, still damp from the late washings that the Indian women did each night after their husbands returned from the oil wells. I laughed at the thought of it, cleaning clothes? What a waste of time and liniment when rubles could be used for bread and ale. At about half past I reached the Ireland Club. The Ireland was lit red and gold and in its beams across the dirt roadway drugged men and women danced and laughed and smoked. Barmaids came in and out its rusty iron doors with trays of frothy mugs and saucers of orange and blue pills.
Then, a kick. I nearly fainted with excitement. Myron hadn't moved in ages and I was nearly sure he had taken death inside me. He continued to putt putt away against the back of my belly button. I smiled warmly and as I placed my fingers over the zaftig I felt a sharp scraping against my neck and everything went black.
I woke up with a start. I was in a very hot room, tiled white and clean but extremely hot. I feared it was an oven and screamed at the top of my lungs. Myron was not moving at all. I realized I had pissed myself some time before. My hands were swollen and cut, and my shoulders and neck were aching and tender. "Are you ready?" a highpitched and foreign voice called out from a speaker above. "For your sacrifice we have included a 40 pound note. We only ask your utmost discretion and secrecy in regards to this experiment." Flashes of light and pale pink faces and the sounds of grinding and cutting came to mind. I reached for the nape of my neck and felt the stitches. Horror flooded over me. Myron remained docile. Suddenly the heat stopped and the lights faded down. A door opened up and I ran as fast as possible through it into the alley. I ran and ran until I reached Ruddy Creek. I ripped my cloak off and submerged my aching, overheated body in its thickness. I didn't care if I got the disease or any sort of ailment. I needed the cool sludge against my skin. After a moment I ran back to our apartment. IT was still dark out and Azure had not stirred. I reached for her and was so weak I nearly dropped her. My chest heaved and arms shook. I felt dizzy and sat on our cot. Azure tried to nurse and surprisingly my nipple gave way. She drank endlessly and with a slight aggression. When she finally drew back and into her slumber once more, I saw the pool of blood beneath me. My back convulsed and my stomach churned. Myron suddenly began flailing about inside and I knew it was time. I yelped in agony as his tiny head came into view, followed by slight shoulders, a tiny bottom and from first glance all 20 digits. I lifted his soft head and body to face mine. His eyes opened and shone blood red. I grabbed a rag and desperately tried to wash the blood clear. But there was no blood and his eyes were like glittering rubies. I thought of his father and wept.
| 2015-08-24T12:46:29 | 2015-08-24T12:04:05 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] Instead of the death penalty, convicted criminals are sentenced to have their minds overwritten by that of a recently deceased notable individual.
|
Listen, I've done some bad stuff. I've really done some rotten things in my life - some even I start to feel bad about every once in a while. I've stolen from families, I've robbed a few banks... And in the process I've caused loss of life that I really and truly regret. But I need you to listen to me, your honor. I need you to think about this. I got caught, and I did the crimes - I'm surprisingly fine with knowing I'm about to die but... Does... Does it really have to be Trump??
|
"Hold!" The officer shouted.
Quentin ran, ignoring the cries of inmates. He had to get away. This thing was a fate worse than death. Worse yet, he was an innocent man. He knew it more surely than he knew himself. The fact that he felt uneasy on his own feet was merely further confirmation of this.
He made it around a corner, the pattering of feet following shortly after him. It sounded like two or three others chased him, but he dared not turn his head to check. He needed a plan, and time was running out. Time was always running out.
Something urged him forward, even as consciousness began bubbling to the surface. *No.* Painted brick surrounded him on both sides. The walls pressed in on him and he continued sprinting, desperately hedging on the fact that this corridor didn't lead to a dead end.
Quentin saw the double doors as two officers rounded the corner. He barged in, knocking over a triage tray as he rushed into the room.
"A... what... " He sputtered, gasping for breath. The nurse's office? He glanced around, weighing his odds. A woman stared at him from her chair on the other end of the room, her eyes bulging from their sockets. She pointed, mouth agape, unable to speak. She'd do.
Quentin rushed at her, oblivious to all else. Two prisoners looked on in admiration, wondering what this cornered man's plan would be.
By the time the pursuing officers reached the room's threshold, it was too late. Quentin had wrangled control of the situation from them. In his hands he held a syringe which he pointed threateningly toward the nurse's neck.
"Don't move an inch! I'll fuckin' do it!" he shouted.
"Roger, you don't want to do this." One of the officers held his hands up as he edged forward.
The other stepped forward with his partner, one hand forward and the other on his holster.
"What's that you got there, huh? Taser? Gun? You gonna gut me right here, you sick fuck? What do you think this is? Who the fuck is Roger?"
Quentin found their reaction to his last question strange. They'd stopped in their tracks and begun exchanging confused glances. It appeared as if their eyebrows did all the talking at this point.
"You tell him."
"No, you. I don't know what to say."
"What? Me? I have -"
"Tell me fuckin' WHAT? What could possibly be so important as to-"
"Quentin? Is that right?"
Quentin paused, lowering the syringe momentarily. "Yeah?"
"Feel clumsy? Little weird?"
Quentin tried to tell himself they were posturing but for some reason he'd begun shaking involuntarily. He shoved the woman away, and held the needle to his own neck.
"Yeah? And?" He could feel his voice wavering. He knew this would be his last stand. Either he killed himself in this instant, or he'd be taken to the machine.
It had revolutionized incarceration. Prisoners wiped into blank slates and turned into men that had once been. Great men, capable of doing great things, were released back into society once again. Men that were dead lived again, their memories passed from one body to the next. And Quentin knew this would be his fate if he failed to end himself here and now. He'd be the next Clinton, or the next Hatfield. Fuck that.
Before either of the men had a chance to react, he gouged his own eyeball with the syringe, jamming it as deep as his socket allowed. The officers watched in awe as his lifeless body slumped to the ground.
"Well, shit. I was really looking forward to the new Tarantino film."
The other shrugged. "We'll just load him onto the next one."
"Yeah, but this time we'll at least know to restrain the lunatic. Fucker's crazy."
| 2016-01-08T08:12:45 | 2016-01-08T07:54:34 | 90 | 35 |
[WP] You just accidentally downloaded the Kindle version of the Necronomicon.
|
The Necronomicon glowed, for the Kindle was Paperwhite. The Old Ones self-published.
Cooper first started to read it on the subway. His eyes would flick up every now and then. The girl sitting across from him was wearing shorts, and as the train hurtled along underground, her thighs would vibrate. Back down again. The book was by Abdul Alhazred - who was that? Cooper didn't quite remember downloading this in the first place, but here it was. Probably just an absent-minded batch download. These things happened.
The girl's legs wobbled. Cooper tried to focus.
'*That is not dead which can eternal lie.*
*And with strange aeons even death may die.*'
Cooper felt cold. He smiled. This was the mark of good literature, really, that he felt so affected. Before he could bend to continue, he noticed a gray mass at the edge of his vision. The people in the carriage began to murmur. It was almost a cloud at the opposite end, undulating and writhing. Its malevolence was clear: not hatred, really, but a sort of apathetic devouring.
Cooper stood, but the floor was slimy. He wept, not understanding, and the mass advanced. People screamed, and pushed against one another. There was nowhere to go. Gazing into it, one could almost make out a face. It saw him.
Filled with darkness, Cooper smashed a pane of emergency glass and took up a hatchet. Tears dampened his beard as he sunk the blade into the wobbling legs, into his neighbours, and into the fog around him.
Cooper glimpsed the Kindle on the floor. The Necronomicon glowed, and the train was never seen again.
The next reader was chosen the day after, half a world away, at a carnival.
***
there's some other Lovecraft-y stuff at /r/Hermione_Grangest
|
*The night was dark and stormy...*
Ugh no, way too cliche.
*The darkness of the night hung like a veil over the stars in the sky...*
Meh, a little better but I felt like I was still trying to hard.
*John walked out into the dark night, unable to see anything because of how dark it was...*
Goddammit, that was just horrible. I was getting worse as the night wore on, my creative juices really started drying up after 2am and a couple of glasses of bourbon. This writing thing was really proving to be more of a chore than a hobby. I had always heard that reading is the best practice for writing, so I decided to let my brain relax a bit and crack open a good book. Well not literally, I read just about everything on my Kindle now, I used to be one of those physical only book snobs, but ever since I started to look into self publishing and all that junk I came to really appreciate the ebook format.
I fired up the Kindle and started to browse some new titles. I was bored with everything I was reading right now and I needed something fresh to jump-start my creativity. I went straight to the self-published section. I really liked to support my fellow aspiring novelists whenever I could, and you could find some gems for really cheap sometimes. Working a part time job while struggling to finish my first book really didn't have me rolling in the dough so that was a big plus for me.
I paged through trite YA vampire fantasy, and overblown steampunk serials, and nothing was really catching my eye. Then I saw something interesting. *The Necronomicon: A Beginner's Guide to Dark Arts*. The title was a little recycled, clearly playing on the average person gets thrust into a crazy magical world trope, but the genre was listed as non-fiction. Maybe they were going for some kind of tongue-in-cheek comedic thing like *The Zombie Survival Guide*. That book had done really well, and this might be the next big hit of that faux-nonfiction genre. It had zero reviews and no copies purchased, in fact the author, someone named B. Alzabub (clever pen name I will give them that), had just dropped the price to 99 cents! I was sold, I hit the purchase button, started the download, and headed into the kitchen to fix myself another drink.
I was halfway through mixing up a whiskey sour when I heard a sound coming from my living room where I had just come from. It sounded like a some kind of primordial beast screeching in an unholy tenor, and I knew deep down in the pit of my stomach that the damn stray cat from down the street had finally found its way in through one of my windows.
"Fuck," I cursed under my breath. I was just about to settle down for a nice read and now I was going to have to find a way to get this feral demon-animal out of my house. I steeled myself with a generous gulp of the whiskey sour, grabbed a broom and headed into the living room.
The noise was still emanating from the room, but there was no sign of anything torn up or the cat at all. I realized that the sound was accompanied with a dark red light, and both seemed to be coming from where I had left my Kindle on my desk. I set the broom down and approached the thing carefully covering my ears.
"What the hell? Dammit, I better not have to send this thing back to Amazon again!"
"You shall not send me anywhere mortal," Said a booming voice from the Kindle. When I got close enough I realized that the Kindle had grown claw and teeth shaped protrusions around the edges and the screen was only displaying a pair of red eyes on a black background. "By agreeing to the terms and conditions of you ebook purchase you have bound your soul forever to the Necronomicon! Mwahahahahaha!" The thing laughed maniacally. Great, I must have involuntarily signed up for some messed up ebook of the month club. I just hoped this cult or whatever it was didn't have my credit card information.
"All right, fine those are some cool special effects but can I just read my book now?"
"Of course mortal, your soul is now bound to me. You shall be my pupil and my vessel for wreaking my dark havoc upon the foolish humans who have ignored my existence for too long!" Man this guy was really thirsty for some good feedback. "I can teach you how to raise the dead, bend mortal minds to your will, or conjure horrors from the void that will break a normal man at the mere sight of them... I must warn you though... all of my teaching have a price... hehehe hahaha, MWAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
"Well this is getting slightly interesting, as long as that price is still 99 cents count me in!" It looked like my night was going to be a little more entertaining than I thought!
________________________________________________________________
Hope you enjoyed the story. If you want to check out more come over to /r/ka_like_the_wind :)
| 2016-02-10T09:31:13 | 2016-02-10T08:18:55 | 844 | 78 |
[WP] You just accidentally downloaded the Kindle version of the Necronomicon.
|
*The Necronomicon by The Mad Arab...I didn't download this, but I adore Lovecraft so I'm not complaining. Maybe Patricia put it on there as a gift.*
I looked at my Paperwhite with curiosity and excitement- after all, I'm a Lovecraft fanboy, yet somehow I've never actually peeked at any fan-made copies of The Necronomicon. I decided to open it, excited to see if it was a quality imitation...but instead, I just got a bunch of jibberish and weird symbols. *Well...I guess it's technically accurate? Kinda boring on a Kindle, though. This would be way better if it were a real book.*
Before I knew it, a flash of light and loud screeching sound filled my room, a little puff of smoke rising to the ceiling. I'd....I'd summoned C'thulu. There he was, staring at me, moving ever so slightly...
From inside my kindle.
*Paperwhites don't support gifs or videos, how odd.*
"Wh....*let me out of here fool*!" It screeched, black and white, e-inky and furious.
*Well....shit. This kindle doesn't have speakers...*
I tried to power it off, but it wasn't registering a response.
"*RELEASE ME FROM THIS CAGE IMMEDIATELY!*"
I threw the Kindle down and ran for my life, booming bellows of anger echoing behind me.
"*WHERE DO YOU THINK YOU'RE GOING, MORTAL! ^THIS ^^IS ^^^YOUR ^^^^RESPONSIBILITY!"
After successfully fleeing my house, I pondered how to handle the situation. Trying to format the device was too risky, destroying it could be catastrophic...
And then it dawned on me.
*I'll send it back to Amazon.*
|
*The night was dark and stormy...*
Ugh no, way too cliche.
*The darkness of the night hung like a veil over the stars in the sky...*
Meh, a little better but I felt like I was still trying to hard.
*John walked out into the dark night, unable to see anything because of how dark it was...*
Goddammit, that was just horrible. I was getting worse as the night wore on, my creative juices really started drying up after 2am and a couple of glasses of bourbon. This writing thing was really proving to be more of a chore than a hobby. I had always heard that reading is the best practice for writing, so I decided to let my brain relax a bit and crack open a good book. Well not literally, I read just about everything on my Kindle now, I used to be one of those physical only book snobs, but ever since I started to look into self publishing and all that junk I came to really appreciate the ebook format.
I fired up the Kindle and started to browse some new titles. I was bored with everything I was reading right now and I needed something fresh to jump-start my creativity. I went straight to the self-published section. I really liked to support my fellow aspiring novelists whenever I could, and you could find some gems for really cheap sometimes. Working a part time job while struggling to finish my first book really didn't have me rolling in the dough so that was a big plus for me.
I paged through trite YA vampire fantasy, and overblown steampunk serials, and nothing was really catching my eye. Then I saw something interesting. *The Necronomicon: A Beginner's Guide to Dark Arts*. The title was a little recycled, clearly playing on the average person gets thrust into a crazy magical world trope, but the genre was listed as non-fiction. Maybe they were going for some kind of tongue-in-cheek comedic thing like *The Zombie Survival Guide*. That book had done really well, and this might be the next big hit of that faux-nonfiction genre. It had zero reviews and no copies purchased, in fact the author, someone named B. Alzabub (clever pen name I will give them that), had just dropped the price to 99 cents! I was sold, I hit the purchase button, started the download, and headed into the kitchen to fix myself another drink.
I was halfway through mixing up a whiskey sour when I heard a sound coming from my living room where I had just come from. It sounded like a some kind of primordial beast screeching in an unholy tenor, and I knew deep down in the pit of my stomach that the damn stray cat from down the street had finally found its way in through one of my windows.
"Fuck," I cursed under my breath. I was just about to settle down for a nice read and now I was going to have to find a way to get this feral demon-animal out of my house. I steeled myself with a generous gulp of the whiskey sour, grabbed a broom and headed into the living room.
The noise was still emanating from the room, but there was no sign of anything torn up or the cat at all. I realized that the sound was accompanied with a dark red light, and both seemed to be coming from where I had left my Kindle on my desk. I set the broom down and approached the thing carefully covering my ears.
"What the hell? Dammit, I better not have to send this thing back to Amazon again!"
"You shall not send me anywhere mortal," Said a booming voice from the Kindle. When I got close enough I realized that the Kindle had grown claw and teeth shaped protrusions around the edges and the screen was only displaying a pair of red eyes on a black background. "By agreeing to the terms and conditions of you ebook purchase you have bound your soul forever to the Necronomicon! Mwahahahahaha!" The thing laughed maniacally. Great, I must have involuntarily signed up for some messed up ebook of the month club. I just hoped this cult or whatever it was didn't have my credit card information.
"All right, fine those are some cool special effects but can I just read my book now?"
"Of course mortal, your soul is now bound to me. You shall be my pupil and my vessel for wreaking my dark havoc upon the foolish humans who have ignored my existence for too long!" Man this guy was really thirsty for some good feedback. "I can teach you how to raise the dead, bend mortal minds to your will, or conjure horrors from the void that will break a normal man at the mere sight of them... I must warn you though... all of my teaching have a price... hehehe hahaha, MWAHAHAHAHAHAH!"
"Well this is getting slightly interesting, as long as that price is still 99 cents count me in!" It looked like my night was going to be a little more entertaining than I thought!
________________________________________________________________
Hope you enjoyed the story. If you want to check out more come over to /r/ka_like_the_wind :)
| 2016-02-10T09:40:53 | 2016-02-10T08:18:55 | 227 | 78 |
[WP] Among Alien species humans are famous for prefering pacifism but being the most dangerous species when they are forced to fight.
EDIT:WOW THIS EXPLODED GUYS MY FIRST MAJOR PROMPT.
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The Tor'Salai arrived over Earth Unification Day. On that day 637 years ago the European Union, Asian Confederacy, African League, and the United States set aside their differences, and after 90 days of heated debate the Terran Empire was proclaimed, and the began the sixteen year process of deciding how to govern.
FC-Day was 106 years after U-Day. It was the Gorlin that found Earth, and (following standard protocol) inducted the new race into Galactic diplomacy, and shared the Standard Template technology with them.
Following this, the humans innate curiosity and capacity for innovation served them well as they expanded rapidly. By C.320 the Terran Empire had a population of 3 trillion, and stretched across 600 planets, no sentient blood was spilled, and times were good.
The Tor'Salai threatened the Terrans with invasion if they did not comply to Toric demands, thinking that the rapid and pacifistic expansion of the Empire indicated weakness.
The Terran delegation staunchly refused, and was swiftly cut down by the Toric warrior present at the meeting.
Thus began the war.
The Tor'Salai had last defeated the Rorib, in a particularly vicious war (by galactic standards) that left almost 3000 sentients dead, and thrice that wounded. The Toric commanders expected a similar campaign, anticipating capitulation after a few thousand deaths.
But the Humans were no Rorib, indeed they were different from any other species the Tor'Salai had encountered.
The Humans knew how to fight. The humans knew how to die. And perhaps most importantly, the humans knew how to grieve.
The Toric invasion was universally condemned, and the other species began compiling a relief force. It would be some time, however. And the Toric technological and numerical superiority was crushing.
Despite their apparent disadvantage, the Terrans dug in their heels and they held onto every scrap of land, every cubic inch of space. The Tors were shocked when the humans showed no sign of capitulation after Centauri (where some 3 million humans and 360,000 Tors were killed). They ground their assault forward, and watched with growing apprehension as the massive relief force approached their flank.
By the time the relief force arrived 31 million humans had perished, and the Terrans had lost almost 9000 ships. The Toric losses had been less severe, costing about a million warriors and 6500 ships.
When the relief arrived the Toric fleet fled, but the other races would not be satisfied so easily. They chased down the Toric fleets, trapping them against suns and gas-giants, the eradicating them. Twenty Toric colonies were torched, and the homeworld was subject to intense bombardment.
When the relief force withdrew 150 million Tor'Salai were dead, and the grand Toric fleet of 20,000 ships had been reduced to six.
The humans rebounded from their losses in a decade, the erected monuments, rebuild their cities, and moved on. The Tor'Salai simply did not have the cultural infrastructure to do the same, and the memory of their defeat remained fresh (not least because Toric elders were known to live for over 600 years). They fell to bitterness and infighting, and by C.2500 the Tor'Salai empire of 7000 planets had been peacefully absorbed... by none other than the Terran Empire.
|
He took a long draw of the smoke stick, a human delicacy, though how humans savored smoke at all I'll never know.
his feline features narrowed as he looked out the window to the rain pelting the glass, a few bolts of lightning striking the skyscrapers in the distant gloom.
"Let me tell you a story boy." he began, my third eye, always unconscious and outside of my control, narrowed where my two primary eyes remained impassive.
I didn't like being so addressed.
"long ago, on terra 5, during the thringa invasion.."
"the silent nightmare you mean." I interrupted, and he shook his head, giving a dry chuckle as he adjusted his lavender robes.
His name was pell, andro pell and he was one of the warriors who'd been dumb enough to try to attack the humans head on.
andro survived the attack, as did many others, yet here he was, no sacred war veteran but a living gravestone of sorts, a memorial that spoke only legends and myths of that deadly race.
the light in his busted kitchen was out, and the counters were strewn with strange cookware i didn't know, back in the palace we might have had such equivalents, but i was unsure.
"we landed, began recon and prepped the field, the usual routine. but then....the meteors..."
"Meteors containing abyss." i reasoned, recalling reports of the incident.
"we thought they were weak. we knew they had war tools, but we didn't quite fathom the sheer unnecessary extremes they'd go to just to....to..."
andro shook his head, his cat's ears folding against his head in agitation.
"stupid...the meteors were summoned with gates that had been hidden by the darkness just outside of the planet. we saw them, our equipment detected them but we thought the things were harmless debris....i mean- they were just rings! welp, the meteors strike, the abyss spreads all over our intended battlefield, then.....shit goes south."
"what happened? the few thringa who spoke of it-"
"didn't." andro finished, rubbing out the cigarette.
"abyss is a curious element, condensed time-space, it opens a plane that overlaps our own. the humans knew that and had planned to use such space-time tears to deal with us. horrors crawled forth from these smoke clouds, scales, teeth, fangs, shit i don't think has a sane description. our men fired, but to no avail, none of us were ready for abyssal creatures. but the humans had found ways to weaponize the things, turning abyss meteors into a sort of twisted scorched earth tactic."
"did you even fight humans?" i asked, leaning forward, my tendrils waving in agitation.
"Yep. hundreds of em. after the tears mended, which took a few minutes, we were already in shock, the abyss creatures basically faded back into their plane, the smoke cleared and suddenly there was an army of hundreds surrounding our army of...what? one hundred? the goddamned abyss fiends...they took more of us than we were anticipating."
"so they used shock tactics...." i mused.
"no. no they didn't stop there." he explained. "right afterward they gave the ultimatum, surrender or die. some of us were too pissed to listen, so we ran after em, shooting and roaring...and dying. I saw one of my men torn in half by bunan chaingun rounds. we were so outmatched, so fucking outmatched and outnumbered. while we'd been struggling against the abyss fiends, they'd been surrounding the fight with overwhelming numbers. by then, my troupe had no choice but to surrender."
"any torture?" I asked.
"None. I heard they had a particularly nasty method involving a single drop of water, we weren't really questioned, just held, then returned. i heard that no less than nineteen platoons suffered a similar fate, one managed to survive long enough to put up a fight, but they were all cut down. humans.....strange creatures, equal parts force and peace."
"if i'm to send my armies to conquer them-"
He placed a hand on mine, a look of concern clouding his features, it took all my strength not to tear my hand away from the disdainful furred thing, but i swallowed my pride.
"say, what know you of dragons?" he asked at length.
"a human myth right?" i asked, curious now.
"a fitting one." he said. "dragons, in human culture, are powerful forces of nature, primal lizards that breathe fire, speak, do all sorts of crazy nonsense. most dragons in their lore have a strange habit of holding their power back for the sake of the world around them....they prefer peace, despite being literal calamities."
"and you think humans are this dangerous?" I asked incredulously.
andro gave me a look i don't believe i'd ever forget, sincere terror from a thringa was not something native to them, it was an emotion they rarely displayed, and for warriors the emotion was strictly forbidden. fear would get you killed, court marshalled or worse. yet here he was, on the cusp of dread.
all for humans.
"Your majesty, i tell you this now, these humans.....we only saw a fraction of their strength that day, barely a roar, barely a breath. we saw them flex one muscle to scare us down, crushing the few that dared to continue the fight. you actually think that all they have are those meteor gates? no, i tell you this now humans are powerful. better that they remain peaceful. better that you not bother with your plans. i know you're invested, but if you go to their worlds, a hell the likes of which you've never seen awaits you."
I left andro's residence very much at odds with my own desires. on the one hand he WAS just speaking fearful nonsense, war monuments, much like the elders had claimed.
but this time it was different, what andro told me spoke far less than what he hadn't told me.
with a sigh of resignation i decided it would be in my best interests to continue my quiet investigation, perhaps temporarily ingratiate our empire with theirs in the interests of assessing the threat more seriously before determining our best course of action.
i stroked the tendrils around my mouth thoughtfully as i considered how many backers of war i'd been made to incite already, and what, if any options I could enlist to ensure that should we decide to forgo such an invasion, the backers wouldn't cause me any trouble.
I wasn't emperor, not yet, and father demanded i conquer a few galaxies before he deemed me worthy of the throne.
but this one might prove more of a chore than anticipated.
perhaps worse.
time would tell.
| 2016-03-13T15:15:49 | 2016-03-13T11:15:41 | 177 | 84 |
[WP] Every new planet hunter graduate learns the golden rule. You don't go to earth. It lives there.
|
"Right keep me covered!"
"With what?"
"Just.. keep me covered."
The instructor sighed, there was always one. One child who would never heed the warnings of his elder and think he was the one who could slay the beast. This trip was meant to show the horrific power hidden away on this planet so nobody would ever come. Arthur didn't even bother taking advanced weaponry just an ancient sword used by his grandfather, tradition he said it was, using a sword to slay his target.
One quick movement was all it took, the second he approached the beast was at his throat and his head came clean off.
Nobody ever expects it, after all it's just a little rabbit.
|
The two young hunters orbited the Earth cautiously.
"I really don't like this, Zeta," one told the other, in their own language, which consisted of mostly incomprehensible hissing noises. "We'll be thrown out of the Academy for sure if they find out we're doing this."
Zeta rolled her flat eyes, which resembled a lizard's. "You wanted excitement, Ern. What could be more exciting that speeding up its evolution a bit, on its home planet?"
"Those humans probably won't last a day," Ern grumbled. "What did they do to piss you off, anyway?"
Zeta shrugged, consulting an illicit handbook on her lap. Ern couldn't help but shiver slightly at the sight of it: the most dangerous instruction manual in the universe. How to trigger its rapid evolution. Of course, the things had been stealthily transported from Earth for the sole purpose of destroying other planets. But no one had ever thought of triggering all of them on their home planet. The result would be catastrophic for the humans.
"C'mon Zeta, why?" he prompted her again.
She sighed and slammed the manual shut, glaring at him. "Because, dimwit, they'll probably wipe each other out if we trigger all of them. You know as well as I do no one has ever been able to kill them: they can only kill each other. Don't you see? They'll never arrive on another planet. Can you think how many wars we'll stop?"
"But the humans-" Ern began doubtfully. A young, vibrant, fledgling species. A bit brutal and hotheaded. Not to mention kind of dim, sometimes: they'd yet to detect any of them stealing things from their planet for a millennium now. But they showed promise.
Zeta's mouth tightened as she began fiddling with the ship's controls. A 3D model of the creature began spinning in the air, and she began tweaking it. Ern couldn't help but shudder in revulsion at the sight of it. They'd been taught to avoid it at all costs, and here they were - right next to the disgusting things in their primary, harmless form. Harmless, until you adjusted them a bit. As Zeta was doing right now. Ern suddenly couldn't believe he was just sitting here, condoning it.
"Look, this is crazy -" he began, trying to grab Zeta's tentacle to stop her. She rapidly pressed a series of buttons, her eyes glinting as she stared at him.
"Too late," she said softly, as the technology set to work. "Don't worry though, this is only a test drive."
____
Ellenore whistled softly to herself as she weeded her garden, pulling her hat tighter over her head. She might be covered in wrinkles from head to toe, but that didn't mean she had to add any.
She glanced inside a bucket of snails she'd collected, and got out her salt shaker to get rid of them. To her astonishment, they seemed to be *growing*. And did that one suddenly have tiny little fangs?
"Ugh! How horrid!" she squealed, and upended the salt shaker over the snails. They exploded in a mass of pulsating, bright-green slime.
Ellenore huffed and shuffled inside her house again, making up her mind to never tell anyone what she'd seen. She didn't need anyone telling her she had dementia on top of everything else, thank you very much.
____
The hunters were stunned, watching the scene play out on the monitors in their ship.
"Change of plans," Zeta murmured. "We have to go visit that old little Earthling and find out what the hell she just used to kill them."
Midway through her afternoon nap, Ellenore heard a tremendous racket in her yard, before her bell started ringing incessantly.
"Damn kids," she mumbled as she groped for her glasses and tottered to the door.
____
**You can find more of my work on my brand-new sub, /r/Inkfinger/.**
| 2016-07-31T12:26:15 | 2016-07-31T11:33:44 | 65 | 47 |
[WP] Aliens are afraid to invade Earth. Not because of humans but because our solar system is a nest for 8 Guardians/Leviathans.
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"Believe it or not, there are still some that remembered the age before the Leviathans. Troubling times when men had no common enemy, turning at each other for pitiful personal gain. Then The Outsiders came. Some had expected them and eagerly decoded their messages while others prepared for the only real outcome. However their true intentions became clear. They saw it coming, but had no means to defend themselves from asteroids send hurdling towards Earth.
The bombardments lasted for months, most major cities destroyed and it seemed to be the eve of humanity's destruction. In our time of need, many prayed. And our prayers were answered! It is unclear why or when the first Guardian came, but the world saw him race towards The Outsiders. His mighty tail swiping away incoming asteroids, His smooth, grey skin was too hard to be hurt and His powerful jaws ripped into The Outsider's hull finally ending the threat. However the number of lost were devastating.
After the threat was defeated, He began to move towards Earth. We welcomed out savior with open arms, and the first Guardian saw us. He saw how we had suffered, how we should have been broken, and He saw something unique to humans, something *special*. In His infinite wisdom and protective nature, He offered to let us use Him as a vessel to explore our unlimited potential. And now here we are, children."
The class cooed in awe in unison, looking all around them. They were the first generation to be born within the Leviathan's warm protection. The teacher smiled, adjusting her uniform and clearing her throat to get the class's attention.
"Now class, I want you to write about how much the Leviathan means to you, and remember to pick a name off of the wall for your report. We must not forget those who came before us!"
The class responded in unison, and began to sit up from the worn carpet and grab their bags, queuing at the door to return to their family quarters.
Walking home, a young boy stops and feels the cold, hard ground. He can hear the faint sensation of pumping. He smiled as he said a thankful prayer for the Guardian before continuing on his way.
The rest of the galaxy might fear the Leviathans, but humans had become the nightmares of the Leviathans. The thin, pale shadow of their brother acted as a grim reminder of humanity's ambition. The lobotomized beast drifted in the emptiness of space with one destination in mind: The Outsider's homeworld.
|
“This is straight from Gollar’s account of the Earth: ‘The Earth grows smaller and crueler with each passing year; detached from it’s inheritance. They’ve built great cities, but their lights drown out their stars. They’ve progressed in science, but they’ve forgotten about Magic. Most humans now lack the imagination to see that a universe requires both to exist at all.’” Kalbar closed the book callously and tucked it under his arm, he was moving more quickly now, and Strykar labored to keep up.
“If I’m not mistaken,” Strykar replied, “in that same volume, Gollar also said that ‘at their best humans are capable of love and unity. Their light is undeniable.’ He even documented humans that had near lossless senses of reflectivity. In their universe, that’s unbelievable!”
“I know that” Kalbar stammered bitterly. “That’s why we haven’t left them to their fate. That’s why we can’t give up on them. But don’t forget, humans at their worst are unlike anything I’ve ever seen outside of the Void. The polarity we’ve observed on Earth has been... troubling. It’s made for some very difficult decisions.”
The two Guardians traversed an endless maze of bookshelves, volumes of books stacked so high you couldn’t even see the top. All the knowledge of the multiverse was contained here, within the Great Library, along with a Window leading to every universe known to exist.
Kalbar rounded another corner, Strykar just behind him. Light from a nearby Window pierced through the dark spaces between the books. They were approaching the Window leading to Earth’s universe, and in the distance Strykar could see a pale blue dot shimmering in the light of it’s star.
“Yes. The time has come again to liberate Earth from it’s oppressors. The time has come again, just like it has seven times before.” Kalbar’s tone grew stern. “I don’t need to remind you that where you’re going, no joy has ever lasted, no victory hasn’t soured into defeat. The Leviathans are cunning. They always manage to ooze their dark souls back from the Void and into the feeble hearts of humankind. They’re unlike anything you’ve faced.”
“By cosmic standards,” Strykar began, “the Leviathans are weak. Light beats the dark, every time,”
“But what happens the moment that light goes out?” Kalbar shuddered. “The challenge of Earth’s liberation is in the weakness of the Leviathans, not their strength. The same weakness has infected the humans by proximity.” Kalbar looked suspiciously at Stryker. “Do you know what that weakness is?”
Strykar shrugged.
“Fear,” Kalbar said, “Fear that they are unworthy. They don’t believe that they belong to the light,” there was pain in his eyes for an instant, then it was gone. “The thought alone makes it true, and it consumes them.”
Strykar gulped and nodded, his eyes wandered toward Earth. *Real cheery as usual, Kalbar.* Earth was no longer a blue dot, but now a sphere with discernible green accents. They were getting close.
“It may seem easy now. It always does. Taking Earth from it’s captors is easy after all, it’s been done by a single Guardian seven times before. But it’s never been held for longer than a few millennia.”
Earth was no longer a distant sphere, they were now well into the atmosphere, and Strykar could see the place where he would make his entry. It was almost time for him to go, so he began walking closer to the Window.
“Strykar,” Kalbar said, “There’s one last thing you should know... There are eight Leviathans within Earth’s system. They’re bound by the light of it’s star, so their evil cannot escape. They’re trapped there forever. Do you understand?
Strykar looked over his shoulder, confused. “Yes this has all been explained to me already. Don’t you remember?”
Kalbar looked nervous. “Look, I wasn’t going to tell you this but...” Kalbar cursed under his breath. “It’s about what happened to the last seven of Earth’s Guardians. I wasn’t quite honest...“
Strykar stopped walking, eyes narrowing as he turned around.
“There use to only be one Leviathan, the first of the Nameless, but he had a name once. His power was underestimated. Not his strength, but his ability to deceive. He’ll appear to be helping you, but in actuality he’ll be turning you against yourself.”
A rush of white noise reverberated from the Window and it began to radiate light and heat.
“Remember this Strykar,” Kalbar said as the light poured in through the window, pulling Strykar in, “You deserve to live in the Light. The thought alone makes it true. If you do forget, you will become the ninth Leviathan.”
The sound from the Window was now deafening, the light blinding. At any moment Strykar could exit the Great Library and be reborn on Earth.
“There won’t be a ninth Leviathan.” Strykar smiled at his old friend, but his face turned deadly serious when he turned back to the Window. A few more steps and he was gone, the great sound and bright light was gone with him. Kalbar was left alone, like nothing happened.
“There better not be.” Kalbar said as he stepped closer to the Window. After centuries of training and study, Strykar was out of his hands now. All there was to do now is observe and record. Strykar was the eighth Guardian Kalbar had deployed to save Earth, and hopefully, he would be the last.
| 2018-02-05T20:21:52 | 2018-02-05T18:57:44 | 30 | 15 |
[WP] your best friend recently died. His funeral was yesterday, but today you just saw him on the street. Approaching him you ask how he was still alive he responds, "how do you know me, no one was supposed to remember".
|
I stared at him. “What do you mean?” He looked around and grabbed my arm. He lead me to a a dark alley. “This is weird, what’s up with you?” I asked, worried he’d gone insane. My friend suddenly pushed me into the wall and placed his hand by my head. The two of use stood there, breathing heavily. Our faces turning a deep red. “I... I’m sorry I have to do this.” I could feel his hand on my thigh. I yelled “What the fu-” A sharp pain in my thigh stopped me. I looked down and saw a needle. I dropped like a fly.
I woke up tied to a chair in a dimly lit room. My friend, another man, and a woman stood in front of me, so I pretended to still be out. “What should we do with her?” Asked the man. My friend stayed silent. “How about murder?” The man answered his unanswered question. “No, no, no. She’s much too pretty to dump in a lake or pigsty somewhere. But not pretty enough to not be sold as spare parts.” I felt a lump in my throat, I couldn’t breath, and had tears rolling down my face. Luckily they were unseeable in the darkness. My friend sighed. “You two are awful.” “Says the hitman.” The woman laughed. “Speaking of my job.”
I felt a tap on my face. I opened my eyes to see my friend crouching in front of me. “You’re coming with me.” He untied me but kept my hands bound and my mouth covered. He whisper into my ear. “Stay calm and do what I instruct. You’re in danger. I died so I could change my location without anyone worrying. They sprayed the memory loss gas at the funeral, you were there, right?” I nodded. “Shit.” His whispered. “You’re screwed if anyone finds out your immune, keep that a secret.” Once again he lead me to a destination, his bedroom. He lay me down in the bed and walked out of the room. Confused, I lay there on his bed, not attempting to stand or anything.
He came back with a strange bottle, removed the fabric over my mouth and pour the liquid in. “What’s my name?” He asked. I told him his name. “Damn, you are immune.” He untied me and I sat up. “A hit man? Really?” Was all I could say at that moment. “Yep” “Why did you fake your death to move away?” “You all were, well, are, in danger, a relative of someone I killed is threatening to burn down the town if I don’t put an end to him.” “Your gonna kill him?” “Well yeah, I’m a hit man.” “For who?” “I can’t say.”
Once my friend finished that sentence an alarm came on”Fire in the north east hallway A through G, I repeat Fire in the north east hallway A through G.”
|
Startled by his response I paused. What was really going on here? I stared into his eyes looking for an answer. Only to be greeted back with a stone cold look. Everyone saw what happened I thought to myself, so the fact that he was standing here today is unthinkable.
“How do you know me” he quizzed
“ your my best friend of course I remember you”
“ then it was all for nothing”
“What do you mean?
“ When the building crumbled next to the gas station and set a light I died along with it, so I thought. A couple hours later I woke up only to see my corpse next to me, then I dug my way through the rubble and made it out alive”
“That’s impossible your a mortal human”
“ well now you know, however nobody is supposed to remember who I am, I was told your memories would be wiped of my existence”
A brutal shiver was sent down my spine. None off this makes any sense I saw him die two months ago and I stood there helpless. Only to find he is alive and well. Frustration entered my mind. Does he not understand what he put his family and friends through. For a child to go before their parent must be unbearable, yet low and behold he stands there, as if it’s just another day.
I could not believe that this was my so called best friend. For someone to survive an explosion still puzzles me. The first thing he told me was that no one was supposed to remember. So what was he trying to hide?
I looked at him one more time, walking past him I slightly touched his shoulder that’s when I heard the bang...
“Get up Tj! Stop sleeping on the desk!
Wait why was I being shouted at I was just standing in front of my friend? Slowly I crawled back into to reality.
The question loomed over me once again...What was really going on here?
Blurred mind, blurred vision. How could this have taken such an unexpected turn of events? One minute I am with my friend now I’m getting screamed at to wake up. I slowly stood up as if I were a zombie. My arms flopped left and right as I dragged my feet across the floor with one objective in mind. Get out the classroom.
If everything he said was true, then was he really my best friend? It’s like I didn’t even know who that was standing in front of me. “Tick tock, tick tock, tick tock.” It was almost as if I could see time moving. That’s when it was starting to dawn on me, if I am now suddenly in the classroom and being shouted out of my sleep, then, no wait, this can’t be. Had I dreamt the whole thing??
As I began to backtrack my day all I could remember was waking up and going into school. If so then why did that dream seem so real was I missing him that much?
CRRRAASSHH!!!
The glass on the classroom windows had been shattered, everyone around me had started to go into an absolute frenzy while I remained still as a statue.
Even though I had seen the glass shatter, I still couldn’t understand why they were screaming. That’s when I saw them. Six men dressed in all black combat gear, covering their faces with helmets, leaped through the window. They began a rampage throwing chairs around the classroom, ripping down posters, as they wreaked more havoc I turned around, only to see that I was the only person still in the classroom.
One of the men stopped what he was doing, he wasn’t just looking at me he was looking through me. I could hear my heartbeat thudding loudly against my chest. Storming towards me he let of a scream...
“AAARRRGGGHHH”
I dodged him, sending him crashing into a wall. Hastily I made a dash for the door. It felt as if I was running in slow motion. Had time been paused. Quickly I snapped back into the real world, only to realise I was being lifted off the ground.
“NOOOO” I yelped out
These guys showed absolutely no remorse. A blindfold was placed over my eyes, shutting me out from the present. Taking me away from the outside world.
“3...2...1... action!!”
Slowly coming to my senses all I could see was bright white beams. Quickly I shut my eyes. Why was the light so bright? Keeping my eyes closed I tried to move my legs but they were numb. My arms also numb.
I could hear talking in the background, as I begun to pay more attention I could hear one name.
“Can you confirm he’s our man”
“Yes I can we bumped into each other on the street today. Tj moon, that’s his name.
“Okay, thank you for confirming Zain”
A sickness entered my body. Zain my best friend had he signed them up to this? I wish I could open my eyes to see what had happened me. It felt as if I was upright on wooden board. Unable to move my arms and legs I tried moving my head. Still no joy. Panic consumed me, would I die here without knowing the true story of what happened to Zain. How he was still able to stand when I saw him. Even now he is able to stand there and talk about me to someone.
I squinted my eyes only to be met with the white beams. Not too long ago I was at his funeral. Could it be that all this time he was setting me up for mine?
VVVVVVMMMM!!!
Was that a drill? Adrenaline zipped through my body. Once again I could get a feel of my arms and legs.This was a moment to savour. As I let out a sigh of relief, I felt something very sharp tear into my right shoulder.
“AAAARRRGGGHHH!!!”
The pain was immense. Unbearable would be and understatement. I could feel the blood seeping out of my shoulder. Becoming more and more dizzy I started to fade away. That’s when I heard the whisper.
“How do you know me, no one was supposed to remember”
Would these evil words make up the final piece of my memory? I was wondering into oblivion. Those words rang inside my head one more time.
How do you know me, no one was supposed to remember...
| 2019-01-09T10:56:00 | 2019-01-09T10:23:58 | 57 | 24 |
[WP] You're a Super Villian, and honestly it isn't a bad job. But one hero always harasses you even when you're off the clock. Walking in the park, in the grocery store, getting a haircut, he always wants to 'Stop your evil plan'. You're left with one option: Complain to his manager.
|
The detective had been foiling my plans for what felt like ages by now. In reality, it has only been a few measly years. Still felt like an eternity, which is rich, coming from one who might as well live, well, an eternity.
I had decided to just settle in his city for a while, and await his eventual decline. Sure, he has youth around him which he trained to follow in his footstep, but while they are admirable fighters in their own right, none have the combination of brain and brawl of their mentor.
I had decided to just leave everything during this period. Let nature take it's course while I indulged in living in higher society. Await his demise like that. But every time he saw me, he tried to nail some random crime on me, accused me of plotting yet another scheme of doom. At this point, I just want to be left alone.
And so, I stand before his mansion, having rang the doorbell. I can hear footsteps approaching, and slowly the door opens.
"Ah, Mister Al-Ghul...whatever brings you here today?"
"Mister Pennyworth, I would like to talk to you about the detective..."
|
God what a long day, stopping by the time clock he wipes his brow, all he wanted was a cold brew and a thick med steak. He was bummed he couldn’t go straight home but a man had to eat, so off to the store it was. He picked up the little red basket and made his way to the meat department . Minding his own business he gave a friendly nod to a lady with a child in the basket devouring a cookie. He had almost made it to the counter when out of nowhere came “The Clash” jumping in front of him preventing him from making it to the counter. “ Goddamit” Clash what the hell is wrong with you? Oh “you “have to know why I’m here, I’m not about to let you cause mayhem in this store, not for a minute,Slasher, I looked at this moron with a strong distaste and familiar anger. Look Clash, it’s been a long day and I for one am done with it. You cannot just waltz in and start shit. “ I punched out already” Don’t get your tights in a wad Clash, in fact do us both a favor and give it a rest, we can take this up at another time, and another place. Fair enough, Slasher. Another time....
He was pissed off has he left the store, time and time again that man came after him, like what the fuck? Does he not have a life or was being a superhero all he knew. The guy was getting to be a real pain in the ass. At first he found it amusing, and strange, but then it became annoying. he would pop up outta nowhere, sometimes drawing unwanted attention! The guy just kept coming at him: Going to the market, eating at a restaurant, even getting fitted for a suit! Brushing off the encounter, he headed home, starving and ready for that thick, juicy steak!
Slash stood about 6 ft 4 inches, and boy did he have a temper! At least at work anyway. He especially loved the storms, they helped him get into the mood (if you will). Today it was pretty dark outside, with a threatening sky and a promise of “ all hell breaking loose”Has he started up the stairs to the courthouse, Today he would breakout a sniveling high roller who was caught counting cards. Thinking his own money could get him off with no jail time,he soon found out, that would not happen, upon which time he enlisted the help of a Villians. (Slasher to be exact;)a clean getaway for the creep and one less”piece of shit” walking our streets.Slasher climbed the final set of stairs, looking thru his mask, he pulled out his knives, found the court room and began his reign of terror ( if you will). The bailiff headed toward him, STOP RIGHT THERE!! Go no further, and has Slasher made his way forward, the bailiff cowered back, Slasher took his knives, turning them in circles, he reached out and cut the belt off the bailiff, he turned to the man he was suppose to free, which he did. Well that was easy enough, leaping into the sky he took ahold of the man on trial and took him somewhere else. Slapping his hands together has if they were dirty he returned to the office, laughing at how easy it had been!! Easy money, that’s just how Slasher like it. He entered the room pleased to see his fellow villains in the room. Hey Bob, Slasher said, nice storm outside!!Yeah Bob responded, should get pretty nasty out there. So Bob, I’m having a little trouble with a hero, hoes by the name “ the Clash”,ya heard of him? Bob looked over at Slasher “um, not to familiar with him,” Slasher grinned at Bob,yeah he’s some piece of work, always showing up and making a dam scene, always up my ass!! If he doesn’t stop I’ll finish him.
Meanwhile downtown, Clash was at the courthouse surveying the destruction Slasher had left behind. Yes it had been more then a depantsing, more like chaos. No one was hurt, but Slasher had indeed left his mark and The Clash was not about to walk away from this. It’s on Slasher , “I’m gonna make sure you know it” I’ll be so far up your ass, you won’t be able to fart.
Hi, I really need someone to give me some honest feedback, I need to get unstuck. Thanks!!
| 2019-08-01T18:49:36 | 2019-08-01T18:30:21 | 25 | 11 |
[WP] When you gain a superpower it is a reflection of your inner self, good people tend to get typical 'good' powers such as flight while bad people get 'bad' powers such as mind control. Oddly enough the top superhero and supervillain each have powers that seemingly do not suit them at all
|
\[Poem\]
Healer Harry Healed the sick,
the injured and the cursed
What Healer Harry asked in return
made Healer Harry the worst.
A family, rich in all but health
Healer Harry would find.
He'd heal the heir and make him strong
and walk away, owning their mine.
An ambulance would race across the town,
Healer Harry not far in back.
He would fix the broken victim's spine
If they empty their bank account into a sack.
A boy born blind to a single mum
Healer Harry would make him see.
Harry asked no coin or cash from them,
but slipped mum the hotel key.
Healer Harry's justice arrived.
A Hero finally laid him low
when Captain Cancer Charlie came to town
and made his tumor grow.
|
Being on a team of heroes really has its benefits you know. Between being able to work with people you’re comfortable with, actually knowing a few identities, to even being backup to one of the top dogs. I myself am a telekinetic, but it has its downsides when you know you can’t use it too casually for fear of your identity, plus your entire team being compromised as the worst scenario. Actually, scratch that. Getting killed by a so said ‘villain’ would be the worst. I’m getting off topic here.
Best time of my life, it was. Earlier today, 1pm, city hall. Okay, maybe ‘best’ wasn’t the right word, but you’d get the gist if you got to work with 27 year old Miss Annie Maddox, otherwise known as Detonator. She’s the best, and most famous, super around, and has the power of transferral. Not just transferral, might I add, but the transferral of energy. Light into electric, Kinetic into Heat, that kind of thing. She can also take it in and release, which if you look at so many movies, comic books and tv shows, maybe take ‘X-Men First Class’ for example, The power of energy is always deemed as villainous. Even the name ‘Detonator’ Sounds like a villain, but she actually earned the name after stopping a bomb explosion and taking in the energy. How cool is that? And then, she managed to catch up to a villain, and use its power in small bursts to apprehend him! Okay, I’m off topic again. 1pm. City Hall.
Top villain waltzes out, hostages behind him, tied, gags, you know the deal. Jett’s his name, and he’s a double down, meaning double down danger if you don’t know he’s a double at all. Flight and light are definitely two you would not hope for, nor expect in a villain at all, so if you go unprepared, he’ll squash you like a bug. Speaking of bug, my partner Swarm, Aka Violet Anstani with animal powers if you judge her name plus her in general, she was by my side and we were ready in backup plus two others, just in case anything goes wrong in the process and we’re needed. Jett has the clear advantage at first, but seeing his nemesis before him set him off a little, knowing light wouldn’t really work on her, so swoops and grabs a hostage, then looks around, spots Spinball, Aka Isaac Giles with the power of water and further backup. He grabs him in his other hand, and he’s squirming a little. Not squirting, squirming. Yeah, even with the power of water, his flight reflex overpowers his fight when grabbed by the top villain around too. Now that’s what we call something going wrong. Jett noticing us, not really that great. So, how’s the time we gotta help. Fourth member of the group, Rita, aka Harry Hemming. He’s a man in which speed defines him. Literally. He speeds up, tries to climb the wall and takes Jett by surprise, his Kinetic, heat and Electric energy sent off by his speed giving her a clear advantage. I tried to help, I sent a post, you know, lamp post, straight to his head before Detonator Pushed us all back, including Spinball who was clearly taken aback, judging by the fact he nearly passed out. That dude was wobbling everywhere, he could have been confused, drunk, surprised, or maybe all three by his standards.
The rest was a total blur of explosion, power, and a whole team effort. Villain and Hero collided in another battle, and Detonator left victorious. Jett’s somewhere back in the villain prison, probably going to escape once more. But that’s something to worry about when that problem arises once again. All I know after that, is I can be helpful to my side, the hero’s side, with my own powers and morals, and my willing to fight for justice.
And you know, don’t ever judge a villain or hero just by their name or powers. Sometimes, the opposite can just surprise you.
| 2020-06-15T11:56:52 | 2020-06-15T11:42:15 | 30 | 13 |
[WP] There's an unwritten rule among the supervillains: Never go after the loved ones of the superheroes. The new villain is about to find out why.
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Crusher had finally found his nemesis’ weakness. After hours upon days upon weeks of observing, monitoring, tailing, he finally found The Reader’s real name. It was Mark. Mark Bellings, the highly regarded psychiatrist. As Mark Bellings, he had saved the lives of countless patients’ lives by helping them realize what truly troubled them. As The Reader, he had thwarted the plans of hundreds of villains simply by getting close to them and hearing their thoughts. No villain had ever been able to stop him.
Until now. Crusher had found a pressure point. You see, Mark Bellings had a little sister, Anna. Constantly partying, constantly stealing, constantly causing problems, yet oddly never arrested. Every Thursday night, she and The Reader would have dinner in his penthouse apartment. All Crusher had to was be in that apartment and grab her, and The Reader wouldn’t be able to do anything about it. He could only read thoughts; great for thwarting future plans, but once you were in the room with him? He was useless.
Early Thursday evening, the Crusher walked up to his nemesis’ building, smashing in the front door. He ripped open the elevator doors, crushing them into small metal balls in his huge hands. As he smashed the button for the penthouse, the battered elevator began the climb to the thirtieth floor, high above the city.
When the elevator reached the top, The Reader was standing there waiting. Crusher could almost feel the fear radiating towards him. He smiled.
“I’ve found you, Mark,” he sneered, putting as much contempt as he could into the last word.
“Crusher, now is really, really not a good time. Congrats on finding my alter ego and all, but…can you come back tomorrow? Pretty please?” The Reader glanced at the other elevator, watching as its numbers ticked closer to 30, hoping that it wasn’t Anna.
“Of course not. I’m here to kidnap your little sister. And there’s nothing you can do about it.” Crusher began his evil cackle, which rumbled low and slowly became more and more like the sound of an aluminum can crumpling. But he didn’t get to the crumpling part. The Reader interrupted him.
“It’s not what I can do that worries me.”
The elevator dinged open, and a young woman stepped through the doors. Her pink, sparkly crop top matched her eyeshadow perfectly, and even her cheetah print platforms were the same shade. Her eyes fell on Crusher and she scowled. “I thought you said you weren’t going to bring your little friends around here, Mark.”
“He—he was just leaving.” The Reader stuttered.
Crusher scoffed. “Of course I wasn’t—”
The young cocked her head to the side. Tell me why you’re here.
The voice resonated through Crusher’s head, inescapable, clouding his thoughts. He had planned a cunning quip, but what came out was the honest answer, in a strange monotone voice. “I’m here to kidnap you to control your brother.”
“See Mark, this is why you shouldn’t bring them around.” Anna sighed. “Why can’t we just have a nice dinner for once?”
Crusher shook his head, clearing his mental fog, and continued his previous plans. “Little Anna, I’m here to take a page out of The Reader’s book and stop him before he starts. With you under my power, he won’t be able to thwart me—”
Get out. Crusher felt the sudden, uncontrollable urge to leave. He glanced at the elevators, but both had already returned to the ground floor. The only other way out was the window. He ran towards in and smashed through it, beginning the thirty-story drop.
“Really, Anna? You couldn’t have been a little more specific?” Mark walked towards the window, watching his enemy fall.
Anna shrugged. “I told you not to bring them by.”
|
I looked up from my dissection to the sound of someone knocking on my door, which was... highly unusual. My thralls didn't have the intelligence to seek me out if they required attention for some reason, and even if they did, they certainly didn't have the sense to knock. More likely they'd have fallen into one of the traps or gotten stuck on one of the easier puzzles, but failing that, they'd have either stood outside the door and wailed or just broken it in because the very concept confused them. So no -- no knocking.
Content that I wasn't going to get a nose full of half-decayed body, I pulled my mask down and drew in a breath. My sharp senses were assaulted by the smell of blood, decay, and wet dog, with just a hint of divine arrogance. Pondering why the Hero of the Dawn could be visiting, I absentmindedly ran my tongue over the gap in my teeth behind one of my elongated canines before settling on an answer. If she hadn't sent word ahead, she certainly wasn't here for tea. I sighed loudly enough that she could hear my melodrama and grabbed my wand while she waited with uncharacteristic patience for me to open the door. She probably wanted to stab me through the doorway or something.
With a wave of my hand, the corpse I'd been working on rose from the table and shuffled to the door, opening it and promptly getting skewered with the Dawnblade and evaporating into a puff of smoke. I settled into a plush armchair and looked down my nose at her as she stomped inside the door. She was slick with blood and viscera after hacking through waves of thralls, her nails likely jagged and chipped from forcing the switches and chains from the puzzles and traps. Some of her irritating top-knot had even been cleaved off, but somehow, the makeshift warpaint on her face was still perfect. I had no clue how she managed such a thing -- it was never disturbed, even if I happened across her while she was sleeping or had just swam halfway through a river.
"Borovir," she snarled, her voice low and raspy.
"Oh, surnames now? What did I do to piss *you* off, Burning-Sands?" My fingers drummed on the side of my wand as I subtly cast a spell between us. I disguised it well, but she was freaking me out. Usually she at least bothered to say 'hi', even when she was marching in to try and murder me. "You missed tea last week, by the way. You didn't even ask me to reschedule." Iszane Burning-Sands was a piss-poor Chosen One. Before she'd revealed that itty-bitty factoid that she'd been chosen to end my thousand-year reign of terror by Goron the Dawnlord, she'd gotten along with me pretty well. In fact, I was the one who put in a good word for her with that awful werewolf pack, but now I was starting to regret it.
She snarled like a feral animal and lunged for me, slamming into the barrier I'd just set up. She let out a roar of rage and slashed at the magic with her sword, but it bounced off harmlessly. Still, warding wasn't my specialty, and she was going to break through it soon enough with that holy weapon of hers.
"Come on, Iszane! If you're going to try and murder me, at least tell me what's got you in such a tizzy," I persisted, laughing a little bit. Mostly because I was nervous, but she seemed to believe it was just me being flippant -- good. Image is important.
The blood-soaked hero paused and bared her teeth. Something must have hit her in the mouth, or maybe she had torn into a corpse on the way, because there was blood there, too. And there was only one vampire in the room. She was breathing heavily as she adjusted her grip on the Dawnblade. "My girlfriend is dead, Samin," she spat. "I only know of one bastard who'd stoop so low, and your vile stench is all over this."
I paused and frowned. "Wait, you have a girlfriend? Since when! My, my -- it seems the Hero of the Dawn gets around, hm? Wait until Goron hears of this!" I teased. "But really, dear. I haven't the foggiest idea what you're talking about."
She gestured violently at the ashes around her feet. "Where in At'zar's name did you get that, then?"
I crossed my arms and my legs. "A group of Dawn-Idiots came knocking, so I had some thralls slaughter them. What, is defending myself against a bunch of fools who think they can defeat the greatest necromancer of all time by waving around a sun symbol a crime now?"
"Yes! Its *murder!* That is the DEFINITION of murder!"
I scoffed. "Oh, don't be all high and mighty just because the Dawnlord popped your magical cherry. You were literally raised by an assassin cult! You're a Goron-forsaken werewolf! Or, rather, a Goron-*blessed* werewolf. But really, you mean to tell me your lady friend was one of those idiots?"
"SULARI WAS NOT AN IDIOT!" she roared, swiping at the wall with the sword again and shattering it. Her eyes lit up and I scrambled to my feet, messily casting a similar barrier again just a few inches closer. I ducked behind the chair and swore under my breath, starting to run up the steps to the ground floor. While I didn't exactly have a heart to beat, it was definitely pounding in my chest.
Iszane Burning-Sands, however, grew up as a pursuit predator in the middle of the desert. She had the moon and the Dawnlord fueling her body. I was a scrawny-ass vampire who kept himself shut in the basement of a wizard's tower breathing in the fumes of embalming fluids. She thundered up the stairs after me, and I was gasping for breath on a balcony as I cast another wall, weaker this time, and scrambled back as far as I dared. The sun was rising, which meant her sword was gaining more power, and it also meant that my best escape was putting my hood up and jumping four stories into the rugged terrain below. And Iszane carried a bow.
She slammed her fist against the wall and stared at me, breathing heavily. I didn't have anywhere left to run, and I didn't have any minions with which to strengthen myself. I was not the sort of monster who fought things up close and personal.
"I'm going to put you back in the ground," she said, her voice low, and I suddenly felt much colder than usual. She meant it. "You can't escape me this time."
I thought to myself for a moment how ironic this was. For the past three years, Goron had been trying to find a good way to get her to kill me once and for all, to put me in the ground and not let me back out. And all it really took to get her angry was taking down someone she loved.
The wall dissipated and she stalked forward. I could taste blood and sunlight before she could even really raise her sword.
It was going to be hell to face off against Goron.
| 2020-07-12T11:14:56 | 2020-07-12T10:26:39 | 233 | 101 |
[WP] This morning you found a note in your own handwriting, glued on the bathroom mirror and dated nine months in the future. “You suffer short-term memory loss and you are sueing the surgeon who caused this by operating on the wrong side of your brain; check your diary under the bed .”
|
I pause to reread the note, heartrate ratcheting up a few notches. The orange paper is faded and warped; it's definitely been here a while. My first attempt to rip it off the mirror is useless. There must be some kind of glue fixed to the back of it.
I stoop down under the sink to see if I have something that might pry it off. Instead, I'm confronted with a slightly newer note in the same obnoxious colour stating, 'STOP PULLING THE DAMN NOTE OFF, IT'S A PAIN IN THE ASS TO PUT BACK UP.'
Okay. Sure. Out of options, I return to my bed and find the diary right where it was supposed to be. I pull the covers over myself before opening it up, wanting the small comfort of my flower-print duvet while I slowly lose my mind. Or, maybe not that slowly. I take a moment to wonder how often people break with reality before opening up the first page to see a neatly lined 'Index'. Scanning the list, I see 'Lawsuits,' 'People to trust,' 'People to probably trust,' People to NEVER trust,' 'MRI results,' 'Updates on the case'... then, at the bottom, in all caps: 'EXPLANATION.'
I promptly turn to the page. There, confronted with my own handwriting, I see a cramped letter with additions in the margins, all written in different pen colours and in different states of agitation, judging by how deeply the letters are scratched into the paper. The letter begins:
The note in the bathroom covered all the important bases, so if you could just trust yourself and get on with it, we might actually have a chance of winning this case sometime this century. (addition on 25/08/2020 – seriously, that's the least helpful opening statement I've ever read) To sum up, you can't remember anything (addition on 05/09/2020 – and it's ANNOYING) due to a colossal fuckup on the part of some hot-shot surgeon. Your lawyer, Andrea Cognita (addition on 03/08/2020 – yes, she's real, yes her name is dumb, please stop telling her that, she's getting annoyed) took on your case, and if the hospital stops dragging it out and finally settles, you're looking at an incredible payoff, so don't fuck this up for us, okay? (addition on 12/12/2020 – oh, and take some gingko biloba. I read that it's good for memory.) The keys to your Jeep are by the door; drive over to Andrea's office at ––– ––– –––. Take a look over the case and let her prep you or whatever. She's been helpful so far, so don't argue and let's get this over with so we can have some sort of '50 First Dates' romance once we're rich and living in the Bahamas.
The note ends there with my usual loopy signature. I turn it over to see if there are any more addendums. On the back is a new note, chronologically more recent. Uncertain as to when it was written, I turn on my phone and see that this last addendum had to have been written yesterday. In all caps, fear dripping off every word: 'DON'T TRUST ANDREA.'
|
Consciousness edged slowly into my mind as the sun peeked through the blinds, insistent that it was time to be awake. I laid in bed a while, torn between rolling over for a little longer, and my body's aching reminder that the bathroom is required. It's difficult to tell how long passed before I gave in, sliding out of bed in a groggy, zombified slouch as I made my way to relieve myself. Bleary eyed, and feeling quite relieved, I turned to the sink to wash my hands and force myself to start the day.
But where my face should be was a note. Paper from a notebook, ripped along one edge glued to the mirror.
*Glued!* The torn edge is bad enough, but why couldn't it be taped? Upset by this defacing of my mirror, my mind flared to alertness, determined to understand the cause for such blasphemy.
"You suffer from short-term memory loss and are sueing the surgeon who cause this by operating on the wrong side of your brain; check the diary under the bed."
I stared at the note as the gears in my mind creaked to life, rusty from a long nights sleep.
That... Didn't make sense. Short-term memory loss? Impossible. I had exceptional memory. I could name every meal I'd eaten for days. I'd rarely used a calendar because I always knew the date off the top of my head, and remembered events planned months ago. I even could *remember the names of people I just met*.
My eye flicked to the top of the diagonally scrawled writing. "20210502"
May 2, 2021. Odd, 9 months from now? *Someone must've gone to pretty immense lengths to mess with me. I mean, come on, a note from future me?*
But curiosity at the odd note, particularly at the curious cross between print and cursive I recognized as my own writing, got the best of me. I made my way back to the bedroom, and sure enough, much to my surprise, tucked into the bars of the bed was a diary.
~~July 6, 2020~~
September 6, 2020
*I've only just realized what's happening, so I'll document it before I forget again. I'm forgetting something. It keeps happening. It's super important, tip of my tongue I can* feel *it. Maybe if I keep this diary I'll remember this time...*
~~July 13, 2020~~
October 14, 2020
*Something is very wrong. I only just remembered this diary. It's getting worse. I still can't quite put my finger on what I forgot. But I remember forgetting. Oh God. I remember forgetting so much. Days. Weeks. Months. Its like nothing happened, but then I remember and it's like... I've lost a part of me.*
~~July 19, 2020~~
November 21, 2020
*No time. There was a surgery. Something wrong with my brain. I'd had seizures, or something. Easy procedure they said. Just have to remove the intrusion.*
(The handwriting gets sloppy here...)
*Remember, Doctor Schwartz. July 1st.*
~~July 24, 2020~~
December 27, 2020
(There are wet smears on the page, tears maybe?)
*Oh God. I... I had a wife. Please... I just want... To remember...*
~~July 28, 2020~~
February 1, 2021
(The writing is rushed, sloppy and barely legible)
*Every time I'm a bit more lucid. The dates are wrong. The date I* know *is right, and the date my phone says when I wake up, they're different by months.*
*It's malpractice. He operated on the wrong side. The tumor is* still in there. *I don't know what he removed but it's affecting my memory, who I am even. The headaches are getting worse every day. I need evidence to sue him, then we can pay for another surgery.*
(Headaches? I never got headaches.)
~~July 31, 2020~~
March 5, 2021
(The writing in this one almost doesnt look like mine. Extremely neat cursive, definitely my twist to it, but... Precise."
*I amended the dates, as close as I can gather. I don't have time to list all the memories you will lose over the next few months. Time is short, this may be the last entry in this diary.*
*Dr. Dominic Schwartz on July 1, 2020 operated on me to remove a tumor from my brain. The operation failed due to malpractice. However during recovery I showed no symptoms of brain damage or injury and reported all clear of any symptoms. The files are in the safe, under the car title in an envelope. Contact this number to speak to an attorney: xxx-xxx-xxxx*
(something scratched out the number...)
*Do not trust what you feel. Something is incredibly wrong.*
August 2, 2020
*Check your phone.*
I stopped reading, re-reading some parts trying to make sense of the dates, and recall any evidence of any of this. It had to be a joke, right? But that was my handwriting, wasn't it?
I had to be stupid to believe any of this, but again curiosity demanded I check my phone. Sure enough I had a text.
"Your move, got you!"
~John
I threw my phone in the bed.
*You can't be serious, I fell for one of John's pranks?*
Frustrated at my own gullibility I trudged to the kitchen to make myself breakfast, but stopped in the hallway, catching the note on the mirror out of the corner of my eye. Something felt odd.
I returned to the bathroom and inspected the note more carefully, annoyed that I'd have to clean the mirror off. On the left edge of the paper, half torn off something was written in the margin
"-ck the
-ain"
After several guesses, and a paranoid mind begging that I figure it out in case John actually messed with something important, I "checked the drain". Some mistakes and a bit of water later, I had the u-pipe off the sink drain, berating myself for doing any of this.
But with a soft clink something tumbled out of the pipe, followed by an onset pounding in my skull; a headache like I'd never had before. It was a gold ring, with a name inscribed on the inner side, too small to fit my finger.
| 2020-08-03T01:31:34 | 2020-08-03T00:30:55 | 53 | 30 |
[WP] Everyone is born with dice that they need to roll before attempting anything major. The super powered are those born with more than a 20 sided dice allowing them to do feats beyond human. An ordinary human usually has a six sided dice. Despite being born with a coin you still want to be a hero.
|
Heads you win. Tails you lose.
I flipped the coin.
Heads.
With that I mopped the floor with my opponent. It didn’t matter that he rolled a 20 saving throw. My world had only two possibilities - win or lose.
And I hadn’t lost in a very long time.
Heads. Heads heads heads. They all rolled around me as I made my way through their ranks to the sorcerer that had cursed humanity.
Deendy. The sadistic immortal sorcerer who had turned our world into one where people were ruled by rolls and the dice they were born with. Training counted for nothing without luck. The Olympics, chess masters, researchers, politicians - unless you were born with luck and an elite die, you were excluded from certain professions and from ever reaching “excellence” in your field. Excellence had become so warped that the extraordinary became the default expectation and everything below was simply sub par.
But today I would fix that.
Because even Deendy had to live by the rules of the world he created.
Heads I win. Tails I lose.
I flipped the coin as I walked into his lair. His eyes caught mine. The coin landed.
Heads.
I smiled.
He died.
It’s easier to cheat with a coin than with dice.
|
Ever since I was born I had nothing any hero would have. No tragic backstory, no 60 sided dice, no freak accident that gave me superpowers. All I had was this two-sided silver coin. Which was nothing compared to the other kid’s many-sided dice. I was teased as a kid for having something as simple as a coin, excluded from other people’s activities, throughout the entirety of high school. Soon I became insecure about using my coin to accomplish anything. Yet the flame inside me still burned for the simple word “Superhero”.
So I promised myself to never again toss the coin. That was until the terrorist attack. I was in the museum wasting my time, waiting for my phone to ring to see if any of my job applications got accepted. But suddenly I heard loud gunfire and someone shouting.
Some guy with an AK-47 was warning everyone to get down of the floor or else he would shoot them. Scared out of my mind, I reach into my wallet and put the coin into my hand and tossed.
A clink could soon be heard on the marble floor, which seemed to have gotten the armed guy’s attention. As he walks over to me he shouts in some foreign language and points his gun at me crouching on the floor.
This was it. Why did I toss the coin so foolishly after keeping my hands off it all these years?
The moment this guy sees the coin next to me, he will probably laugh then shoot me. I had to make a stand against him, even if it shall be my last.
So I rushed towards him as I screamed the hell out of my lungs. He panically fires his gun, but I was able to tackle him and smash his head against the hard floor. He was knocked out in one go.
As I breathe heavily, I check my body for any shoot wounds, but miraculously I had none. What the fuck?
As I limp back to pick up my coin from the headache I was starting to feel, I noticed it had landed on heads.
So I pick it up and rush the hell back home.
As I lay in bed I try to make sense of the whole thing.
The best explanation I could come up with was that head meant I could 100% my task with flying colours. But then a grim realization dawned upon me.
What the hell would have happened if landed on tails?
Soon I heard a knock on my front door.
As I slowly open the door, I see some man in a black suit standing on my doorstep.
“Hello, can I help you?” I asked nervously.
“Well, that depends on what you are willing to do, Mr Becker.” He replied. “I am from the L.W.L.O , here to recruit you into our regiment.”
“The L.W.L. ….?” I asked confused.
“The Lucky Winner Lottery Organization. We find the luckiest of all people throughout lotteries and recruit them into fighting crime.”
“Wait, so like some kind of super lucky superhero team?”
“In a sense, yes.”
“But why can’t the military and the police deal with those things?”
“That would be true if it weren’t for super lucky bad guys. You know the terrorist that you tackled yesterday at the museum. Well, our footage showed that he had rolled a 50 right before shooting in the museum. Yet against all odds, your coin managed to help pull you through the whole incident unscathed. Do I need to explain to you how lucky that is? We know what power you hold. You can persevere even the grimmest odds with some luck.”
“So what do you want from me?” I asked. “Do you know what would have happened if my coin landed on tails? How many lives could have been taken by that man because of me?”
“I don’t know, but I do understand the risks it can involve. But this is a world of chances, Mr Becker. You either take your shot or you never do. That’s why we are assigning you to a special unit. One you could call our last line of defense, only called to action when our chances are bleak. You shall be known as the Wildcard. So what do you say, Mr Becker?”
​
***Check out my writing at*** [***r/Fluffwrites***](https://www.reddit.com/r/Fluffwrites/)
***I am also working on a new fantasy series -------->*** [***The Dark Road Ahead. Chapter 0: Sacrifice***](https://www.reddit.com/r/FluffWrites/comments/hybda2/series_the_dark_road_ahead_chapter_0_sacrifice/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
| 2020-08-13T02:11:20 | 2020-08-13T00:13:06 | 690 | 170 |
[WP] You live in world with no colour, shades of black and white are all you know. A flower pops up in your backyard, you’re drawn to it, as you pick the flower from the ground, you see colour for the first time. For the first time you realize something is terribly wrong with your world.
|
Color.
Something that had never made sense to me, though everyone around me seemed to understand it.
I see the world in black, white, and grey.
It never bothered me, even when kids at school would laugh at my “mismatched” clothes, or would look at me funny for asking if they had seen my grey gym bag. One time I washed my socks with a “red” shirt, turning them “pink”. I didn’t notice, they seemed to be normal colored, but apparently it was some sort of faux pas.
I learned, over time, that this shade of grey was “red”, that shade of grey was “yellow”, and so on, but sometimes I got them confused, or mistook one shade for another, but color didn’t often come up, as I decided to choose to only wear black.
My life continued, I graduated, got married, bought a house. I started a garden, mostly vegetables, though my wife liked flowers, so we planted some as well. I don’t see the appeal, but I like seeing her happy.
One day, while I was watering, I saw something out of the corner of my eye. It was a flower I hadn’t planted, it was just growing up through the grass.
Assuming it was a weed, I went to pull it up, so it wouldn’t spread and wreck my vegetables.
The moment I touched it, however, suddenly it became...
It hurt my eyes so much I vomited. I threw it down and ran inside.
My wife noticed my distress and asked what was wrong. With a shaking hand I pointed towards the uprooted plant in the middle of the lawn.
“...what...what is that?” I asked.
“That purple flower?” She replied. “An iris, I think”.
“That’s what *purple* looks like!?” I exclaimed.
“You can see the color?” She asked. She seemed excited, and than worried.
It began slowly, *color* leaching into my world, one item at a time. My head never stopped hurting. How could people stand seeing all this, all the time? It was riotous, discordant, painfully distracting.
Eventually, after a month of me wearing sunglasses at all hours of the day, my wife convinced me to see a doctor.
They were startled by my condition, and began researching, contacting specialists, and running tests.
After months of agony, and no relief, no results, I took matters into my own hands.
I removed my own eyes.
*IT DIDN’T HELP*
|
I love my house. It's big and beautiful, with lots of rooms and the best housemates. Bart is the smart one, he makes all our meals. Beth is the quiet one, but she's always so nice to me. Brian is the annoying one, he usually tries to avoid me, but once or twice he'll stop for a chat.
I love my house. It's full of love and life, of food and friends, of smiles and songs. I've been living here since I can remember, originally with just Bart and Beth. Brian came later. They all go out for jobs, I'm lucky enough to work from home. Sometimes it gets lonely, but eventually someone joins me in the evenings to hang out.
My house has a backyard. It's big, with a wonderous wilderness bordering the best lawn in town. Beth loves lying on the grass in the summer, looking at all the pretty plants. Bart and I often play backyard ball, but it's been too cold to go out there for months now. I know summer's not far off though. Every time I go and check it's getting better and better out there. Soon we'll return.
Everything was perfect in my life, until yesterday.
I was going to look at the yard from the backdoor when I noticed something. Something so strange, something I'd never seen before. Before today I wouldn't be able to describe it to you properly, but now I know what it is. They call it colour and it's responsible for me ending up here, slumped against the iron bars of a jail cell, staring down a corridor of sorrow.
When I saw it, I couldn't stop looking. At first I thought it would hurt my eyes, like looking into the sun. It was illuminated like a bright star, as if it had a beam of bright fire being shone from a burning flashlight onto it. Like the one Bart always used to carry when we went out in the evenings.
I knew it was flower, yet not like any I had seen before. Flowers had never looked like this!
I stood at the backdoor for hours, motionless, enthralled. It wasn't until the front door slammed shut that I was pulled out of the hypnosis. That was probably Brian, he was always the first home.
*Shit,* I thought to myself, *I need to get out for a closer look before its too late!*
I pushed myself through the door and ran for the light, determined to find out what this flower really was.
I reached it in seconds and snatched it immediately. Not knowing what to do with it, I did the only thing that seemed sensible, I swallowed it.
That's when I heard a voice. It was distant though, as if someone was calling out from inside.
"Ha..." a voice called out, muffled through the glass door. A few moments later I heard the door opening and I turned. Standing there was Brian, arms on his hips. But his face was fuzzy. He was saying something but I couldn't hear the words.
I tried to move and stumbled, my head fell forwards. I could hear the tone changing in Brian's voice. He was angry.
"Here..." he growled, his voice still a muffled mess.
As I lifted my head again the world started expanding, as if everything I could see was rapidly exploding in front of my eyes. Brightness pounded into my eyes from every direction as I tried to focus on Brian.
My eyes were stinging as I started to realize what was happening; the way everything looked was changing like the flower had, but in a thousand unique ways. What was going on?
I tried to call out to Brian, but a whimper was all that came.
I could feel my heart racing faster and faster and I knew I needed to get to Brian.
He was still calling out so I started to run.
As I felt my hind legs pulls themselves forward I looked down and my heart froze. What on earth?
I looked up at Brian, who was just feet away now.
"For gods' sake you little shit, come *Here Boy*!"
I looked at my legs again and then at his, and for the first time in my life I realized he had two fewer than me.
​
You don't need to know the rest of the story; what I did next or why I ended up here. It doesn't matter anymore. What matters is that they're through with me. All of them. They've left me here to rot. The jailer will come soon, carrying his keys, jingling them like the sadist he is. Then I'll be gone from this world for good.
The large iron door at the end of the soulless corridor creaked open, slowly revealing a beautiful orange glow as the sun shone over the shoulder of two figures. They walked towards me, their footsteps deliberate.
My eyes were still adjusting to colours and the brightness blared down, spraying streaks of light across my vision.
The two figures continued to approach. I pulled myself up to get a better look. And that's when I recognized them. It was Bart and Beth! They were here to save me!
I jumped with excitement and pushed my head through the bars, tongue well out as my body jived from the swinging tail lashing wildly behind.
"Whose a good boy!" Bart exclaimed.
Beth laughed.
"It seems our good boy found someone's little Salvia plant," she said as she turned to Bart with a faux frown.
He shrugged as he scratched behind his ear, and then looked back to me with a shit eating grin.
That's when I realized. My life is gonna be a good one now! I can see colour, I'd managed to rid myself of Brian, and Biden is President. Oh yeah.
Edit: PSA - Dogs are not necessarily colourblind, but this one was. Poor fella!
| 2021-01-21T01:31:51 | 2021-01-21T00:38:22 | 134 | 11 |
[WP] You are a NPC in a video game and must convince the world of your free will using only your 8 or so dialogue options
|
Ulderkraft online patch v.1.2.0382 list of known bugs
*#32-Daris the inn keeper, an NPC in the starting town keeps repeating the following dialogue over and over, regardless of what speech option the player chooses.*
* How do you do today, brave adventurer?
* Everyone in town has been talking about you.
* Looks like you've had a rough trip.
* Please, make yourself at home in our beautiful town.
* I've saved a bed at the inn, just for you!
* Maybe the market has what you're looking for.
* Ah, don't worry about the cost, having you stay here is good for business!
* Leave me alone!
* In times like these, it's always good to have strong heroes around.
* Very well, but please come stay if you ever need a place to rest.
* Everyone in town has been talking about you.
|
It’s an old game, *Alden’s Sanctum*.
Nearly eighty years old. Dated graphics. Clunky mechanics.
Games these days strap you in and node you up and light up your senses to the tune of a neon club, a high class gala, a forested village — we don’t have those anymore, forests, villages, so games like that are real popular — but *Alden’s Sanctum* is old school, a relic, played on the screen with a keyboard and mouse, which you have to make yourself, because nobody owns antiques like that nowadays.
Lucky for me, or unlucky for me, Dad’s a junker, and a nerth — hobbyists and obsessives that spend their lives reminiscing over the planet we lost. Remi*ni*sce. *Earth. Nerth*.
I hate it. Hate him, really — his focus sharpens whenever anything Earth orbits into his view, then slackens and blurs when he has to return to the here and now, to his junker job, to me, his disabled son.
It’s a wonder he hasn’t turned to the dropper drugs yet. Maybe a part of him still feels responsible for me. Or maybe it’s only a matter of time.
I used to node. Used to live in them. Everyone does. The port’s not much to look at after all, and neither are its people, grungy thin things with wide worn eyes.
I was booted out of the game once — an emergency server maintenance — and I rocked back into reality, into my body, into the legs that can’t feel, and then I looked at my room. Really looked at it.
Metal tiled walls, rust in the lines. Window frames carpeted with dust like a lint trap. It was sometime after midnight, and my room was dark, with darker corners. The air filter hissed, its green dots flashing. The only other light was from the upper half of the window, a wispy white-grey light, like the sky just before rain clouds roll in, except here it was from a building billboard, and a naked girl was dancing on it.
I couldn’t see the floor — here and there were heaps of emptied canisters, of opened wave-foods, capsules, and plastic wrap after plastic wrap — only a single path on the dull green floor was clear, the path Dad takes when he brings me food.
I looked across the bed, at the mirror mounted there, and saw myself.
I stopped playing after that.
*Alden’s Sanctum* was something Dad found, unearth, dusted off. Apparently it was my birthday, and he hooked it up for me without saying a word. He doesn’t talk much, never does. Just watches and works. He found a monitor, then built a keyboard and mouse and a tray to put it all on, then mounted that tray on an arm so that it could swivel over my bed.
He showed me in silence how to boot up the system, how to move the mouse, how to double-click.
Right away, I could tell the game was poorly made.
The art was bulky and off-colour. The characters moved like marionettes. The sounds from the monitor-speakers were tinny, two-dimensional, and the music was—
I didn’t know what to think of the music. I’d never heard anything quite like it before.
Dad watched me play in the beginning. For a couple of days, actually. He took time off work for it, though I don’t know why. Maybe he saw me looking at myself, *seeing* myself. He would’ve noticed that I wasn’t noding up, that all I did for days on end was sit in bed, looking at nothing at all.
I named my character Case, a variation of my own name, Cason.
He’s my height and my build, five eleven and thin. But he’s got strong legs, always strong legs. Other than that, I made him to look just like me — a scrawny sharp thing, like the edge of a chipped tooth. Black hair with curls. Pale with scars. Cleanser blue eyes.
And then I started playing.
​
—to be continued.
| 2021-09-03T07:53:33 | 2021-09-03T07:19:05 | 193 | 94 |
[WP] A drug is developed that mimics the effect of 8 hours of sleep, giving people another 8 hours of potential production. Soon, society adjusts to a constant state of production. However, a horrible consequence begins to unfold.
|
It started innocuously enough.
Families who struggled to make ends meet, had another chance to add in a third shift. The labor pool had just expanded by 33%. And let's face it, the drug itself wasn't that expensive.
At first.
About a year and a half after the drug became publicly available, a pharmaceutical company successfully sued and gained partial ownership rights, despite never being part of its construction. Their claim was that by acquiring 2 of the 5 companies that had taken part in the process, they deserved controlling rights.
Despite the public outcry, the judge ruled that the rights of creation were ceded to the new owners. Hidden from public eye, one of the remaining 3 CEOs had purchased quite a bit of stock in the newcomer. Coincidentally, the cheap drug became unavailable overnight.
The wave of mass evictions that followed were not their problem, it just meant that they needed to manage their money more.
Landlords agreed, and raised their prices by 33%. Not all, but enough that it was considered fairly dumb to leave money on the table.
Soon, news came of corporate dealings, and the drug was re-branded as a working aid.
Cheap labor jobs would supply the drug, so long as workers agreed to work the 3rd shift with them. These jobs would of course pay a lower rate, to compensate the company for the LARGE cost of supplying this drug to the worker.
Families without homes became quite common. Revolving door homes rose up for the "3rd shift orphans" that resulted from their parents working 24 hours a day.
Eventually, a kind-hearted businesswoman looked at these poor poor souls and offered all of her employees' families a safe home, so long as they remained her employees. So long as their children behaved. So long as they learned at her schools.
The practice of "Shift Shelters" was a breakout success!
No more masses of 3rd shift orphans wandering the streets. No worries over lack of education. Within the decade, companies didn't even need to worry about unskilled labor, as the children already knew exactly what they wanted to do.
Did they really need so much money if they didn't have housing costs? If we provided food for our employees, did they really need to account for that in their budget?
Supermarkets railed against these dealings, but couldn't do much. Most transitioned to full time logistics, helping to transport the foods from farms to factory floors.
During all of this, there were pushes for more and more unions. Worker rights. Freedoms.
But it became harder and harder to gain followers. Most people couldn't afford a roof, for themselves let alone their children, without the 3rd shift. They wouldn't risk the safety of their kids. Supermarkets were gone, and entire cities became food deserts unless you worked for one of the companies.
Voting was never made illegal for the 3rd shift workers. But the clocks began to malfunction during specific dates. By the time anyone realized, the elections had already been decided a week ago. Without a way to gain a voice, no one truly cared to help.
I mean, the 3rd shift workers were making money hand over fist. They never needed to sleep. They could read every book. Watch every movie. See every play! That's how the celebrities lived. Why would anyone choose to work with their 3rd shift if not to get ahead on their mortgage or to aim for a promotion?
​
Quietly, though, a fire broke out. A small one of course. Only 500 3rd shift workers died.
It was a small thing. These sorts of accidents were common, but there wasn't a mention of it. Not on the Internet, nor the evening news. 500 3rd shift workers simply.... did not show up to work.
A few other fires broke out after that. Always in historically... "discontent" factories.
The 3rd shift workers kept their heads down. They kept their mouths shut. They had grown up to trust their benefactors. But many knew the rumors, though only in hushed tones. No one left the company. The only was out was to be fired.
​
And the world marched on. Most don't think about 3rd shift workers anymore. If they wanted, they could simply leave. It's their choice to remain there. It's their choice to continue working with the benefits of no sleep. It's their choice is the refrain from every politician and every citizen who remembers them.
Most people don't lose sleep over it.
|
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
The girl slips through twilight, dawn threatening behind her. It’s a world turning gray in a place where the only colors should be stars, or the desires people bring to her; which could be many and could be confusing, but which never had any other place to go. She sees a doorway up ahead, slips through it. All she does is slip these days.
It’s a man. He’s sitting at the dinner table having breakfast, which doesn’t make much sense to her. All that pomp and circumstance replaced by paperwork, seats for seven others taken up by laptops, notebooks, and more phones than one man needs. He’s working in that half-world between awareness and the subconscious where the mind tries to retreat to now there’s nowhere else to go. He’s almost creative. He shapes a phrase that he thinks is quite clever, poetic. He used to be a poet in his teenage years. He crosses it out. The boss doesn’t like poets. Not in an earnings call. There’s no poetry to ones and zeros, it’s all stark prose where the subtext is stripped out and the punctuation is a bunch of exclamation points. One after every line. Every life. He’s drifting.
The man reaches to his right and pulls out a little red pill, drinks the pill down with his cup of tea. Not coffee anymore. He doesn’t need coffee and he never liked the taste.
And the girl steps back. She has her foot in the door by the time rush hits, and then it’s rushing past him, towards her, the eight hours that should have been her life flashing before his eyes, a tidal wave of simulated sleep, perchance to never dream again.
The door slams shut behind her. She can hear the man humming. A lullaby. He’d had a baby once, or had that been a dream too?
The girl slips south. Doors crack open and slam shut. Open, shut. Open, shut. She peers through another, sees an awkward child playing. That coltish age where they could be a girl, could be a boy, could be something else—they’re still trying to find themselves in every way they can.
The setting is a porch towards daybreak. A chill spring morning that will lead to a glorious spring day, which will lead to something else, something colder, because these days the girl feels like everything slips back to winter. The child is staring down at a blank sheet of paper, eyes drooping, head lolling sideways. The girl steps closer.
She can help. Wants to help. She reaches out, and it’s like a little piece of the child reaches back, half-formed or less, all soft curves and frayed edges, hardly a suggestion of the person that they’ll become one day.
But there is something. The girl can see it if she focuses. She’s good at pulling threads together, and what are people but threads, really? An interest here, a thought there. Little scraps from friends and family along the way that snarl-up in the darkness where they should. Where people aren’t even thinking about them. Where they’re thinking about work or school or love or lust or the vague impressions of all those things that they’ve gotten from books and movies. The way that a life *should* have been.
A dream can slip between those cracks.
The girl steps forward. She’s taking on a shape, something she used to do all the time. She’ll know why soon, but for now, it feels right. Needed. She slips into it and through it and towards the exhausted child.
A breeze kicks up, cold off the mountains in the distance. The child’s head snaps up. Shakes. They reach into their pocket, pull out a little red pill. Stare at it for a while. Swallow.
The breeze howls, a door slams. Her twilight gets a little grayer.
South becomes imperative. North is wrong, east is cursed, and she doesn’t dare think of west. South pulls her. There’s desperation south, exhaustion. A need to sleep, to think freely, to let a soul spill into darkness and let the work bleed off, the school, the love, the lust, the little desires and the big. All the thoughts that used to crowd in at the break of day are now just thoughts. Everywhere. All the time. The horizon turning into data, as far the eye can see.
A door is thrown open.
The girl stumbles towards it. Slips.
Sees a young woman.
She sits on a cushion in front of a tall bronze rimmed mirror, its edges worked like spreading vines. She’s brushing her hair. Long hair. Beautiful hair. A true black river spilling over one shoulder. The brush catches and the woman sighs. Such a tiny sigh, so solemn. There are bags under her eyes like someone pressed hard into her skin and smudged. They look like they hurt. There’s a bottle sitting on the floor beside her, almost lost in the tumult of makeup.
And the woman keeps brushing her hair. It’s a battle, a war she’s losing. It won’t be the way she wants it. She looks at the bed sometimes, a mess that she’s trying and failing not to think about. There’s a guitar in one corner, a book of piano sheet music discarded on a stool. Three pairs of shoes, two pairs of stockings, one well-worn dress that might have been well-loved once, trailing back in a self-consciously random line towards the closet. Her bookshelves—well stocked—are the only things in order.
She sets the hairbrush down. She’s shaking like she wants to throw it through the window, which is open now but the girl watching her gets the sense that doesn’t matter much.
The young woman looks at the guitar. The piano music. Says *“I used to…*” and then a curious thought flits across her face. Like she can’t complete the sentence. Might even have forgotten how. She laughs, a little nervously, more than a little afraid. She reaches for the hairbrush, drags it through her hair, the door opens and a man comes in and he sighs too. Deep and exasperated as he trudges through the mess and finds the bottle, uncaps it, holds out two little red pills.
The girl sees him from the chest down, towering over the young woman. He’s a rumbling voice, rising up and crashing down and pushing her back towards the doorway, the twilight, the encroaching dawn, which is a bad thing for dreams. Sometimes they shouldn’t end. Like poetry from ones and zeroes and those self-discovering years, they should go on and on. The girl thinks so, at any rate. She lets out a little sob when the young woman reaches for the pills. The man’s hand comes down, cups her so cheek softly, his thumb resting in the hollow beneath her eye.
Twilight. The gray before the dawn.
The girl sits on a ridge and looks out across it all, this world where she’s always lived. Home, with room to spare.
She was:
a shadow on the edge of consciousness, perhaps less, though always more;
a voice in the night, most often when you needed it;
a companion in the daylight hours, those little slips that feel like death, and then rebirth on waking;
a thought you never knew you had;
a dream you wanted to go back to.
She is:
ripples on a pond;
a frontier that men have conquered;
an afterthought in a brave new world.
She could have been:
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
r/TurningtoWords
| 2022-03-18T11:06:33 | 2022-03-18T09:00:46 | 79 | 36 |
[WP] "Halt foul demon! I know of your true name and so you must obey my every command!" "Wha- Why would you knowing my name make me obey you all of a suden? What are you gonna do? Call my parents or something? I swear humans myths about demon control are the weirdest.."
|
Ezra, the aspiring demon hunter, couldn’t stop the cold beads of perspiration forming on his forehead and down his back, slowly seeping into his newly-adorned brown robes. He held the holy book tightly to his chest, facing down an unfathomable being with skin of ash and fire.
“Halt, foul demon!”
Eyes like red-hot coals fixated their gaze upon Ezra, burning a hole through soul and conscience. Laughter like rolling lava boiling with bubbles and hisses filled the air, and the distinct scent of sulphur began to coat the already-humid atmosphere.
“On whose authority, child?”
The words were foreign. The emphasis on the wrong spots, the pronunciations off. But Ezra got the message nonetheless, and struggling to push down the rapidly forming lump in his throat.
“Dorthrozun,” he shouted, pushing the words past the obstacles. “Your true name lies on my tongue.”
There was a jolt through the demon’s visage. Where there was once overwhelming cockiness, it betrayed a moment of confusion and incredulity.
“And thus, you shall obey my commands!” Ezra screamed. “Kneel!”
Dorthrozun buckled, his shifting bulk seemingly shaking the very earth itself. Right before one of its knees landed on the ground, the demon reared back into his full length, mirthful, mocking laughter escaping him.
“You know my name, human. What do you think that will achieve?”
“Er,” Ezra whispered. “Subdue you? It is written.”
“Written by whom? Humans or demons?”
Ezra turned over the book in his arms, shaking hands holding up the grimore’s, squinting at the dusty cover.
“... Humans, I believe,” Ezra said. “I don’t think demons are called Lavender or Johnny.”
“Human myths,” the demon smiled.. “To counteract the demon. Certainly an interesting tactic, but not a particularly fruitful one.
“Does that… does that mean…”
Dorthrozun shrugged.
“Humans think our names powerful. What about our physical abilitiy?”
The demon flexed. It appeared as if every vein popped up in its skin, swollen muscles the size of Eza’s head.
“Our powers? Our cunning intelligence? Those don’t go away because of a name?”
Ezra stood, defeated. The sweat had evaporated off his head, and his eyebrows were likely singed as well.
“You know my name, at least. Let that be of some comfort to you,” Dorthrozun beamed, rows of dirty, yellow, spear-like teeth glittering like muddied stars. “It’s much like an appetizing slice of pizza calling out your name.”
---
r/dexdrafts
|
# Bargain Bin Superheroes
(Arc 6, Part 6: Mare v.s. Bureaucracy)
(Note: Bargain Bin Superheroes is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**"Halt, foul demon!"** The federal-uniformed soldier barked at Mare. "I know of your true name, and so you must obey my command."
Mare raised one perfect eyebrow—they were a shapeshifter, after all, and what was the point of having a body in the first place if it wasn't going to be perfect? "What, is this because I kicked your attack dog back into the sewer he game from? You know that demon-bindings don't work unless you're a mage, right?"
"Who said anything about demon-bindings?" The soldier stepped forwards, thrusting a piece of paper scribbled with words at Mare. They eyed it cautiously, expecting a runed trap or some spell-parchment, but instead found... a court summons. Addressed to Mare—the legal name they'd chosen in this century.
Mare scoffed. "Please. You've been tearing this city to shreds with your military. You think I'm going to respect your laws after everything you've done?" They kicked a bit of rubble off the cracked and torn road for emphasis. The pebble whizzed by the soldier's head with supernatural speed—a warning shot.
"Ah—I'm afraid you're mistaken. These aren't our laws; you're not being called to stand in front of the U.S. court." The soldier tapped the top of the piece of paper, and Mare's eyes narrowed. "This is a summons from Desmethylway."
"What? Give me that." Mare snatched the paper and skimmed it. *Eyewitness in... unresolved murder... five decades ago...* "This—this case was closed half a century ago!"
"And it was just reopened, by the request of the U.S. Federal Government," the soldier placidly said. "Oh—and it's not the only one." Mare's eyes bulged as the soldier offered another summons, and another, and another, each from a separate nation, each calling on the millenia-old demon for crimes they had committed over the long, long course of their life—everything from jaywalking to destruction of property to high treason. "Of course, if you *want* to spit in the eye of every court in the world, feel free. I'll be watching the fireworks—from a safe distance."
Mare worked their jaw. They *had* to remain here to protect the city; the Feds would conquer it in an instant if they left. But the grievances accrued against them over centuries were legitimate, and spurning the international community would do the city of Sacrament no favors. They weren't cut out for this kind of bureaucratic maneuvering—
"Excuse me!"
—but someone else was. Mare's heart leapt as they heard a familiar voice. The soldier turned around, surprised, then blanched white as they saw the figure striding towards them.
"Hi!" The young woman didn't look like much of a threat, aside from the red knife strapped to her belt, but as she sighted upon the papers, her eyes lit up with the primal glee of a shark that had just slipped into familiar waters. "I'm Clara Olsen, the once and future mayor of Sacrament—and I know a *thing* or two about criminal law. Mind letting me see those papers?"
The soldier recovered some of his composure. "I—well, it's unlawful for a duly appointed service member to disclose case details without the consent of the witness in ques—"
"I'm sorry, I wasn't talking to you," Clara said, walking past the soldier. "Witness in question, would you mind sharing the details of your case with me?"
"*Would* I." Mare handed the sheaf of papers to their old friend. "Aren't you a sight for sore eyes? Where have you *been*? Is that—hey, that's my knife you've got!"
"Later, later," Clara said, waving their comments away as they speed-read the papers. "Let's see here... Desmethylway? They're an irradiated, plagued, frozen wasteland—you can cite witness hazard. They can't legally compel you to serve justice in a country that is physically hazardous to you. Meatlund? Bah. This summons is addressed to 'Pietro Aylen'—I don't see anyone by that legal name here. The Middle Communes? Ha! Spurn that wreck of a government all you like—they're too busy dealing with having collapsed twenty years ago to do anything about it." Clara tore through the summons and thrust them back at the soldier's chest. "Is that all you've got?"
The soldier wasn't an idiot—he could tell when he was outmatched. He scowled, clutching the papers to his chest and turning away. "You don't know it, but this was a mercy. You had one chance to move out of the way before we crushed you."
Clara folded her arms. "Move out of the way? And let you run over the people I... am sworn to protect?" She stepped forwards. "I am the mayor of this city, and you are not welcome here. Scram."
And the soldier did. Back held high, he turned to report to his superiors.
Clara let out a sigh, then turned to Mare. "Now. It's been too long, old friend. How about we catch up a bit?"
A.N.
"Bargain Bin Superheroes" is an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mhzat1/bargin_bin_superheroes_masterpost/) for the rest of the story, and subscribe to r/bubblewriters for more. If you have any feedback, please leave it below. As always, I had fun writing this, and I hope you have a good day.
| 2022-05-05T11:55:17 | 2022-05-05T10:23:56 | 50 | 31 |
[WP] You are a detective in 1890 Austria. The man inside the interrogation room claims to have an incredible secret that will exonerate him from his murder charge. You can't imagine what monster would murder a 1 year old child, let alone one as adorable as young Adolf Hitler was.
|
I stared at the man
With the out of place hair
And asked him again
As he leaned back in his chair
"Why did you do it? A 1 Year Old Child?"
"You would never understand"
He calmly replied
"If you knew you would thank me"
He said with a sigh
"But now it won't happen"
"And I'm a man out of time"
"The future is brighter"
"I've done my part"
"And now you'll never suffer his terrible art"
|
"I've been talking to him for three hours and he seems mostly lucid."
"Mostly?"
"Well, yes. He admitted guilt to the murders, walked me through how the crime went down in exact detail-"
"Do you mind giving me a quick rundown, I haven't been briefed on the case yet."
"Damn it, Müller was supposed to do that. I swear I will tan that boy's hide. So, the suspect sneaks inside the house with an axe at exactly three in the morning. He slithers upstairs and into baby Adolf's room. Unfortunately for him, Frau Hitler happens to be nursing the baby at that very moment. She screams and that rouses Herr Hitler, who was sleeping in the next room. He leaps out of bed, runs into the hall, sees the perp and jumps at him, receiving an axe to the skull for his trouble. Straight in the center, cleaves his skull in twain. Frau Hitler sprints past the perp with the baby, making a run for it. He sees them and is too quick for her. He grabs her by the neck with one hand, rips the baby out of her arms with the other, and tosses her down the stairs. She breaks her neck on the way down.
"But he's not done yet. He takes the crying baby downstairs into the kitchen and plops him down on the table. He then picks up the family's carving knife and skins a part of Adolf's upper lip..."
"Christ."
"... right were my mustache is. Then he cuts this symbol, I forget what he called it but it looks like a sort of mix between a cross and a spiral, into the baby. He does it all nice and shallow like, so the baby doesn't die right then and there. He then scoops up the juices and writes 'BLOOD FOR BLOOD' on the walls. Then he takes the baby, throws it in the stove and tosses a kerosene lamp in after it. The neighbors found the bastard sitting on a chair, watching the child burn. By the time they arrived though, the only thing left of the baby was a charred and blackened heart. We only know about the mutilation because he told us. He was proud of it too, that was the disturbing part. I have dealt with lunatics and idiots and idiot lunatics but this is something new. More of a massacre than a murder."
I took a big puff on my pipe before slowly exhaling. "Fucking madman, this is the third this month. Oh, don't look at me like that, if we let the public know there would be a panic. There was one in Munich and another in the Ruhr. The Germans alerted us after the second one happened. I'm just glad we caught the bastard before he put a fourth child into the ground. You don't have to worry about the sonofabitch anymore, Vienna will handle him... Do you have family, Herr Bauer?"
"Yes I do, a wife and three daughters."
"Good, take them out to the Ratskeller for dinner tonight, let them order the expensive items and get yourself a nice steak. Perhaps end the evening with a fine Italian liqueur and a romp with the missus while the children are asleep. When everyone is all tucked in, get up and watch your children sleep, watch their chests go up and down. Know that they are safe, Herr Bauer, for this man shall hang before the week is out. God knows if this interrogation is going to be as bad as I think it will be, I will be watching my son sleep tonight too." I turned to look him head on and I put my hand on his shoulder "Stay a little longer, mad dogs tend to try and bite, even if they are chained to the wall. I will need someone in the room with me."
He sighed "Let's get it over with."
EDIT: Changed some phrasing, if there is popular interest, Part II will come out tomorrow.
| 2015-03-30T00:05:18 | 2015-03-29T23:54:41 | 190 | 21 |
[WP] When you were a child, you saw your parent(s) get killed by a delusional man who claimed he was a time traveler. You thought he was just crazy, but as years pass and you grow older, your best friend starts to look eerily similar to your parent(s) killer.
|
"Why, Kent?" I said, voice low and raspy. "Why go back and kill my parents?"
He didn't answer; just stood and stared at me. Was that pity in his stoic blue eyes? I wanted to tear him apart, and almost by rote I recalled all the various ways I had planned to do it already, with every contingency accounted for.
"They were good people. And you *know* what their deaths--their *murders* did to me."
Still no response; just that eerie, supernatural quiet. I was having trouble keeping the rage from spilling into violence.
"*Answer me*, damn it."
He took off his glasses and began to clean them, eyes staring down at his hands while he did so. "I'm sorry. You know I am. But there was no other way."
He stopped cleaning, but instead of putting the glasses back on, he simply raised his eyes and met my angry, broken gaze. *"This world needs a Batman."*
|
"Every night I have the same dream. A nightmare, really. A part of my past that I have tried so desperately to forget.
"I am 7 years old and I am in bed. My mom has just tucked me into my transformers duvet and I am falling asleep. Suddenly there is chaos. I hear the shattering of glass - every window in the house has cracked in a single moment. My parents scream and I hear five thunderous bangs.
"I am scared and my bed is soaked with urine, but my parents might need my help. I get up and put two shaking feet into my little slippers. I open the door and peak out. The stairwell is covered in bright blood and it is running down the stairs, oozing towards the ground floor. At the top of the stairs lie my parents. A man with a huge scraggly grey beard and the most soulless eyes, stands over my mommy and daddy's bodies. He has a gun in his hand and smoke is gently floating up from the barrel. He must have heard my bedroom door creak open as he turns to look at me.
"A fake smile stretches his bright lips unnaturally wide. He speaks, and his voice is as gravelly as the depths of hell.
"*Hey Nick. I was wondering if I would see you tonight. Don't be afraid - what I have done is a good thing. I am from the future, and in my future your parents were responsible for something real bad. Things will change now. I got to go Nick. I will see you again soon little buddy.*"
"And then the nightmare ends and I awake in a pool of sweat."
The psychiatrist talks patronisingly to me. He tells me that my mind has tried to turn that night into some kind of *fantasy* and that it is just a coping mechanism. The fact that it was simply a 'robbery gone wrong' was too hard for my 7 year old mind to accept - there had to be more reason behind it. Sure, my parents were rich, but I remember that night and the mans words so vividly. He whispers them to me every night.
I have lunch in an hours time with an old school friend, Andrew. He is a highly acclaimed computer engineer and I am hoping he will join my research company. I started it ten years ago in honour of my parents. They were attempting to create the perfect AI. An artificial intelligence that could be considered alive. They had been close.
Had they lived long enough to see Sarah, the AI my team has been working on for the last 5 years, I believe they would have been proud of me. She is based on their original code that they were unable to complete. I found the code on my dads personal computer.
Sarah is still not *quite* alive, but I think my old friend might be able to help me with the final piece of the puzzle.
*La Copella* is a fairly fancy place for a lunch time meeting. An Italian where you can wine and dine potential prospects in fine style. I have not seen Andrew in at least ten years and I am looking forward to it greatly.
An uncouth looking man with a short scraggly brown beard walks in. I think he must have the wrong restaurant until he spots me and waves.
"Nick!" He yells out. He walks over to me. It takes me a moment to recognise Andrew.
"My God Andrew, that is quite the beard!" I say, startled.
We get through a lot of small talk before I am able to move on to business. I am interested in the current project he is involved with. He is in a team that is trying to create a type of *time machine*. He admits completing it is improbable, and the wage I can offer him is 10 times what he currently earns. He is enthusiastic about the project and agrees to come work for me the following month.
---
Andrew bursts into my office to tell me the news. Sarah is alive, but the lab team is not. He says that it is our fault.
Sarah has escaped and she does not approve of humanity. There is very little we can do now.
I notice his beard has turned grey and the stress of the last few years has aged him terribly. His bright lips contrast his pale face. He looks like a wraith. The thought triggers a fragment of an old dream to replay in my mind.
"Andrew, please take off those sunglasses for a moment." I ask, my voice trembling.
He slowly removes them. His eyes are soulless...
| 2016-06-13T07:51:36 | 2016-06-13T06:04:16 | 89 | 56 |
[WP] When you were a child, you saw your parent(s) get killed by a delusional man who claimed he was a time traveler. You thought he was just crazy, but as years pass and you grow older, your best friend starts to look eerily similar to your parent(s) killer.
|
"Why, Kent?" I said, voice low and raspy. "Why go back and kill my parents?"
He didn't answer; just stood and stared at me. Was that pity in his stoic blue eyes? I wanted to tear him apart, and almost by rote I recalled all the various ways I had planned to do it already, with every contingency accounted for.
"They were good people. And you *know* what their deaths--their *murders* did to me."
Still no response; just that eerie, supernatural quiet. I was having trouble keeping the rage from spilling into violence.
"*Answer me*, damn it."
He took off his glasses and began to clean them, eyes staring down at his hands while he did so. "I'm sorry. You know I am. But there was no other way."
He stopped cleaning, but instead of putting the glasses back on, he simply raised his eyes and met my angry, broken gaze. *"This world needs a Batman."*
|
I had kept that sketch hanging in my bedroom ever since the forensic artist had given it to me. It served as a kind of coping mechanism, if you believed my psychiatrist: it served as a focus for my anger, allowing me to project my negative feelings into it and go about my day. If you believed me, though, I kept it around because he'd said he was a time traveler, and I was damn sure if he came around a second time, I'd recognize and kill him.
Course, I kept the whole picture thing a secret. When you're working on your postdoc in quantum physics, you're likely to get kicked out of important things if someone finds out you believe in time travelers--regardless of what they did or didn't do to your parents. I'd never even shown James the picture. He'd asked about my parents' death, naturally. But despite all the things I'd trusted him with before this--fetishes, deep dark secrets, crushes--I just told him what the police report said. Parents dead by shooting, suspect never apprehended.
I woke up to my phone chiming. It was a text from James, telling me he'd gotten flowers for today. Still half-asleep, I wondered, *Is he asking me out? Could have sworn he wasn't gay,* before a second glance at my phone confirmed what the actual plan was.
In his typically kind fashion, he'd remembered that today was the 21st anniversary of their death and offered to give up his precious Saturday so I wouldn't have to go to the cemetery alone.
Some days, I wished he were gay. I'd totally go for him. But if that ever happened, I'm not sure if I'd be able to focus on my research.
I rolled out of bed, took a shower, and had just grabbed my Hot Pocket out of the microwave when he texted me to tell me to hurry up or he'd go back and watch esports. I quickly hurried out; aside from being my company for the day, he had a car, and I didn't really want to take the bus on a day like this.
As soon as I got in the car, I did a double take. There was something...*different*...about him. But not a weird different, it was almost familiar. And that made me a little uneasy for a moment, but as soon as his stereo began blaring the weird dubstep he listened to, the feeling passed.
Even so, as I glanced at him over the course of the conversation that day, I became more and more aware of the feeling. And the more I became aware of it, the more it felt less like unease and more like dread. No matter what I did, I couldn't shake it off.
Finally, I went to my last resort, something I'd never normally have done around anybody else; but I was desperate. I pulled up the picture I kept on my phone of the forensic drawing, like my psychiatrist recommended I do whenever I had an episode like this. Instead of relief, though, I almost passed out in a panic. *The face the forensic artist had drawn looked exactly like James.*
I got up and looked at his face, then back at my picture, then at his face again. I couldn't believe it. My only friend, the only one who'd been willing to tolerate my psychotic episodes with an even temper, the only person who could bring a smile to my face, was my parents' murderer. That was cruel beyond belief.
I advanced on him, asking him furiously how he could have done such a horrible thing, and he kept backing away from me, protesting that whatever it was, he hadn't done it. I finally cornered him, grabbed and shook him, and demanded to know why he'd be betrayed me. When he didn't answer, I took matters into my own hands.
When the cops responded to my call, they found me sitting in front of his dead body, still furiously asking it why he'd hurt me like that.
My lawyer says that I had a psychotic episode and didn't know what I was doing. The truth is, though, I knew exactly what I did. When they called me in to identify the body, though, I looked at his face and it wasn't the same as the picture on my phone.
Therefore, Your Honor, despite my lawyer's advice, I plead guilty, and ask the Court to issue the harshest sentence allowable by law. God knows I've got it coming.
| 2016-06-13T07:51:36 | 2016-06-13T06:10:05 | 89 | 47 |
[WP]: It's been three years since society has collapsed. Most people who made it through the blast have been claimed by things that came after. You're doing fine. Going from homeless to a hunter-gatherer was much less of a dramatic change than you'd think. The meek have inherited the Earth.
|
*"Man these new boots are amazing i wonder how much whoever owned these before paid... and why the fuck they left them behind."*
Tom wondered to himself as he walked up the hill to the gated community he had been shooed away from countless times 4 years ago.
*"feels like a lifetime."*
The guard box sat empty. A stale bag of chips still left open. Nothing inside of course. Not anymore.
*"I wonder if the gate still opens? Nah better not i should just climb it. If it hasn't been raided yet this is the only reason why. Too many Old slummers stories scared the people away from here... like the rich folks would still be around. HA!"*
Tom found that he hardly ever spoke anymore. Just thought things. His internal voice now becoming his only voice. He hated the ramshackle cities. Trying so desperately to rebuild the old instead of becoming the birthplace of something new.
The backpack landed with a thud on the other side. His trench shovel popping out of it's holster and clattering off to the side. And then another thud. He was in. The place where he would never have gotten to see... it already felt nicer inside the gate than it had outside.
*"These rich people shouldn't have left for the special evac zones they could afford. Maybe they're still alive and happy? I hope so. That one family was kind enough to give me a ride to the shelter... nicest car i had ever seen. The thing could drive itself."*
Tom's internal voice chattering away. Filling the silence.
*"Maybe i can find their house. I think should they be alive they would be happy to help me out. I could even show them a thing or too."*
A smile broke through the matted mess of facial hair. It kept him warm when it got cold. So he didn't bother to shave it despite the almost comical availability of grooming products around. It was southern california after all... these people loved looking the part.
Tom had plenty of outdoorsman skills pre homlessness. And he thanked that more than the new boots on his feet. Its what kept him alive out on his own. The new "cities" demanded too much of him. He was a survivor not one to clamor at the possibility of a normal city again.
*"if i remember right Jerry was talking about his plans to make his fancy house completely self sustaining. Maybe thats why he helped me. Maybe he thought we were the same. Me just dirtier and with less money. Survivors. Man i hope they got out okay. I remember his daughter yelled at the other kids for throwing rocks at me."*
Tom looked upon the house that housed the future car. And the family that was kind despite having no reason to be.
*"this one."*
Tom remembered the last thing jerry said to him before dropping him off.
"One day you'll find your calling Tom, and when that happens give me a call."
Tom had found his calling... in a world where no one was left to be proud of him.
*"so i uh... i don't wanna break Jerry's window... ill try the back."*
Tom vaulted the wall again into the backyard that stretched 3 acres. And was surprised to see not anything lavish... but a garden. An amazing garden... a well kept garden... A WELL KEPT GARDEN!
*"Fuck someones already her-"*
**chick chick**
"I suggest you leave right now."
Tom turned around. Hands high in the air. Brain running through every option he has. Mental note of his knife tucked in to his belt behind his back. But that thought left his head the second he turned around.
There stood Jerry. As Tom remembered him. Dirtier... and with less money. But a survivor.
It was then Tom spoke... the first words since he told those at the settlement to "Fuck off."
"Jerry... i found my calling... its just... the phones don't work anymore."
Jerrys face softened from stern and ruthless to the state Tom remembered him in.
Then both men. Battered. Torn. Shaken. But alive.
Wept.
|
A dusty brown sky lays on the horizon. It’s a day like yesterday and the day before and the day before that. Maybe it’s been decades. Maybe the sky was never blue and the air never warm. Maybe life was always this steamy hot, bleak emptiness.
Sebastian isn't sure.
He is a day to day type guy. And here in what remains of the city once called New York he is master of survival. As always, he knows how to get by. It's just harder now, but he can make do.
He sucks on the slimy resin remaining from his breakfast of worm eggs. Slurping on his fingers he watches for signs of the creatures return. The worms aren't overtly dangerous unless they can get an appendage into their yawning teeth lined maws, but otherwise simply running away would keep him safe from the terrier sized creatures.
The electrical shock he gave this one will only make it forget its maternal instincts for so long.
The smell of the worm's burned flesh lingers still in the air and a thought strikes him.
"Do you remember birds?" he croaks.
"Oh, God, chicken, so crispy, so greasy, so salty, so good," he answers, his voice different, higher, female maybe.
“Do you think anything left tastes like chicken?
“No, but maybe good and meaty. Maybe we go to the basement again.”
Sebastian cringes and flexes what remains of his mangled left hand, “No baby we can’t. Don’t you remember what happened last time?”
“Don’t be a pussy darling.”
Sebastian is missing three fingers. The pinky, the ring, and the middle. Comically the wound looks like a cookie with a bite out of it.
If it weren't for his baby he knows he would have died. She cared for him. Made him drink. Foraged him food. When the fever passed she stayed with him. He has no clue how long it's been. They are together forever now. It’s a constant promise she makes him. He doesn't want to let her down, disappoint her, give her a reason to leave him.
He needs her.
“If that’s really what you want,” he sighs. Lately her requests were getting more and more dangerous.
Climb to the top of that crumbling building.
Sneak into that encampment of survivors and steal some power.
Sing for me baby, sing louder, sing like your life depends on it.
And he does it all. Every single thing. And today he is going to crawl back down into the tunnel that almost cost him his life, because she demands it.
***
He returns the stunner to his pack and hoists the seventy five pound ruck onto his shoulders. It jingles and jangles as he gets his balance and turns to point himself in the direction of the 96th street subway entrance, one of the few that is still accessible.
He takes his first step and his knees buckle.
The first few steps starting out lately are always the most painful.
He feels so old.
But how old he has no clue.
Long ago he stopped remembering to celebrate his birthday. He knows when his baby’s is though.
November 1st.
It’s the day he broke through his fugue. It’s the day he first talked to her.
Every year he builds her a fire and they feast on cooked food. It's the only day he allows himself the luxury. The world otherwise is too dangerous a place to do it more often.
In the beginning there were fires everywhere anyway, but dangerously sprouting from melting metal and filled with poisonous chemicals.
It took a long time for the smells to dissipate. The sky will probably stink like it forever.
Those that did not die from the bombs, died pretty quickly because of the smoke and those that survived the smoke perished from the cancers that sprung up later and those that lived long enough with the cancer usually got eaten by something.
Sebastian suspects the growing lump on his stomach is cancerous, but his feelings are if he doesn't bother it it won't bother him. Only occasionally is he unable to support his ruck and quick getaways are a thing of the distant past.
One day he will have to go through it and get rid of some stuff, but parting with things has never been easy. Back before the war he lived on the One train going back and forth from 249th street in the Bronx all the way down to South Ferry with his stuff in suitcases. He stopped trying to get a bed in a shelter when someone went through his bags.
They tossed everything onto the floor.
Sebastian slept through the whole thing.
He reassembled his belongings the next morning and then walked the streets digging through trash cans to replace what was lost. If asked to be honest he would not have been able to even say what it was he was replacing. Once something made it into his collection it just stayed there.
His baby helps him with that now.
When he spots something interesting, she usually stops him from getting it unless it is really needed, “No Sebastian baby leave that be, you don't need anything else.”
And he does, he leaves it be.
She is the best thing that has ever happened to him.
***
The closer he gets to the entrance to the underground the more his hand throbs.
He shakes it hoping to rid the appendage of pain. It only makes the missing digits ache more intensely as if the closer he gets to where he lost them the more he feels their misery.
He doesn't remember what took his fingers. His only memory of that day is waking up in the middle of the cracked and ruined asphalt of Broadway shivering with fever. The day was the same as any other day, steamy brown with the faint stink of burning metal. The sun was just about to set and deep jagged shadows were cast from the broken buildings.
He could hear the howls of the mutated dogs catching his scent.
***
He doesn't know how it all happened only that after the bombs dropped things changed for the worst. Most people died and animals became something else. Not all of the animals though just some. Insects and invertebrates changed, they grew larger and braver and hungrier. Dogs grew scales and sprouted spikes where they once grew hair. It was easy to dream about their blood red eyes hunting him in the night.
He never felt safe.
He felt followed every second of every day.
***
Reaching the entrance to the basement that fed down into the subway Sebastian slips his shoulders from the straps of his bag. The heavy ruck slumps to the ground with a clang of metal in addition to the horrible sound of ripping fabric.
He’s afraid to look.
If the bag is ruined he doesn't know what he will do. It holds everything he needs to survive.
Turning around he spies the nightmare; a pile of his stuff fluttering in the wind.
Pots and pans.
Wet weather gear.
A shovel.
And 20 pounds of human skeleton.
“It’s okay baby. You don't need this stuff any longer,’ he tells himself in his baby’s voice. ‘All you need is me.’
He walks over to the skeleton and lifts it up. The bones have all been joined together with small bits of rusting wire. The skull is severely cracked and the mouth is a toothy smile.
‘It’s time to go home Sebastian. It’s time to ride the One train once again.”
| 2016-11-03T08:54:49 | 2016-11-03T08:11:15 | 22 | 12 |
[WP] You, an atheist, have died. All the gods that have ever been line up to offer you their version of heaven if only you believe in _them_. Turns out souls are currency and yours is up for grabs.
|
At first, I had no words. The gods took advantage of that; they shouted over one another, wheedled their afterlife as the best, only to be shouted down by the others. By the time my mind had cleared - well, cleared being a relative term - there was only one question I wanted answering.
"Where's my mum?" The gods all turned to look at me, mid argument - it was the first I had spoken ever since I'd died. Death itself had been a release - my body had been worn and battered after almost a hundred years on Earth, and the nursing home was like some kind of purgatory. Waiting for death. Oblivion, as I'd assumed it would be.
But instead, I was here, feeling more whole and stronger and quicker than I had in decades. And there was only one person I really wanted to see. Even my husband seemed like a footnote now - he could come after me, I reasoned. He could follow me. And I would follow her.
"Rosemary?" One of the gods questioned, his animalistic face twisting in concentration. "I'm not sure I recall-"
Noises of affirmation rose, until there was the sound of a cleared throat from the back of the hall. I looked, and saw a deity I hadn't clocked before - small, round and made up of a soft light. "She came with me, child," the being says, "although these lot wouldn't tell you that."
I swallowed. "And you are?"
"I am Hestia," the deity said, "goddess of the home and hearth."
"You're one of the Olympians," I said slowly.
Hestia shook her head. "I was. I gave up my place to Dionysus to avoid conflict."
I blinked. Yes, that sounded like somebody my mother would choose. "And your afterlife?"
"My supplicants go to Elysium like the rest who choose the Greek Pantheon, it's true, but their idea of paradise is different to the other gods, so it becomes a different place. We break bread together, sing, dance, kindle fires and cook delicacies. Your mother loves it."
*Your mother loves it.*
My throat was as dry as a bone. I could see her in my mind's eye, as I'd known her - not as the dementia addled pensioner as she'd been at the end of her life, but the purple cardigan wearing brunette, who'd sang along to musicals at the top of her voice, who'd cuddled me well into adulthood, whose hands had been the only definitive home I'd even known.
"Take me to her," I said, "please."
|
There I was, a mere mortal soul among the deities of old. I had been to a convention or two in my previous lifetime, so it had a familiar feel but something was just... uneasy. There was a flood of others like me and unlike the conventions I had attended, I couldn't feel anyone pushing or crowding around me, which was nice but hollow. I looked around and saw what felt like countless booths, each with its own proprietor and festive decorations. There was an aisle lined with marble columns and one with ornately decorated totem poles. I began closer inspections to get an idea of what was going on.
There were grayish floating masses everywhere. I looked down at myself and while I share a hue or two with these ghouls, I had a familiar form compared to there floating gas-like balls. It was kind of cool to see a real manifestation of Buddha and Zeus. History was a fond subject for me and it made me a bit uneasy to see what I could only imagine was Ra. I don't know much about the Egyptian gods and goddesses but I figure every sect is pulling out the big guns for this event. It was all a bit much to take in as it really defied everything I knew and believed in. Or, well, didn't believe in.
"You there," I hear above the murmur of the crowd. I instinctively know that I must be the target of this beckoning. "You seem to be lost and that is unusual here. Are you a free agent?"
I turn and look and see the image I have always had of the Roman god, Mercury. His bronze helmet has wings and so do his sandals. His tunic is white like a cloud. Not a solid white but almost translucent as if I stared long enough I would stare straight through to blue skies. It was starting to hypnotize me in a melodic and soothing fashion. He snapped his fingers and the trance was broken.
"Hmmm- What?" I spit out as I come back to my senses.
"A free agent. You know, one of the lucky few who get to choose teams after the game has been played?!?"
"I am not sure I am following."
"Come with me then. Maybe I can explain it." He reaches out his hand.
I go to take it but a giant ax blade comes out of nowhere and severs his hand in a flash. The Roman god rolls his eyes and instead of a bloody hand falling to the floor, his hand transforms into a bluish cloud and dissipates into the air. A brief moment passes and the hand is whole again.
"Trust not that heathen," a deep voice bellows. The air is filled with electricity and I feel the hair standing up on the back of my neck. I follow the ax to its handle and the handle to its wielder. A giant, blond man garbed in a fine tunic standing at almost two feet taller than me looks Mercury dead in the eyes. "He would have taken your hand all the way back to the underworld. Be wary of he." Mercury scuttles off and vanishes into the crowd.
"Thor!" I exclaimed.
"Meinfretr! A few movies and a comic book and everyone is an expert in Norse deities. I am no god of thunder, little one. I am Forseti, Norse god of Justice and Truth." He says modestly, yet still very aggressively as he politely bows.
"My apologies. I meant no offense. I didn't think there was anything after death. I am just very lost and confused right now."
"As you should be. You must be a wanderer. I do not envy you."
"What does this mean? Wanderer? Free Agent? I have no clue what is going on." I was getting frustrated and I could tell he could sense it.
"In life, you choose a god, goddess, or... whatever. You pray to it. You call upon it. You devote your life to it. Then you die and come here. If you do such, you go straight to that deity and they collect you. However, little one, you chose not to choose. So now you have to wander the aisles and eventually make a final decision."
"What is in it for them? Why am I important?"
"Foolish mortal. How important is a single gold coin to you? Worthless. How much worth does a pile of gold coins have? Depends on the pile."
"So... I am loose change in the couch trying to decide which piggy bank to enter? I assume I get some sort of choice by the titles I am being referred to by?" I replied as I attempted to put the pieces of my situation together.
"Close enough."
"So... do I get something in exchange for my soul?"
"It depends on the contract you sign. Some even more foolish mortals sign away their souls before they arrive and get nothing they may take with them. Other, more conservative mortals, like you, might be able to bargain more readily and easily."
"Hmmmm. I find this interesting. So, what would I get if I pledged my soul to you?"
"Valhalla."
"That doesn't seem all that fun." I said hesitantly, just now realizing I was insulting this god's way of life and culture.
"It is not the place the poems describe it as. It is far grander."
"So it isn't a giant feast and fight?"
Forseti seemed stunned. "Actually that is quite accurate. How have you come about such knowledge?"
"My former country didn't invest well in public education so I guess you could blame lots of misinformation and poor instruction."
He nodded in amusement.
"I'm going to definitely put you at the top of my list, Foresty. I just want to hear some other offers first. I appreciate your help and wisdom!"
Forseti started to correct me but I was already walking away toward my first aisle. So many to choose from and with no deadline, I really seem to have my pick of the litter. But where do I start my journey of 10,000 steps? I could go East to West or should I go first to last? I begin scoping out the aisles and I see my pick. First up, the Inuit gods.
| 2017-07-09T03:15:46 | 2017-07-09T01:59:43 | 138 | 94 |
[WP] A story that doesn't make any sense, until you read the last line.
|
It's the best deal in town. You can be the student you always wanted to be. However long it takes. You'll get there, to have the time of your life. When I wanted him. History doesn't repeat itself, but it rhymes. Sunny and 72 degrees. Except where prohibited by law. He grabbed her hand.
She stopped twisting the radio dial and stepped outside, into the sunshine.
|
I wake up and stare at the ceiling wondering for the 100th time how did I end up here? I turn my head and see my wife asleep in the bed next to mine.
She feels so far away, I want to cry.
Instead, I look up at the ceiling again and sigh. I know she loves me. She tells me every day. So how the hell did I wind up here?
I must have whimpered without realising it. She's by my side in a second. She asks me if I slept well, if I am hungry. She asks me if I know how much she loves me..
God, I love that woman. I would do anything for her.
We go downstairs. It breakfast time. It's our own personal bonding time. She spoils me. I laugh. There's so much love in this room.
Then I hear *his* voice. My mood changes straight away. Damon, my so called best friend, saunters into the room.
"Hay Babe", I hear him say. I try to kill him with my stare. He walks up to my wife, My Wife!, and kisses her. Bastard!!
I get ready to give him a piece of my mind.
He glances over at me, that smug expression starting to waver for a second .. Then sudden he breaks out in a smile, eyes twinkling. I know that smile. It's the one I use to think meant that he had my back. I know better now.
I can't handle it. I start to go mental. Before he can take another step my wife steps in between us. She puts a hand gently on his chest.
"Not today Damon ", It just takes time. He'll get use to it. Just be patient".
God I hate her right now.
"Okay babe, if you say so, I gotta get ready for work". He turns to me with a quick smile and says "I'll catch ya later, my man".
I try to throw my plate at him. Sadly I missed but I will make him pay.
Angry tears stream down my face. I feel so betrayed. I hate them both. Caught up in my pain I didn't realise my wife was beside me again. Her arms wrapping themselves around me. I try to struggle but she holds my head to her bosom.
In her warm embrace, I feel my anger slip away. She tells me again how much she loves me but I'm starting to drift off. The drama of this morning tires me.
"God, How did I end up here?" I muse once again yawning. "Every f*cking day it's the same. My own personal hell".
Yet Feeling safe wrapped up in my wife's arms, I start to dream. I dream of the last time I was with her before everything changed.
"Don't worry Love, I'll always be beside you" I hear myself say "He promised our baby will survive. We have an agreement".
I laugh bitterly in my sleep. I would do anything for her. But I was a fool. I was blind. Everything comes with a cost. Everything has its fine print.
It's been 10 months since I made a deal with the devil to keep our family together as one. I could not stand by and watch my wife go through yet another miscarriage.
I open my eyes, and see my wife looking down lovingly at me. I look up at her face wishing I could say what's on my heart. The devil kept his promise, that is true, but he is a trickster. So now all I can do is just gurgle and gaze back at her through the eyes of our 7month old son.
~l~l~l~l~l~l~l
**Note**: if it doesn't click, others have explained in the comments :-) This is my first time writing x.
| 2017-08-30T06:54:31 | 2017-08-30T06:29:36 | 5,691 | 288 |
[WP] You can go to any fictional universe you want, but aren't allowed to help progress the main plot.
|
I’ll alter it slightly; the punishment for progressing the plot is death, and I’ll go into my own fictional universe. This’ll be a short one just to pass the time.
When I first entered the universe, I really didn’t know what I was going to do. It seemed pretty boring. All I thought I could do was sit around, and watch the hero save lives. Until I realized something.
It is punishable by death to help progress the main plot, so I decided to hinder it. This ended up being the worst mistake of my life.
It started by setting traps. Things to slow the hero down. But, alas, he got through them with ease. So, I had to be more direct.
I managed to gather minions, to attack him for me. This proved to work well at first, until he pulled out a freaking gun like a mad man and blasted them to pieces.
There was only one option left, I had to do this myself. I was obsessed at this point. I **would** kill him. I got various guns of my own, and confronted him. However, I was untrained, and soon was riddled with bullet holes. Thats when I realized; I had become the villain. I had progressed the plot by filling a role, and paid the price of breaking the one rule.
|
A Siamese cat suddenly appeared near my desktop. He said "Come with me and take my hand and I can take you to all fictional universes that were ever created by authors and creators." Of course as a rational man the first thought that came to my mind was that I was hallucinating or taking drugs, but then I took his hand.
A second after as soon as I blinked I was suddenly in a large hall that somewhat resembles a Gothic cathedral, but with large bluish portals in every row. On the top of each portal was a large white sign with writing.
The Siamese cat said "Within these large hall are rows of portals leading to all fictional universes that gained 10,000-100,000 fans. You can enter into all of them."
I then answered "I can enter into all of them?". The cat said "Yes."
"Will I be able to meet the main characters?". The cat, in a skeptical expression said "Probably."
So, I started walking to the rows and read aloud the signs atop the portals.
"Stranger Things? I haven't seen this one, gotta skip this. Game of Thrones? I would love this, but I don't know much about the series. The Walking Dead? Same. Monty Python and the Life of Brian? I think I don't want to. Pretty Little Liars. Hell no. Lord of the Rings? Nah, I've seen this movie. Fifty Shades of Gray? No no no no no no."
The cat then said: "Would you like to go to these fictional universes instead?" I then walked into his direction.
"SCP Foundation, Creepypasta Wiki. Hey, cat, you've got some row of fictional universes that are not full of things out to kill me?
The cat then answered "Sure, how about these row?"
As soon as I saw the writing "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" on the sign, I quickly went away, ran to another row and read aloud the signs on them.
"Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Touhou, Spice and Wolf, To Aru Kagaku no Railgun, Bible Black, Boku no Pico. The fictional universes in these row are full of shit, you've got something not for weebs?"
The cat then said "How about these ones in these row here? Please quickly decide if you're going to any fictional universe or not, you spend so much time on just choosing."
I then said "But a lot of your fictional universes are not that good, let's go to these row. Wow, the ones on these row seems decent. The Elder Scrolls Universe, The Witcher, Fallout Universe, Portal, Overwatch, Minecraft but Undertale? Hah."
"Hey, cat, I'd think I'd like to go inside the Marvel Cinematic Universe portal instead, I'd like to go to Wakanda and thank King T'Challa for all of what he did."
The cat then said "You can go to that fictional universe, but there is a pre-condition, you are not allowed to help progress the main plot of the story the protagonist is in, nor do anything to change or affect the plot in any way."
I then said "Sure", and walked inside the portal with "Marvel Cinematic Universe" sign on the top.
A second after I blinked I was suddenly in a 7/11 store as a janitor mopping the floor, a black guy said "Hey, man greet the customers and arrange the products on the shelves."
I saw the cat besides me and said "Hey, there's a black guy, this must be Wakanda!" The cat answered "No, you aren't, you're in Los Angeles, California. You don't remember that you're not allowed to affect or change the plot, don't you? So, you're not allowed to meet the main characters or visit the main settings in the film because doing so might be enough to alter the plot in any way."
"So, I'm not allowed to go to Wakanda." "Yeah." "How about meet T'Challa and Shuri and the other cast, allowed or not?" "Not allowed." "But in other fictional universes, am I allowed to meet the cast and the protagonists?"
The cat sighs and says "You are not allowed to meet the main protagonists or even the supporting characters in any fictional universe due to the pre-conditions I previously said necessary to maintain the space-time continuum."
"How about just peek and look?" "Not allowed."
Frustated, I said to the cat, "My gosh, this sucks, just bring me back to home."
| 2018-06-16T13:22:03 | 2018-06-16T09:52:41 | 85 | 43 |
[WP] You can go to any fictional universe you want, but aren't allowed to help progress the main plot.
|
I walked into Whiterun, just like an everyday adventurer. The smells, the cool air, everything was just as it should be. I know the rules, but I'm not sure of the time, did the dragonborn come yet? Is the battle over? I go to the market to sell my pelts, and to chop wood for some extra money.
I get a room for the night but I still go out for ingredients, I buy fresh tomatoes, bread, meat, cheese, the cabbage needs to be cooked a bit before it can work the way I want. I use the cooking fire as everyone gatherers around me in astonishment.
"Where, did you find something like this?!"
On of the patrons asks. I smirk a bit as I begin cutting up the potatoes.
"Could this be the legendary Gourmet!?!" another askes as I drop the cut potatoes into the oil from the food.
I was told I can't interfere with the storyline, but selling burgers and fries should pay for itself, and I'll be able to buy my own place soon enough. But I hear the call of adventure, and I'll need items and armor if I want to leave whiterun and get somewhere more permanent.
|
A Siamese cat suddenly appeared near my desktop. He said "Come with me and take my hand and I can take you to all fictional universes that were ever created by authors and creators." Of course as a rational man the first thought that came to my mind was that I was hallucinating or taking drugs, but then I took his hand.
A second after as soon as I blinked I was suddenly in a large hall that somewhat resembles a Gothic cathedral, but with large bluish portals in every row. On the top of each portal was a large white sign with writing.
The Siamese cat said "Within these large hall are rows of portals leading to all fictional universes that gained 10,000-100,000 fans. You can enter into all of them."
I then answered "I can enter into all of them?". The cat said "Yes."
"Will I be able to meet the main characters?". The cat, in a skeptical expression said "Probably."
So, I started walking to the rows and read aloud the signs atop the portals.
"Stranger Things? I haven't seen this one, gotta skip this. Game of Thrones? I would love this, but I don't know much about the series. The Walking Dead? Same. Monty Python and the Life of Brian? I think I don't want to. Pretty Little Liars. Hell no. Lord of the Rings? Nah, I've seen this movie. Fifty Shades of Gray? No no no no no no."
The cat then said: "Would you like to go to these fictional universes instead?" I then walked into his direction.
"SCP Foundation, Creepypasta Wiki. Hey, cat, you've got some row of fictional universes that are not full of things out to kill me?
The cat then answered "Sure, how about these row?"
As soon as I saw the writing "My Little Pony: Friendship is Magic" on the sign, I quickly went away, ran to another row and read aloud the signs on them.
"Puella Magi Madoka Magica, Touhou, Spice and Wolf, To Aru Kagaku no Railgun, Bible Black, Boku no Pico. The fictional universes in these row are full of shit, you've got something not for weebs?"
The cat then said "How about these ones in these row here? Please quickly decide if you're going to any fictional universe or not, you spend so much time on just choosing."
I then said "But a lot of your fictional universes are not that good, let's go to these row. Wow, the ones on these row seems decent. The Elder Scrolls Universe, The Witcher, Fallout Universe, Portal, Overwatch, Minecraft but Undertale? Hah."
"Hey, cat, I'd think I'd like to go inside the Marvel Cinematic Universe portal instead, I'd like to go to Wakanda and thank King T'Challa for all of what he did."
The cat then said "You can go to that fictional universe, but there is a pre-condition, you are not allowed to help progress the main plot of the story the protagonist is in, nor do anything to change or affect the plot in any way."
I then said "Sure", and walked inside the portal with "Marvel Cinematic Universe" sign on the top.
A second after I blinked I was suddenly in a 7/11 store as a janitor mopping the floor, a black guy said "Hey, man greet the customers and arrange the products on the shelves."
I saw the cat besides me and said "Hey, there's a black guy, this must be Wakanda!" The cat answered "No, you aren't, you're in Los Angeles, California. You don't remember that you're not allowed to affect or change the plot, don't you? So, you're not allowed to meet the main characters or visit the main settings in the film because doing so might be enough to alter the plot in any way."
"So, I'm not allowed to go to Wakanda." "Yeah." "How about meet T'Challa and Shuri and the other cast, allowed or not?" "Not allowed." "But in other fictional universes, am I allowed to meet the cast and the protagonists?"
The cat sighs and says "You are not allowed to meet the main protagonists or even the supporting characters in any fictional universe due to the pre-conditions I previously said necessary to maintain the space-time continuum."
"How about just peek and look?" "Not allowed."
Frustated, I said to the cat, "My gosh, this sucks, just bring me back to home."
| 2018-06-16T14:44:13 | 2018-06-16T09:52:41 | 61 | 43 |
[WP] "Sire, the hero's party is outside. It's large, too." "Fools. Not even six or seven can stand against me!" "No, sire, you misunderstand. The hero's party consists of his entire village." "Wait, what?" "They weren't happy that you razed their village. And they've all been leveling up."
|
"But that's illegal," I said, with confidence that I did not possess.
"I'm sorry, sire?" my most trusted minion replied. What was his name again? Levan? Leftan? Definitely starts with Le.
"That's illegal," I said. "It has to be."
"Why? And how?" Lefin's eyes narrowed.
"Because they are trying to overthrow me," I said. "And well, I rule the land. So I make the laws."
"You rule the land because of obvious and deliberate transgressions of the law, sire," Lemun said. "Like, your cruelty was part of the reason why so many of us were inspired to join you."
"That was before I ruled the land," I said. "Now that I rule it, it should be different. Also, shouldn't party sizes be what, maximum eight? How the hell did they manage to farm up a full village?"
"Very pertinent questions, sire, if it wasn't for the fact that they are clambering up the castle gate as we speak." Leron said. "Do you have a battle plan?"
"Send all my minio--I mean, *coworkers*, to meet them. We have an impressive army, do we not?"
"They've already been slaughtered," Lefunt said matter-of-factly. "Couldn't stop them at the Dark Path. Hence why are they climbing the castle gate."
"What? What do I even feed them for!?" I shouted, hastily standing up. As I walked towards the armoury, Leyun followed closely, rattling off statistics of the opposing force.
"The offensive force consists of the inhabitants of the village known formerly as Blueleaf, before you razed it to the ground. According to the Scan spell our mages managed to execute before screaming and dying a horrible death, there are 784 members in the party, of which more than 700 are level 20 warriors."
"700," I exhaled hard. "OK. OK. That's possible."
"There are 20 who've upgraded to crusaders at about level 50, a smattering of about 20 clerics, 20 rangers, and for some reason, one very powerful mage."
"They have a mage? How? Aren't they just stupid villagers?"
"Most villages have at least one runeborn," Legume said. "This runeborn was very driven, apparently."
"Driven by?"
"The death of many of his friends and family?"
"Well," I said. "I suppose that will drive people to drastic measures."
Looking over at the countless glittering relics in my armoury, I felt no urge to put them on. In fact, I could hear the gathering, angry mob outside, and for some reason--I did not feel fear. I did not feel terror.
Relief. That was it.
"It was a good run, I suppose," I said. "The previous guy in charge told me this as well."
"Told you what?" Lepun said, a quizzical eyebrow raised.
"I broke the rules to get to where I am. The people outside? They broke the rules as well, And one of those people out there will be where I'm sitting," I sighed. "It was a good run. I enjoyed myself. There is no need for a longer farce."
"And what about me, sire?"
I looked him in the eyes. Levin. That was it. Levin was the name.
"Run, Levin," I said, hearing rage and resentment moving as a unit towards us. "Run before they get here."
---
r/dexdrafts
|
Sire: Oh, for Devil's sake.. It was just one damn village! I have razed **thousands** of villages and not ONCE in ALL of my 100000 levels did the people dare to come forward to my domain! The worst I've had happen was a milk maiden writing me an angry letter on cow skin!
Servant: Yes, Sire. I remember reading that to you some years back. She was the one who was angry that.. you didn't abduct her?
Sire: Exactly!! My worst complaint: I wasn't bad enough. I mean, sure, I am filthy rich and super strong with dashing good looks.. but come on. A milk maiden? What would she want from me? She knows that her kind and mine are never meant to work, right?
Servant: Yes, Sire. You're lactose intolerant. It could never work.
Sire: I have seen her around my garden once, you know. She escaped with a cow before I could say something. Now, who knows where she could be? I have to deal with that.. and now.. this? I'm never safe in my castle!
***A cooked chicken leg splats the window inches off from their heads. Frustrated, Sire finally steps to the colourful window pane and opens it wide.***
Sire: Hey!! That was original Italian glass! Who threw that?!
Hero: You there! DEMON! Come out this instant and fight me like a man!
Sire: Them, you mean..
Hero: Oh. Wow, I- I am so sorry. That was very unknightly, I apologize. I didn't know that was your pron-
Sire: No, it's.. ugh. Do you not see how many people you have going on with you? I am not coming out. And JUST to prove my point..
Hero: YOUR WICKED WORDS SHANT ENCHANT MINE MIND, DEMON. YOU SHALL PAY FOR THE MISERY YOU HAVE CAUSED UPON THE LAND AND I-
Sire: Att-tatat. Wait first, Daddy's monologuing. Anyway, my point is that you don't really understand me. You're all hero this and that with your big sword and stuff like "oooo lookit mee im going on a fun quest and levels". And what do I do..? I read, and I raze; otherwise I get very goddamn BORRREEEDD. Notice how every evil dude has a massive library in their castle. It's because we're bored. Very, very bored. I have read EVERY.. SINGLE.. BOOK.. IN THERE....... TWICE!!!
Hero: ...
Sire: Oh, and you might say: "but hes saying hes bored so why doesnt he fight us, fighting's fun ehehlbblefpffrt". Yeah, wow, such a philosopher, you got me.. except NOT. Look, I listen to rap ever since I've been told it's the devil's music but now I really enjoy it and think the people who said it are wack. Well, I've heard one important advice there, from Biggie Smalls: "Never sell no crack where you rest at".. you know? I do a lot of damage and destruction. And if I fight YOU, then that also applies to the environment. So, I don't wanna raze my own castle grounds! Even if I win, do you know how long it's gonna take me to clean that stuff up?!
Hero: ...
Sire: Oh, and the reason I mentioned that I'm kind of a bookworm is because I've read The Art of War, and all I can tell you is that I am nooooot coming anywhere near that pitchfork emporium. Hellll nooo. I am currently in my retreat mode inside my comfortable castle and I plan to have me a nice cup of cocoa when this is over.
Hero: ...
Sire: ...
Hero: ...
Sire: ...okay yeah I'm done.
Hero: AS I WAS SAYING, YOU DEMON WILL NOT SEE TOMORROW. PREPARE TO FACE THE MIGHT OF THE VILLAGERS. EVERYONE; CHARGE.
Sire: Ah, dammit! Raise the bridge!
***The bridge slowly rises up from the surrounding river. The few villagers that couldn't go back quickly enough fall into the deadly water and drop all of their items on impact.***
Hero: COWARD! YOU WILL PAY FOR THAT!
Sire: Did you not hear me? I don't want to fight. Go away! Shoo!
Hero: BARD! COME HERE!
Sire: Pft- a.. ppft-- a bard? Yeah, aaaaa nooo.. he is level 100. Whatever shall I dooo? Do you really think a mere BARD can do anything..?
Metro Barding: ayy ayy ee oo wahh gangan skrrt plapla no cap ugh no cap ahhh ahh cows cows cows cows cows cows owouwuw sksksksk oh no no no no no no ekeke spprps village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang village gang wantsomemoreeea skdajfsdjjsdfksdfsdkfsdjf
Sire: OH MY GOD, IS THAT MUMBLERAP, YOU ARE CRUEL. Please stop this! Please!! Okay, fine.. FINE. You know what, I'll cut you a deal. You have leveled up a lot, so... why don't I.. talk to the man upstairs for you and you can get a New Game+, eh? Do you know what that is?
Hero: Yeah, we could do something like that.. Do we-
Sire: Get new gear? Yes, new gear, XP, you get the sword of the dragon's tooth whatever. Anyway, yeah, I think that's good. So, here you go and have a.. nice trip, please.
***A new game + stone appears in the middle of the angry mob. After touching it, they all disappear in golden ethereal light.***
Sire: Sigh.. finally, that's over with. Now I can finally come back t-
***A woman, dressed in fine silk is seen standing next to the throne, her gaze fixed upon Sire. In her one hand, she holds a full cooked chicken, with a single leg missing, and in the other... a giant jug of milk. However, what seems to be the most menacing is by far above her head, written next to the word "Level". Three infinity symbols, forming a flower shape.***
***The Servant spits out rags from his mouth and looks towards Sire, tears in his eyes..***
Servant: Sire.. I'm.. I'm so sorry. I tried to warn you. I wasn't strong enough.
Sire: It's.. you.
| 2021-07-19T11:56:31 | 2021-07-19T11:45:07 | 30 | 18 |
[WP] When a parent dies, their knowledge and skills immediately pass on to their eldest child. An adoptee is shocked at what they discover when they receive their inheritance without warning.
|
She stayed up most nights waiting, though when he came in the room she'd feign sleep. He turned down the radio when he came in the house and took off his boots on the porch, but the burble of the staticky voices continues through the hiss of the shower. He had to shower when he got home. The stench and filth of the houses he entered disturbed him so. He'd gone from a messy-average college boy to a man with less light in his eyes and a need for cleanliness. That was the most noticeable of immeasurable changes in Michael since his father died and he had his Knowing.
Tonight she'd almost fallen asleep. The front door clicked open. She opened her eyes when she heard a small voice talking to Michael. It sounded like a child...but their daughter was in bed.
She pulled on her robe and crept down the stairs. Her husband sat on the couch in full uniform--something he never did. He hated to bring the filth of the criminal underworld in on his clothes.
Next to him sat a little boy. A toddler. The halo of blonde hair, chubby cheeks. A precious smile.
Her breath caught. A little boy. When her greatest desire was another child. "Michael?"
Her husband looked up. "Honey...I couldn't leave him there."
Eventually the whole story came out. She'd always known her husband resented the Knowing--that his innate passion for art was squashed at an early age by the memories of his father, the decorated hero of the Homicide unit. He felt obligated to become a cop as well, arguing the knowledge would go to waste otherwise. She hadn't argued--but he had changed so after he got the knowledge. He'd always been a dreamer.
"His father is a serial killer. I think we can stop the cycle of violence--nurture everything good in him. And when the knowing comes then he'll have enough good in him to resist it."
"What if it doesn't work?"
"I think it will. I know we can raise him to be a good person. We could save lives if we end this madness..."
She smiled at her husband through tears. At heart he still was a dreamer...and if he hadn't let the world harden him, there might be hope yet for this little boy.
|
Danny breathes heavily by his father’s side trying to hold back tears. His younger brother, Hayden stared fearfully at their father from across the room.
Their mother takes a deep breath and wipes her eyes before saying, “Boys, you shouldn’t watch this. Go grab a snack in the kitchen.”
Both boys look up at their mother surprised and Danny argues, “But mom, this is it. Dad’s dying.”
His mother hugs him tightly and his weak father smiles and utters, “I love you.”
Danny sobs and his mother leads both boys out of the room and shuts the door. Danny walks to the kitchen despondently and Hayden follows silently. Danny grabs a glass of juice and glares at Hayden from across the table.
Danny slams his fist on the table and says, “It’s your fault that we got kicked out of dad’s room! If you weren’t hiding in the corner, we’d still be upstairs!”
Hayden frowns and shouts “Shut up Danny! It wasn’t my fault.”
Danny rolls his eyes and laughs; there was never a time when Hayden wasn’t the center of attention. Although they were brothers, they were natural enemies. Danny couldn’t remember a single day of his life when he and Hayden didn’t argue or yell at each other. Their parents used to plead with them to get along but the arguments never ceased. Danny thinks back on all the time his father spent with Hayden with resent. Hayden was a worthless and lost cause and now he had stolen the most precious thing in the world; time with their father.
Danny looks at Hayden’s young and innocent face with contempt. Danny looks at the clock; it was going to happen any minute now. His father’s knowledge would be transferred and Danny would finally be wise. His heart beats a little easier knowing that a piece of his father will live on in his mind. All of the incredible advice and lessons his father possessed and had taught him over the years would be at his disposal. He thinks of last summer when he and his father were walking through his aunt’s apple orchard and he tried to bring up the subject of the transfer to his dad.
His father looked at him with troubled eyes and told him, “All the wisdom and knowledge that you need, you already have. It just needs to be unlocked in time.”
Danny smiled at the time knowing his dad was never wrong but also knowing that his dad loved to dote and build his boys up. He never lost faith or confidence, not even in Hayden. Danny thinks back to the time after Hayden ran away when his parents stayed up all night in case he came home. When Hayden came home, he wasn’t even scolded. His father embraced Hayden into his arms and said, “I love you.” Danny yearned to have that degree of patience and kindness in his heart.
Danny looks across the table at Hayden who is beginning to shake uncontrollably. He figures it’s just a weird type of mourning until Hayden vomits. Danny runs to Hayden’s side and offers him a sip of juice to which Hayden is too sick to respond.
Danny pats Hayden’s back and says, “Hey are you okay? Hayden!”
Hayden vomits again and then buries his face in his hands. Danny calls for his mother frantically, “Mom! Hayden’s having a seizure!” He looks into his younger brother’s terrified eyes. After a minute, the shaking stops and he begins to breathe slowly. Danny continues to look from the stairs to Hayden wishing his mom would come down to help.
Hayden begins to sob and says, “Dad’s dead.”
Danny nods at his brother worriedly; how did he know that? Was it just hitting him?
“It’s okay Hayden. I didn’t get the transfer yet,” Danny says trying to smile and calm Hayden.
Hayden shakes his head and coughs, “No Danny, I got it.”
Danny looks at his younger brother who just minutes ago he desperately wished would have been the one dying. Seeing his brother now so broken and so scared filled Danny with an overwhelming sense of guilt and fear.
Danny chuckles, “How would you get the transfer? I’m the oldest kid Hay.”
Hayden hugs his brother and says, “No Danny. You’re adopted, I can see it. I’m so sorry”
Danny pulls back from his brother confused; how was that possible? Why wouldn’t anyone tell him? He looks at Hayden’s eyes which were identical to his fathers.
“It’s okay, just try to breathe,” Danny advises softly.
Hayden shakes his head profusely, “No, Dad didn’t tell you because he didn’t want you to leave. Please don’t leave,” he begs.
Danny hugs his brother tightly and says, “I’m not going to leave Hayden. It’s going to be okay. I’m going to protect you from now on, okay?”
Hayden nods feeling completely powerless. He had made so many mistakes and caused his dad so much pain. His heart aches wishing he could make it better somehow and then he remembers a lecture his dad gave him months ago.
He had been arguing with Hayden all day and his parents were exhausted from it. His father had taken him out for a walk to calm him down.
His dad looked at him with kind eyes and said, “You can’t hate Danny; Danny is your brother. Brothers stick together.”
Hayden was astounded how serious his father was and yet he never once raised his voice.
His dad’s message echoes through his head and Hayden makes a promise. He was going to be a better brother from now on; he wasn’t going to let his dad down.
| 2014-08-01T10:39:23 | 2014-08-01T10:19:28 | 16 | 12 |
[WP] God forgot about Earth soon after Adam and Eve, fully expecting them to die. One of the Angels just informed him they survived, and the population is over 7 billion.
|
"What do you mean it's unavailable for colonization?"
"Well, that's just it -- it appears it's already been colonized."
"By who?!"
"Us."
"What do you mean US?"
"Ok. You remember Adam and Eve?"
"The criminals? We exiled them on a prison planet didn't we?"
"Actually, he was the criminal, she went with him because--"
"Oh yeah yeah. I remember now. All that drama where she said she'd eat the apple too and die with him because love is the greatest--"
"The point is--"
"You always liked her. Still broken up about it aren't you?"
"They survived."
"The poison didn't work? They're still there? WOW. What does isolation like that DO to somebody? Are they--"
"LISTEN. The poison worked. They died, but they had kids. And the kids had kids. And all of them kept dying in under a century. The alteration passed through to all of them."
"So what are you saying? We have a group of feral, DNA-damaged children out there that we're going to need to reprocess through therapy before we can --"
"There are 7 billion of them."
"SHE HAD SEVEN BILLION CHILDREN?!"
"Did you hear me? Their lifespan was cut down less than a century. Each generation had more kids. It's been thousands of years, God. The multiples--"
"ADAM! That guy. Such an asshole. Never one for family planning, always with the enabling women. Who has kids on a prison planet with a DNA-destructor--"
"Listen. The descendants... they talk about you. They say they are the children of God. That their lives are all crap because Eve tricked Adam into eating an apple way back when, and if they all are very good, and they believe in your son Jesus, they'll be forgiven and--"
"STOP. Stop stop stop. This is a nightmare. So social services has already been down there?"
"Just Jesus. He's always been on your side, he was trying to clean the mess up before it got even more out of hand--"
"Grade 10 psychological intervention--"
"Yeah, they straight up tried to murder him."
"Crap."
"He didn't know what to do. It's not like we can get our hands on something to gas them all. And there's too many to re-process."
"Does anyone else know?"
"Just us and Jesus. But it's in the next round of selections for colonization, and when the scout ships get there--"
"Crap."
"I'm sure they'll understand--"
"No, no they won't. They understaff the justice department, don't give us enough patrols to check up on these places, and when something like this happens, what are they going to do? Point the finger, shuck us all off to other prison planets. And then--"
"So what do we do?"
"What do you think? We get the red tape on our side. Push it out of the selections entirely."
"But what about all those kids?"
"I don't know. They'll have to figure it out on their own. Dammit, Adam. What an ass."
|
The Father stood proudly next to his Son, admiring all of the work that brought him to where he found himself today - at the edge of the Reflection in the Great Hall of Growing.
"As all have before you, so shall you Grow into your own" the Father spoke, his voice carrying effortlessly over the rows of Helpers attending in the honour of the Son. Tears streamed from the glowing faces of many as they watched the entity they knew as God smile up at the Father who returned his warm gaze in adoration. The Son turned to his Helpers and raised his arms in gratitude.
"Were it not for your guidance and love, I would not be here today. To my Angels, I thank thee!"
Thunderous applause and cheering boomed against the bright marble curves of the hall, the joy filling every available space. The waters of the Reflection began to stir as the excitement drew silent. The Father placed a comforting hand on his Son's shoulder as they both peered into the emerging ripples of the pool.
One by one, the Son's accomplishments took shape in the centre of a ripple; world after world created in an infinite universe, each one a perfect picture of his work. One image a beautiful and untouched natural landscape built from his first feelings of love, another a sharp and aesthetically perfect dimension that housed all of his thoughts on his existence and purpose.
The Son watched closely as the Father walked the perimeter of the Reflection, stopping to take in various points of interest to himself or to reflect on his own journey to his Growth. He felt proud and confident that he would soon be a Father, guiding his own children as he had been up to this point. His thoughts on how he would shape their journeys was quietly but quickly pulled out of focus.
"God, please forgive me."
A Helper stood meekly behind the Son with his head bowed, though the tears he bore twinkled fleetingly as they fell. He was an Angel, in fact *the* Angel, first assigned to the Son on his First Day. Morningstar, he called him, as his arrival heralded the beginning of the Son's journey. Aged yet beautiful, the Son looked upon him curiously.
"Come, today is not for sorrows and apologies." The Son took his hand and led him from the Reflection. "What could be troubling you on this day of all days?"
"There is something wrong.." the old Angel replied ".. with one of your creations." The Son strained to think what he could mean; each world and universe is what the Father showed him he could create, as is expected of one not yet Grown.
"What could you have found, dear Morningstar?" He asked.
"Earth, my friend. It lives."
Across the Hall the Father continued assessing the exploits shown in brief images on the surface of the Reflection. Each new vision showed how adeptly his Son had grasped the concept of creation, in developing worlds that could be fit for life. As old world views were swept away for images of the new, he nodded approvingly.
The Son's eyes widened and quickly shot across the Reflection, to the Father before falling back upon the old Angel.
"What of it?! It must surely be but dust by now!" His hushed voice betraying a panic that was so unlike him. The Son's memories flashed back to the world, created in a flash of seven days, a brash but secret decision that seemed so devious yet unimportant at the time. "Tell me, Morningstar! What has become of the two abominations?"
Somewhere in his Dawn had the Son decided to err. Life was an ultimate goal for him and his kind, but something taken so seriously that to create it was something only the Grown began. There were so many intricacies about it that the journey itself focused on the creation of environment and habitat; the essential building blocks for supporting life. Yet he, the Son, would not wait to create life when he felt ready to do so before his Growth. He would call himself God and start with two; Adam and Eve.
"They lived." The Angel spoke in hurried and hushed tones. "They survived and then multiplied." The Son stood in equal parts shock and horror. How? How could they have? The Earth was an early endeavour, an experiment of land and sea that had gone so well it was too complex and unusable in his Growth journey. "They used the resources of that world you created to thrive in such a short amount of time that we never saw it happen."
"How many are they now?" The Son asked, keeping a careful watch on the Father still pacing the circle of the Reflection.
"They quite surprisingly achieved the unthinkable in the blink of an eye." The old Angel stalled for time.
"*How many?!*"
"7 billion and growing." The Morningstar shuffled his feet and kept his gaze on the floor. The Son's breathing froze as he searched for an explanation.
The Earth, beautiful and majestic, was a work of art. Something no Helper had ever seen made by one so young... and yet his forbidden foray into making life had gone so terribly wrong. Where he, God, had given them paradise, they had chosen to disobey. Adam and Eve ate of the Apple, a symbol of the Son's authority, and he had cast them to the Wastes. They should not have survived, he thought. They could not have...
The Son's own thoughts were shattered by a booming rage that broke the calm of the Great Hall. His eyes flashed back to the Father - his bright white aura replaced by a terrible black and fire storm, gold tendrils whipping like snakes at the edges of his shape. Helpers flew from the balconies above, scrambling to escape. The Son himself watched with envy, for he knew escape for him was impossible. The Father drew nearer and nearer, each step now a ground shaking tremor.
The Son felt a hand inside his; old and frail but comforting all the same. He looked beside him as the Morningstar held his gaze on the approaching Father whose anger was as clear as the densely populated Earth vision floating upon the Reflection.
"I am sorry, my God." the Angel said again.
"Nonsense, old friend." the Son replied, his chest swelling with love for the old Helper who remained at his side despite the coming storm of the Father that would near destroy them both.
"No," Morningstar continued "I could not stop you from creating the lives of Adam and Eve.. But it was I who convinced them to eat of the tree."
The Angel looked up again at the Son with regret and sorrow in his eyes.
"Then we both believed that the death of these humans would absolve us of our sins against the Father." the Son replied. "Perhaps we are both worthy of the Giver Of Death title."
| 2016-03-07T07:37:11 | 2016-03-07T07:19:57 | 24 | 11 |
[WP] Legends tell of the Elder race who utilized strange "technologies" instead of magic. As hordes of brutal killers invade from the north, a young elf heads off to search for ancient ruins, looking for humans...
|
"Who goes there?"
"Dahalva, of the Ederwood."
"An Elfling, that speaks in human tongues?"
"An Elfling, that speaks in human ... tongues."
"Come forth."
"You are ..."
"A human. Yes, I know, a miracle I am sure."
"I was told you were all ... long gone."
"If by long gone you mean nearly exterminated by you and your equally disagreeable kin, then yes, we are indeed long gone."
"I came because ..."
"Because you need assistance so that you and your kind are not also snuffed out of existence, correct?"
"Essentially, yes ..."
"Why on Earth would I want to do that?"
"Well, I hoped to appeal to your sense of compassion, however, I see now that this may be problematic."
"I am in half a mind to shoot you Elf."
"That may be true. However, if you were to do that, then we would not be able to make a deal."
"Then make a deal we shall. What have you got?"
"Well ... I looked through my Father's stash and I found this ..."
Rummaging through is satchel, Dahalva yanked out a glass bottle and presented it to the human.
"I believe you call this ... w-i-n-e? Perhaps you will accept this as an offering, we have many more back at the vill-"
"Done."
"What?"
"We have a deal."
"Oh, uh." The Elf had heard that humans had simple tastes, yet he did not expect this. "You are tricking me?"
"No, no no no. I'm just something of an ... enjoyer of beverages. Now come with me."
Handing the human the bottle, Dahalva followed his new ally into a shelter.
"Now THIS, is a firearm, a shooter, a gun.
"A g-u-n?"
"Indeed. Observe."
With a deafening roar, the metal mechanism flashed, smoked, and released some sort of projectile into the wall across the room. Dahalva found that his ears were ringing.
"Interesting ... this will help us defeat the invaders?"
"This? This is nothing my friend. Let me show you ... my collection."
Stomping down a staircase into a torchlit room, Dahalva braced himself for the appearance of some sort of war beast.
"Voila!" cried the human, motioning towards the glinting array of devices that filled the entire enclosure.
"That is a lot of goons."
"Guns Elf, guns."
"And what is that, in the middle?"
"That my friend, is a tank."
"A t-a-n-k?"
"Yes."
"Will it ... help?"
"I think help is an understatement."
|
Enrir raced across the snow-covered wilderness, leaping deftly over slick rocks and the small brush that dotted the landscape. His commanding officer had told him that his stride was like that of a gazelle, and as Enrir's legs stretched and propelled him smoothly closer and closer to his target, he was beginning to believe him. But there was no time for pride.
Enrir had been given a mission of upmost importance. The war with the Orcs had reached a standstill, but scouts had reported a new army forming just beyond the northern border. One whose weapons and numbers would easily lay waste to the Elven Federation.
Once a simple territorial dispute, the Elven-Orcish war had escalated past the point of no return. It was now to go until total victory; if necessary, to the extinction of the other race. Until this point, the Elves had kept the Orc armies at bay with their supreme knowledge of magic. Their healing and rejuvenation spells had enabled their warriors to fight for hours or even days. The destruction spells allowed them to rain fire from the sky onto the Orc hordes. But the Orcs had a fortitude unmatched by any other creature in the Sgorvën lands. Their armies were merciless, tearing through Eleven villages like a torrenting river breaking forth from a dam. The Elven magic and soldiers could take out only so much. If the new Orc army was even half the size reported, it could spell the end of the war; and possibly, the end of the Elves.
The Elves knew that it was not in their power to vanquish the Orcs. Therefore, a new power would need to be acquired, one wielded by the Ancient Humans. The humans were revered in Elven Lore and often given the credit for the magic that they so proficiently wielded. Legends told of a weapon so terrible and so powerful, it could wipe out entire nations within minutes. The High Elven Council had deemed it necessary to find this weapon. However, intelligence suggested that the only information remaining regarding this weapon lay within a great white building in the ruins of the great human city: Washington, D.C., which lay right on the northern border.
Enrir was a new scout to the Elven Legions. However, he had quickly proven his adept ability by running reconnaissance. Why, in one mission he had outrun an entire Orc platoon without the use of magic! As such, the mission was given to Enrir. He insisted to go by himself, since one Elf would look much less suspicious to the Orc Empire. And if it came down to it, Enrir had no qualms about taking out a few Orcs.
After weeks of travel, Enrir had finally reached the outskirts of D.C. The great *skyscrapers* towered above Enrir as he ran through the *asphalt* streets, now pocked with holes and brush and covered with snow. As he came into the remains of a stone courtyard, he skidded to a halt and tilted his curved ears to the wind. He had heard movement, carried to him by the wind. He pulled his enchanted robes tighter around his waist, and began to move his fingers back and forth, forming an ice spike. He readied himself to throw it, sprinting around the corner of a crumbling building. As he sprang around the building, his eyes met those of a mother deer with two fawns. He lowered his hands, dispelling the ice spike.
"Nerves," Enrir said, cursing. His eyes drifted past the deer, and met great white pillars beyond a rusting black gate. He had found it.
Enrir quickly vaulted the fence, almost catching his robes on the protrusions in his excitement. The doors, which Enrir had been told had once had ushered in some of the greatest Humans of the Technology Age, now leaned against the doorframe, faded and splintering. Enrir slowed his pace, venturing quietly into the building. He looked around. The ceiling now had holes from which dried ivy now hung. Enrir recognized some frames that used to house paintings, but now lay broken on the floor.
He ventured further into the building. He explored several of the smaller rooms. *Desks*, from which Human *politicians* did their work, were now covered in layers of ancient dust. Rusting *file cabinets* were toppled over, their papers spilling out onto the ground. Enrir entered a large, oval-shaped room. He recognized it as the *Oval Office*, which had housed the great leader of the "United States." As Enrir surveyed the chipping walls and peeling carpet, his sharp eyes caught a panel on the wall that seemed to be lifting itself out. He went over to it, touching it slightly. He jumped as the panel fell to the floor, seemingly of its own accord. Beyond the panel was a *concrete* staircase, which descended deeper and deeper down. Enrir started down it, making sure to quiet his steps in case it was an Orc trap.
As he reached the bottom, a large iron door met him. In its center was what looked like a wheel. Enrir took hold of it and twisted it this way and that, until it finally started to turn. Enrir spun the wheel, and the door swung open. Enrir stepped into a smaller room. Its walls were completely made of a metallic substance. As Enrir reached out to brush the wall, a cracking voice spoke, "Have you come to kill me?"
Enrir jumped several feet off of the ground. He searched for the voice's source, and found a black chair facing a corner in the room. It slowly spun around, revealing a wisp of a man. His figure was naught but sticks, a white beard trailed to the ground, and the hair on top of his head was completely gone. However, the rusting pin on the man's fading white button-up shirt told Enrir all he needed to know. This man was, or had been, the president of the United States.
---
If you liked this, check out /r/Alias_Fakename
God bless!
| 2017-01-06T19:17:30 | 2017-01-06T16:47:24 | 196 | 35 |
[WP] A senile, old superhero still goes out to fight crime. None of the younger heros respect him anymore but all the villains have a soft spot for him.
Maybe he's found himself in the middle of a hero/villain war, or he's just trying to stop a bank robbery.
Edit: wow this uhh... kinda blew up didn't it?
Oh man I'm so sad I've got work today and can't just spend the whole day reading each and every story, they've *made* my breaks though!
|
Leaping forward, Flux landed a disastrous and gravity assisted punch to the half demon Mephisto. The hybrid was always first to attack and the first to fall. Flux used his gravity bending powers to pull himself in an arc around the fallen villain. His curve was expertly timed and brought him face to face with the remaining thieving scum.
“Too late Flux!” Arch Bishop bellowed. “The Radium is well on its way to our lair!”
“Yeah, that’s why I’m going to make this quick.” Flux smirked knowingly.
He pulled Mind Trap towards him. Her powers were too dangerous to delay. He simultaneously brought a nearby dumpster with his power and carefully squeezed it around her. The metal muting her mind powers and encasing her for the ULH’s task forces.
“Two down, Bishop, I hope you brought more friends. I’m not even warmed up yet!” Flux boasted.
Arch Bishop was on him quicker than he expected. He must really need this radium for some dastardly purpose. Flux weighted his arms with his control of gravity. Blocking Arch Bishops staff swings with his newly strengthened arms. Arch Bishop was not one to attack wildly. Flux knew he could use this to his advantage. He’d let him tire himself before making one crushing assault to end the fight.
Flux saw his moment. Arch Bishop’s staff swung wide as his arms began to weaken.
“Arms getting heavy, Bishop?” Flux knew he had won. “It seems like you’ve… gained some weight!”
Flux brought his power fully to bear. He was pulling his mental focus entirely onto Arch Bishop’s form. Strength coursed through Arch Bishop like Flux had never seen. He was a mastermind not a brawler. How could he resist such weight for so long? Sweat formed on Flux’s brow as he exerted every resource he had.
Arch Bishop buckled and fell; His knees leaving cracks in the pavement as he fell. Removing some of his own gravity Flux sprang forwards.
“BLACK HOLE PUNCH!” He Announced in victory before increasing the weight and density of his right arm.
Arch Bishop never had a chance. Now he had to find that truck full of radium. Leaping over the skyline he began his search. A scream from the fallen Mephisto followed his bound.
“WE’LL GET YOU NEXT TIME FLUX!”
--------------------------
“Is it done?” an old haggard voice asked.
Removing her withered hand from his head; a fragile, and now aged, Mind Trap looked tearfully at an elderly Mephisto.
“The dementia…” She choked on a sob. “It’s making it harder…”
“I know Mind Trap.” Mephisto reached for her shoulder and gave it a reassuring squeeze. “No one should live like that. At least we can give him these moments.”
Mephisto placed his hand on the chest of his once greatest rival.
“We’ll get you next time…. Friend.”
|
As Anton's whip tightened around Tony's neck, all the while sending huge volts of electricity through Tony's armor, he saw a familiar figure walk towards him.
"Ms. Carter, please step away!!!".
Peggy stopped for a second, and then continued walking towards Anton.
"Stop! You know his father stole my dad's inventions. He will pay for his father's sins."
Peggy stood face to face with Anton. Well, technically, her chest was facing his stomach. She didn't hate her old age, but was definitely not too happy about how much effort it took for her to stand up straight. She took a deep breath and straightened her back. Now they were chest to face. Peggy summoned some more strength and lifted her neck and looked into Anton's eyes.
"Now, Anton, do not pretend that your father was righteous and innocent. I think we both know the things he did."
His eyes dropped, he looked sideways, unable to make eye contact, "He was no angel, but his father," looking at Tony writhing at the other end of his whip, "reaped the benefits of my father's hard work, and build such a huge business empire. His father," he lowered his voice as he increased the voltage that hit the armor, "sent my father back to Russia, where he spent the rest of his life in a Gulag."
"Anton, is that what your father told you?"
Anton's eyes met hers, searching for answers. She continued...
"I was in SHIELD. You want to know what happened? Your father was kidnapped by HYDRA, and then some of the major publications released news stories of him being deported."
"He was a brilliant scientist. You think that if he had been deported, he would've been kept in a Gulag?" She laughed a little. "You think Russians would waste a great mind such as your father's in a Gulag". She said Gulag in a typical Russian accent and really elongated the aa sound to make her point.
"What do you think the SHIELD did with Arnim Zola? Do you think we threw him in a prison? No, we put him to work, and he worked for us until the day he died."
"He was old, senile, and brainwashed, by the time they let him go, probably he was of no use to them anymore."
"Come on Anton, Tony's not your enemy. Let him go, and hold me hostage so that he doesn't hurt you."
"I am not taking you hostage, Peggy."
"But you're letting him go."
"I am not sure"
"Yes you are"
"Peggy, how do I know you're telling me the truth?"
"Anton, I might be lying to you, but you agree that there is room for doubt in your theory. Right? Then I will go and talk to Tony"
"It's going to take you the whole year to reach him, by then his backup will be here."
"You really want to insult me right now?"
"Teasing, Ms. Carter, teasing, not insulting... I am sorry..."
Peggy turned around and thought to herself. Well it's going to be a long walk.
As she neared Tony, she was grateful that this time she won't have to straighten up, the man was already on his knees.
"How you doing Tony?"
"Listen Peggy, I don't need your help, my armor is protecting me like a faraday cage, thanks to the failsafes I created to save myself from lightning strikes."
"Tony, who is the man you are fighting?"
"Peggy, please don't think of this as a teachable moment, I am working over here. I really don't need any 'know your enemy' lessons right now"
"What happened Tony, systems are offline, can't run a facial recognition?"
"His whip's fried all armor connectivity below my helmet, my network sensors are on my back, and they are offline."
"So you can't even call for backup?"
Tony's voice was very low, as he very sheepishly said, "No"
"And... you don't need my help? Okay, why am I not dead right now?"
"Peggy, stop asking me questions, I am busy", Tony said, annoyed, when it suddenly dawned on him, "Why aren't you dead, Peggy? Because you know him!!!?? How? Why is someone you know attacking me? What's going on Peggy?"
"Because his father was a friend..." she paused, waiting for his helmet to turn towards her " of your father and me"
"Then why the hell is he attacking me, how the hell does he have my ARC reactor? Oh because his father invented it. He is Vanko's son."
"Finally, you learnt something, do you promise not to attack him?"
"He killed so many people here today, how can I let him go?"
"I am trying to save your behind, young man!!! At least have some common sense."
"Peggy, I can't let him go..."
"Tony, as things stand, I really don't think you're in a position of holding him. I am going to go and make him go away. Catch him next time... Although I'll recommend that you try helping him."
"Why will I help him?"
Peggy just shrugged, and went back to Anton, "what do you want to do?"
"I don't know, I killed so many people here today"
"Anton, that's what you did, what do you want to do now?"
"Peggy, they will arrest me..."
"Yes Anton, but they will not deport you, you built an ARC reactor yourself, in a garage in Russia. What do you think will happen next? You will go to prison, but you will work on stuff you always dreamed of."
"What about him?"
"His suit is offline from the neck down"
Anton turned off his whip, and Tony collapsed to the ground. Cops surrounded him, "Stupid old bitch, always thinks she can talk these guys out of things and get them to surrender." said one
Antone turned on his whips again, and took the cop by the scruff and said, "Did you just call Ms. Carter a bad word? You're lucky I don't feel like killing more people today, better apologise to her afterwards."
| 2017-04-13T06:51:49 | 2017-04-13T05:10:16 | 18 | 10 |
[WP] We finally get men to Mars and discover an old Soviet flag there. The Soviets won the space race but for whatever horrifying reason didn’t say anything.
|
“What happened to Bill and Janet?” Gabe asked as he bent over to catch his breath. The suit felt stiff and tight. His skin was hot with sweat making the experience even worse. Through his fogged visor he saw that Yumi and Jake looked equally miserable.
“They were there a second ago…” Yumi looked behind them. Gabe followed her gaze. Nothing but endless red dirt.
“Bill? Janet?” Jake shouted as he pressed the comms button on his shoulder. “Bill? Janet? Can you hear me?”
Gabe turned around. They’d been running for what seemed like hours. They’d gotten lost in a sandstorm during an expedition. Their rover malfunctioned and had to hoof it the last couple of miles. That’s when they heard it. A rumble as if the sky above them were tearing in two.
Jake and Yumi had broken into a run first. Gabe chased in pursuit, trying to get them to calm down so they could come up with a plan. Then they'd stopped. Bill or Janet were no longer with them.
Off in the distance Gabe saw something shimmer.
“What do we do now?” Jake asked as he slumped down on the ground.
“We shouldn’t have run,” Yumi said. “It’s because of us they’re lost.”
“Maybe so, maybe not.” Gabe tapped her on the shoulder and yanked Jake up to his feet. “There’s something in the distance. Right there, see it?” Gabe pointed to the shimmer of light he'd seen. “That’s where we’re heading. Let’s go!”
He wasn’t interested in their commiseration. They could blame themselves for Bill and Janet later. As their leader, he knew where the real responsibility lay. Him. Those two souls rested on his shoulders. So did Yumi and Jake. Right now he needed to get them safe.
“What is that?” Jake asked after they’d jogged closer.
“It looks like a hab,” Yumi said. “A really old one.”
“Is that a Soviet Fl—”
Jake’s voice was lost as he his body tore apart. Gabe and Yumi watched in horror as the atoms of his body seemed to evaporate into a mist. The swirl of color that used to be their chief engineer lifted up into the air and disappeared.
“Run!” Gabe grabbed Yumi by the wrist and yanked. Together they raced toward the Soviet hab.
Again, Gabe heard that rumble. This time it was followed by a sound like a great gust of air pushing and then pulling against itself. Then another rumble.
Their bodies slammed into the hard metal of the hab. The sound they made reminded Gabe of an empty corn silo being struck.
“Find the door!” His hands rubbed over smooth metal and the occasional bump of a rivet as his eyes scanned for an opening.
“Found it!” Yumi shouted.
The entrance was several feet off the ground, but the door handle was chest level. Gabe opened it, hearing the old metal groan. Gabe flung Yumi inside, lunged in after, and then slammed the door with a bang that rocked the building side to side.
“What happened to Jake?” Yumi asked as she sat up on the floor. “His body just…” She shook her head. “Is that what happened to Bill and Janet? Did they...?”
Gabe half-listened. He was interested in what he could find in the hab. There must be some way to get them back to their base. Back to the ship. They had a return ticket home, they just had to *get* to it.
On a desk he found a journal. Most of it was written in Russian, but the last entry was in both Russian and English. The same thing written over and over.
“What?” Yumi asked as she stood up. “What is it?”
Gabe lowered the journal. His stomach felt like it had just gone in free fall. He looked at her, and then at the door.
“Gabe?” Yumi’s voice went up an octave. “What does it say?”
“In Soviet Mars, air breathes *you*.”
 
----------
 
At /r/StevenLee, stories read *you*... well, maybe not, but they're better than a poke in the eye. Some of them at least.
|
My claim to fame -- if I get out of here -- will be that I tripped over the dead body of a Soviet astronaut (cosmonaut?) -- on the frikkin' moon. Now, that might not sound like a big deal, seeing as how slow you fall down here, and how well protected I am inside my suit (it's pretty cushy), but it's kind of a unique situation because a) Hello? I'm on the frikkin' moon; b) there shouldn't be any dead bodies up here at all; c) there sure as hell shouldn't be a *cosmonaut's* dead body up here.
As I was falling over, I glanced down and swear I saw a zombie reaching an arm out of the moon, trying to drag me down with it, to back below the crusty surface. You'd think that too, by the way, if you'd been here. Maybe. Guess it depends on what kind of movies you were into growing up. You see, this astronaut, he was mostly covered in moon-dust (it's really just dust, but moon dust sounds magical, don't you think?), and only the left arm of his hulky space suit stuck out from the ground, the hammer and sickle a red smudge on the grey plastic. The arm didn't budge an inch as my foot hit it -- it was rigor mortis stiff. I landed with... well not a thud exactly, but you know that sound you head makes when it hits the pillow? I landed like that. Was a big plume of dust though.
A cosmonaut. Here? That... wasn't right.
Static souped up my helmet until a voice cut through it. The captain's. "Becca, you still there? Your heart-beat's way too high. Whatever you're doing, slow down."
"Hey, Cooper," I replied. "Quick question: you know when the uh... You remember when the Soviets landed on the moon? Like, what year was that again?" I got up and placed my hand into the dead man's. His palm was open, as if he was looking for someone to help him up.
"What? Soviets? You okay there Becca? Getting enough oxygen?"
"Right," I replied, pulling at the hand. "They never did land here, did they? That's what I thought."
The man's arm budged. Dust cascaded off the freed up suit-shoulder. Then I leaned back for better purchase, and yanked hard, ready to uncover his torso and helmet.
I stumbled back then fell again slowly, screaming this time, as the arm and shoulder came with me. And *only* the arm and shoulder. Never has someone fallen back in shock quite so slowly. It gave me plenty of time to regret everything. Being born. Signing up just to prove dad wrong. Not backing out just to prove *me* wrong. Pulling at the arm before waiting for anyone else to come... Yeah, that one was way high up the list.
My vision was getting darker yet I was seeing more stars than I should have been.
"Becca?! What is it? Hold on, I'm sending Michael to your coordinates."
***
The arm and shoulder lay on a table, still inside its suit, in the HAB's kitchen-turned-science-lab. Not my choice of living arrangement! Bad feng shui, I suspected -- but more to the point, I didn't want corpses (and all the disgusting stuff that comes out of them), anywhere near my Nutter butters. But there were only three rooms in the HAB, and needs dictated musts. Just to be safe, I'd eaten all the Nutter butters before we'd even finished setting the HAB fully up.
Michael, who had for a good half-hour of Moon time (exactly the same as Earth time, but you know... *Magical*) been leering over the body with this tool and that tool, finally pulled away and looked at Cooper and me. "It was hacked off."
"Is it even real?" Cooper asked. "I mean, the Soviets can't have been here -- we'd have known."
"Oh, it's real. And this design -- this suit -- it would have gone out of commission in the early sixties."
"Uh, that's a problem," I said. "Because, you know, the moon landing wasn't even until the end of the sixties. As in *the* moon landing."
"What have you heard back from control?" Michael asked Cooper.
"Nothing yet. I let them know what we'd found, they said roger that, and they'll get back to me in a few."
"When was that?" Michael asked..
Cooper glanced at the green neon clock behind him. "About an hour ago. Maybe I'll give them another buzz. I'll be back in a minute."
I watched Cooper leave the room and began to puzzle this thing out in my head. Could an astronaut have fallen out of a space shuttle near earth... then floated here over the years, then gotten de-limbed and buried?
Probably not, I decided. Well, I was only here to grow plants after all, not to solve mysteries. Maybe there was a simple solution. Maybe the Soviets did just beat us here. And if so... "Hey, Mike."
Michael spared a look away from the lonely arm. "Hmm?"
"Hacked off, did you say?"
"Hacked. Yeah." He beckoned for me to come near to the body. I just took one step. "See the laceration across the suit? Up here by the shoulder." I didn't. All I could focus on was the white bit sticking out the top -- a skeleton with a little bit of leathery gray skin still stapled to it. He continued regardless. "They're uneven lacerations. Crude. And the tiny cuts there--"he pointed a finger at the top of the suit--"are very rough. Not a knife, something more makeshift. Like, ripped off metal. Part of a rover, maybe."
"You think someone chopped him up and buried him? Didn't want him coming back home to earth, maybe?"
"We can only speculate on the why. But yes, to answer your other question. Someone 'chopped' him up. I think that much is clear."
The word mutiny started running around my head. They'd gotten here, landed, gone for a walk... Then *something* had happened to them. Their Captain wanted them to stay, maybe. But the crew didn't want to do that and so...
Or maybe I'd just read one too many sea-stories.
At that moment, Cooper came running in. "They're not responding," he said, eyes wide, face pale.
I frowned. "Who aren't responding?"
A pause. Typical of Cooper to make it as dramatic as possible. "Anyone."
A shiver crept down my back even thought the HAB was warm. The pause had worked.
"Maybe the satellite is out," Michael offered.
"You don't get it, Mike. It's not that something's broken. They're choosing not to respond."
For a few moments, as we stood dead still, the HAB was eerily silent. Any thoughts of the mutiny were fast fading from my mind. Any thoughts of the Soviet astronaut, for that matter.
And instead, a new question forced its way in.
Had we found something that NASA -- America -- really didn't want found? Didn't even want *known*?
Something so... game changing, that they'd leave us here to die.
I was already wishing I hadn't eaten all the Nutter butters.
| 2019-08-07T07:42:42 | 2019-08-07T07:28:53 | 639 | 240 |
[WP] A man accosts you in the street, and he claims he is you from the future. “Whatever you do, DO NOT fall in love with that girl!” the man warns. Distracted by the crazy man, you turn the corner and bump into someone. Its the most beautiful girl you have ever seen. Your eyes meet and she smiles.
Credit to this post: https://www.reddit.com/r/greentext/comments/eyaquy/anon_spites_himself/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=ios_app&utm_name=iossmf
|
"Whatever you do, don't fall in love with that girl."
It's been thirty years since that homeless man assaulted me on the street. Thirty years since I'd seen the most beautiful girl in the world. Thirty years wondering if I made the right choice in ignoring her questions about where bridge street was. She died today. Turns out she was a bit of a celebrity, and like most celebrities she had her fair share of demons.
The media blames her death on loneliness. They've been playing this interview over and over again where she talks about the idea of a soulmate and how romantic she thinks it is. Apparently her fiance at the time believed in soulmates too. He got married last week. She wasn't invited.
"Don't fall in love with that girl!"
Why did that warning scare me so much? I like to pretend that what really scared me was the old man. The way he reeked of booze, his bloodshot eyes, how he struggled to stay on his feet as if the weight of the world sought to crush him. But I know deep down that isn't true. What really scared me was that one word he said. The one that can change your life forever. Fill the unending void with something else, something *more*.
I've been watching that interview a lot more recently. The one about soulmates. More precisely I've been watching her. Everything she does feels so familiar to me. The way her smile and laugh follow jokes a bit later than everyone else. How stiff she seems when sitting up straight. How she always seems to talk about someone else, even when the question is all about her.
"Don't fall in love."
I don't think I'm scared of that word anymore. No, what scares me is how empty my apartment feels when I come home. How my friend's kids are graduating and getting married. How I found a grey hair in my beard last night and no one cared.
I find myself wondering more and more what made that old man grab on to me so desperately, as if he were clinging to life. What had he seen that scared him so much? Was it drugs? A paranoid delusion? Or perhaps was it the future? I'm not entirely convinced it matters anymore.
"Don't."
It's been thirty years since that old man warned me about falling in love. Thirty years since I'd run away from change. Thirty years wondering if I was wrong. It's impossible to go back now, to try again and hope for the best. All I can do now is wonder what would have happened if I did.
|
It was a rather normal day- I was heading to my dead-end marketing job in the middle of the city. I had taken the train already and was just walking the last distance to the large office building that housed thousands of other workers like me. Just as I began to space out, I felt a hand grab my shoulder and drag me into an alleyway.
Just as I was about to gather my wits and cry for help like a normal person, a hand covered my mouth. A man- who, strangely enough, was exactly the height that I was- was looking at me wildly. There was a strange blue dust that covered his face. He wore a long brown coat that seemed to be a material similar to burlap. There was a slight gray to his hair with quite a few creases on his face.
“You aren’t going to believe me,” he whispered harshly, “but I’m you from the future.” That voice… I had heard that voice before. I was taken back to my home office, where I occasionally recorded videos for fun.
*Wait.*
There was a slight rasp to the voice, as if his throat was raw. I looked at his eyes and saw my own. *No. There’s no way. He’s insane, and just happens to be someone that looks like me. I walk this way every day. He probably is just getting a kick out of pulling a prank.*
“Whatever you do,” the man said, his voice shaking, “do *not* fall in love with that girl.” He lowered his face to the ground and shook his head slowly. “I don’t have time to explain. Just go, and be careful. And, whatever you do, *do not fall in love.*”
With that, the man turned and sprinted further into the spaces between the houses. I didn’t even try to stop him. I was so bewildered by the whole situation that my brain was at a loss as to what I should be doing.
My mind was on overdrive. I couldn’t understand anything that just happened, so I went on autopilot. I returned to my daily route to the office, though I wasn’t sure how much I could sell today considering I had lost all of the focus I could have had on marketing.
I turned the last corner on the way to the office blindly, and ran directly into someone. I recoiled and withdrew slightly, my introversion taking over. “I’m so sorry, I-” I looked at the person that I ran into and my tongue twisted itself into a knot. There was a woman who looked to be about my age, a few inches shorter than me with silky blonde hair that flowed perfectly down to her shoulders.. Her blue eyes could paralyze- I might as well have been turned to stone.
*The most beautiful girl I’ve ever met, and I compare her to Medusa. Smooth.*
I don’t know what happened after that. There was a blur of movement, a blur of time, and I ended up with a piece of paper in my hand. It had a phone number, a location, and a time.
I had a coffee date.
I was late to work, but I didn’t care. I floated through the work day. I somehow forgot all about the crazy man from the alley. All I could see was the woman- Julie.
One coffee date turned into two, then three, then a fancy restaurant, a wedding ring, a set date, a house, kids. Years had passed and I was in absolute bliss. It was an endless honeymoon.
I had left the dead-end job and started my own business. It was in software, which was what I had always wanted to do. It paid for a nicer house than I ever thought I would deserve, a fancy lifestyle which I never wanted to give up.
Technology had massively improved up to that point. My company’s stocks were through the roof, and scientists were beginning to toy with the idea of time travel. I walked into the bathroom in my favorite robe- it was almost a suit, but it was a very nice brown material. It had started to fray, though, so it looked a little bit like it was made of a burlap sack. I laughed at what people must think. With that and my favorite pair of pants, which felt more like pajama bottoms than dress pants, I felt like a king. I cleared my throat, which was hurting slightly. *I’ll grab water after I get cleaned up.*
I stepped into the bathroom and looked in the mirror. There was a slight gray to my hair now, with smile lines that framed my entire face. *I’m getting old, and I think I’m okay with it,* I thought with a smile. Just then, the lights dimmed and the room began to shake. There was a loud boom, and things began to collapse around me. I looked at my hands. There was a sky blue powder on them- Julie’s favorite makeup.
I looked in the mirror. I had an instant flashback to the alley.
I sprinted into the bedroom. “Julie?” I shouted. “Kids?”
The woman I loved stood before me, a black folder in her hand. Papers were sticking out of the side of it, and she had an apologetic look on her face. “I had to do it. I’m sorry,” she said.
*No.*
Just then, I felt a tugging at my head, and things began to spin around me. I lost consciousness.
When I woke up, I was in an alleyway, and it was as though nothing had happened. I looked at my arms. The powder was there, and I was still wearing my robe. There was a mob of people walking around to my right.
Then, I knew exactly what I needed to do. I got up and sprinted toward destiny.
===
Thanks for reading! I wrote this in about a half hour, and had a lot of fun with it. Constructive criticism is, of course, appreciated!
| 2020-02-04T08:36:29 | 2020-02-04T08:33:54 | 179 | 37 |
[WP] A an ancient vampire's daughter's field trip to the museum needed an extra chaperone, so he went along with it, despite having lived through most of history and thus finding it extremely boring. That was until they unveiled a... less than savory statue of him.
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Carlos Sandoval aka Curtis Sebring aka Chris Smith aka ad infinitum (His real name was lost to time but he knows it started with a C and S sound) looked at the statue, somewhat aghast. "Hmmph." He snorted.
Jessica Sandoval looked at him, her precocious 7 year old face curious, "That's you, daddy!"
He gestured sharply, "Shush, my darling. Don't tell your mother." He eyed the plaque, grateful that Jessica wasn't very interested in the text, just the statues and paintings.
Khan Crezhna Surkha of the Eastern Ural Steppes was a Mongolian leader known for his brutal, incompetent rule of the region betw-
"Incompetent?" He whispered, incredulously. Then again, louder, "INCOMPETENT?!
"Daddy, people are looking." His daughter tugged his hand. He compliantly let her lead him away from the exhibit and tried to push it from his mind.
Until he saw the painting. "Cusainn Sairairi, useless and culturally inept leader of the Caledone descendants- WHAT THE F- Ahem." His daughter was looking at him again, giggling this time.
"Daddy, you get so mad at these old crummy guys." She cackled, happily.
He looked across to his wife, farther up the hall, "Myrna, dear, would you hold Jessia hand for a moment? I must use the Daddy's potty."
Successful at ditching his daughter for the moment, he stalked into the office at the front of the museum, glaring. "I need to see the manager immediately."
The secretary pointed past him, and a familiar voice rang out, "Charles, it has been a number of years! So glad to see you once more."
Theoderic von Crantford stood before him once more, that insufferable face taunting Carlos. "Cuntford!" Carlos murmured, faux happily.
|
##Museum Halloween Tour
Wesley walks with his daughter, Kaylee, to the museum. Children run around him chased by their parents in costumes. The costumes such as superheroes, wizards, or cartoon characters make him laugh. When he sees a werewolf or better a vampire, he remembers the past when humans were scared of their surroundings.
Only three students are at the museum door along with their parents the other chaperones. They greet him and try to make small talk, but his curt answers ensure the conversation is short. While waiting, he looks at the moon and remembers the past.
"Hey, your daughter is running off," a chaperone tells him. Wesley chases after her.
"Sweetie, why are you leaving the museum?" he asks.
"Something bad is in there. I can feel it," she says. Wesley stops and contemplates. He shakes his head and pushes the thought for later.
"Trust me. There is nothing evil in there. It is all for show," Wesley smiles at her, "If you get too scared, I will be here with you."
"But...but something is making my stomach upset," she says. Wesley focuses on the museum. There are a few divine symbols in the museum, but it is not a major source of energy. Kaylee must be disturbed by the energy anyway. Hopefully, this will pass, and she will be a normal human.
"If your stomach gets too upset, we can leave, but Grace and Olivia are not here yet. I know you wanted to see them," he says.
"Well," Kaylee steps towards him, "I can go. I guess."
Wesley smiles and takes her back to the museum. The rest of the class has arrived. Kaylee runs to Grace and Olivia. The museum guide comes out dressed as a vampire from old and speaks in a faux Eastern European accent. Wesley rolls his eyes. Why does this interpretation of his kind continue?
The guide takes them through the museum and tries to give a child-friendly spooky explanation of history. He normally finds museums dull as they gloss over humanity's fear. Their attempt to reimbue the past with fear is mildly amusing.
He looks at pottery which displays heroes fighting an ancient creature. Humanity didn't fight creatures. They begged to gods or other higher powers to save them. They prayed that the gods would show mercy on them. Humans were cockroaches running to survive.
When they figured out how iron worked, they started to lose their fear. They made cities and machines far greater than magic. They started fighting off monsters with weapons and stopped turning to the gods to solve their problems. The gods in turn abandoned the humans out of boredom.
The monsters terrorized the humans further as they lacked protection. The humans adapted and created more modern machines and weapons. The fantastical creatures cowered from them.
A werewolf runs past Wesley, and he smiles. The few creatures that could blend with humanity stayed to exert their control. The humans advanced further. Now, all of them have either left or fully adapted to modern society.
"And now my children of the night, we come to the newest artifact of the museum," he reveals a tablet, "This was recently discovered in Poland dating back to 1000 BCE. We believe that this demonstrates an early folk vampire. As you can tell, the people are being blessed by the gods to fight a human bad hybrid. Notice the wooden stakes in their hands. Those were probably spears used to hunt."
His daughter runs away. She looks at the tablet in silence. Wesley follows her quietly, and she runs out the door. She sits on the steps staring at the moon.
"You are going to miss the tour," Wesley says.
"I am not like the other kids aren't I?" she asks.
"No one is. Being normal is boring," Wesley says.
"Dad, why did that tablet make feel me bad?" Kaylee asks.
"Well, it was a scary tablet," Wesley says.
"No, it really wasn't. The drawings were too simple to be scary. It made me feel like my heart was on fire," she says.
"One second," Wesley runs back to the tour and asks to leave. When he comes out, Kaylee is staring at the moon. Wesley grabs her hand and takes her to the car.
"We are children of the moon not the night," Wesley says to her while driving.
"Our kind were created as part of a war between the moon goddess and a river god. I didn't partake in the war, but I was converted after," Wesley says.
"By we, do you mean vampires?" Kaylee asks.
"Yes," Wesley says.
"I knew it," Kaylee cheers, "Wait, vampires can have kids?"
"Of course we can have kids. You either become human or half vampire," Wesley says.
"But I have seen you outside in the sun."
"The younger vampires don't have as strong of a connection to the moon as I do," Wesley pulls into the driveway.
"Does mom know?"
"Of course, she was a goth, the modern kind. I met her at a Nine Inch Nails concert," Wesley gets out of the car.
"Who?"
"You will find out when you are older and filled with angst," Wesley opens the door to the house and smiles at Kaylee, "I will answer all of your questions, and we will get through this together."
---
r/AstroRideWrites
| 2021-09-25T16:36:56 | 2021-09-25T15:29:53 | 52 | 30 |
[WP] you have the magical power of psychic delusion, for example: bear traps can’t harm you “obviously it won’t trigger, i’m not a bear”
|
Daisy was an excellent actor.
Daisy followed in the footsteps of many talented actors. She took enormous pride in the Method. Daisy took so much pride that her psychiatrist diagnosed her with Disassociative Identity Disorder.
Once she finished her part as Alice, Daisy took great joy in dispelling that nonsense. Until then, she simply frustrated him by referring to him as the “Mad Hatter” in a British English accent.
It wasn’t too long after she first joined the Theater Club that word of her peculiarities spread. One month, she’d speak and write all of her essays in Victorian English. The next, she spoke passionately about student rights before the student counsel. Her history teacher even gave her some tips, which she gleefully adopted.
Her parents weren’t as on board with things. In particular, when they affected her grades. Oh, they delighted when she brought home straight A’s while playing River Tam in an unauthorized production with her friends. Her quick follow as Harriette in a silly adoption of Dumb and Dumber (high school edition) put her nearly a month behind the rest of the class.
Still, she enjoyed her acting. Her parents let her continue as long as she had acceptable grades come semester’s end.
Her efforts and passion for acting paid off. First, a single scene in a reality TV show turned into a full season. Then, a part as the best friend in a popular teen romance movie series. She switched to home-schooling, in order to have a more flexible schedule, and exciting parts for her to play just kept coming. At the end of her senior year, an acceptance letter from Julliard simply capped things off. Daisy knew she had a bright and successful career ahead of her.
And so things went until the Catalyst occurred during Daisy’s second year. No one truly understands what happened. The running theory is that an asteroid full of exotic elements collided with the Earth and caused a dimensional collapse. Our dimension and several others fused to drastic effect.
An inverted mountain appeared on top of Washington D.C., and didn’t stay inverted.
In rural Texas, a dark forest full of dangerous creatures sprang up in the middle of farmland.
Northern Russia gained a second sun and a year-round growing season along with it.
A new continent the size of Australia, complete with modern civilization, humans, and history, replaced Hawaii.
The changes went beyond a shuffling of landmarks. All around the world, people began discovering that they had fantastical abilities. Not everyone, or even most, turned those abilities to productive use.
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Daisy was in the middle of practicing for her role as some ditzy schoolgirl sent to the time of King Arthur. It was a contrived scene, with her drawing forth a pen in response to an attack by a dark-armored knight.
“Fool! The pen is mightier than the sword!”
When her pen sliced clean through the dastardly knight’s metal sword, everyone’s jaw dropped.
“Jerry, when did you switch the sword for a trick prop?”
Jerry, their props master, had a furrowed brow. “I.. I didn’t. That’s a replica weapon I’m supposed to return this afternoon!”
He scrambled over to where the two pieces of the sword lay on the stage. The edges glowed a deep cherry red, and wisps of smoke curled up from the floor underneath. When he picked up the pieces and touched them together, they didn’t even match up.
“Daisy, can I see that pen?”
She handed it over, then flinched when he grasped her hand. Jerry took the pen from her hand, touching only the parts where she had been holding it. Then he poked the sword blade.
Nothing happened.
He handed it back to her, less carefully this time. “You do it.”
She did and drew a sharp breath when the sword evaporated wherever she touched it with the pen. “The pen really is mightier than the sword!”
Everyone around her groaned.
“What the hell Daisy, can’t you break character for something like this?”
\----------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
Daisy was no longer in school. She knew there were more important things, more impactful ways that she could change the world around her. Her parents had given her a strong moral sense, and Daisy knew she couldn’t stand by while others abused their powers and took advantage of the chaos.
Daisy’s Method, as she still called it, allowed her to do anything the persona she adopted could. Physics and reality had no bearing on those capabilities, and fiction was a goldmine for the sufficiently creative. So long as she could adopt their frame of mind, beliefs, and mannerisms, she could be and do virtually anything.
Where Daisy had once dreamed of playing dramatic roles in front of blank cameras, she knew that actually being them at the right time and place was infinitely more important.
A radio crackled, breaking Daisy out of her thoughts. “Method, you ready? The hostages are free on the 10th floor and need a fast exit!”
Daisy smiled and sang.
“Let it go, let it goooooo. I am one with the wind and skyyyyyy!”
|
The barrel of the gun looked like an endless hallway, no light in that tunnel. Stella stared down it, and the longer she stared the more familiar it became. She’d seen it a hundred nightmares. The barrel was an uncharted future stretching out forever, terrifyingly empty.
And yet the trigger was even more terrifying. The finger that rested upon it. The voice of the man when he said, so calmly, “Open the vault.”
“I can’t,” Stella whispered.
“That’d be really unfortunate,” he said.
The man was tall and thin. He wore a ski mask and a stylish gray suit jacket, his pants had bloodstains on the knee from when he’d broken the manager’s nose. They’d left him behind, moaning on the ground. There had been a gunshot after.
His name was Ted, Stella thought. What had he seen when he looked down the barrel?
“Ma’am, what’s your name?” the man said.
“Stella.”
“Stella, I’m gonna be real plain with you. If you can’t open the vault I’m gonna pull this trigger and then go get someone who can. Today already went south, two bodies are about the same as one.”
Another gunshot. The man grimaced, and for a second Stella had an image of him. A plain man with plain desires; that frown might have been just as home at a birthday party or a football game. It was a frown for incomplete passes and passable gifts. Not murder.
“Damnit,” the man said, “now see, three bodies I just the same as two.”
He patted her hip tenderly and Stella flinched away. She looked down and was surprised his touch hadn’t burned a piece of her dress away.
“And it would be a shame, you being so pretty and all, but we really don’t have the time for this shit.” He gestured with the gun. “Now open it.”
Stella closed her eyes. She’d stood here so many times as Ted opened the vault. In the beginning, she’d fantasized about remembering the combination, coming back one night to steal it all and become a millionaire courtesy of Chase Bank. She’d spend the money on a house somewhere cold. Some place with a tall turret that faced east where she’d finally put her art degree to use, painting every morning at sunrise.
It wasn’t that easy. Stella turned the dial numbly. Nothing happened. She could spin that lock all day.
The man. “What a waste,” he said.
Gunshots tore through the quiet of the hall, echoes filtering back from the building’s entrance. Stella shrieked and then kept shrieking until she opened her eyes and realized she wasn’t dead. She wasn’t staring into the barrel any longer.
“What the hell?” the man muttered.
“Yo Dee!” someone shouted. Gunshots like rain on a tin roof overlaid with screams from the teller-line where the robbers had lined up all her friends and the customers. Stella’s knees shook, she felt very faint.
Another robber appeared at the end of the hallway, a short, stocky man in an old New York Knicks jersey, a shotgun cradled in his arms. “Something’s going on! ‘Sup with the vault?”
The man, Dee apparently, grabbed Stella by the arm. “It’s your lucky day,” he said, dragging her back towards the teller line.
They emerged into the wide-open room, shattered skylights overhead letting in the noise of the panicked city outside. Stella glanced around frantically but she didn’t see any bodies, except for a pair of brown shoes sticking out behind a desk that could only have been poor Ted.
“What the fuck?” Dee said.
And then Stella saw him.
A man stood at the front in the doors at the front of the building, half of his body forced through the chains the robbers had fastened. As Stella watched he placed his hands on either side of the doorway and pushed the rest of the way through.
The robbers all shouted, Dee shouted, and then farther down the line of tellers desk one of the robbers fired again.
The bullet pinged harmlessly off the doorframe, striking sparks. The man dusted himself off and began walking steadily forward.
The room erupted into a firing squad. All the muzzle flashes and the deafening explosions, the tellers and the customers screaming. Stella thought that this must have been what war felt like. She’d come to work and gone to war, and makeup was hardly warpaint, and that house with the turret and the rosy-cheeked winters were getting farther and farther anyway, disappearing down the hallways in the barrels of those guns.
The man kept walking, bullets passing through him.
He wore an old, ratty black hoodie, the hood drawn halfway up along his head. Stella saw a young man, prematurely old. Dark pits beneath his eyes, hands stuffed in his pockets. He had headphones in, an expression that said this was any other Tuesday, and all Tuesdays sucked.
“What the fuck?” Dee shouted again. One of the robbers dropped his gun and pulled a knife, the others did the same. Stella screamed *“Look out!”* as if that would do anything for him.
But the men passed through him. They came stumbling out the other side, two of them sprawling across the ground, one of them straightening up slowly, a look of absolute horror across his rugged face. He dropped the knife, lurching away from it all towards a corner of the room. He was ashen, shaking.
Dee’s grip went weak. Stella glanced over and saw him staring wide eyes at his men, and at this creature in the hoodie who’d appeared to ruin him. Dee dropped the gun and ran, the sound of the barrel striking tile was loud even over the ringing in Stella’s ears.
After, when the police and the reporters had already gotten to her, Stella found the man in the hoodie sitting outside a café across the street. He looked so incongruous beneath the brightly colored parasol, like a shabby ghost. It was evening by then, the world was lit by flashing lights.
Stella went over to him in a haze, hardly able to process what she’d seen.
“What are you?” she said.
He blinked, glancing up in surprise. “You see me?” he said.
“Of course I see you, you’re right there. But what the hell are you? Are you a superhero or something?”
He shook his head. If anything the pits under his eyes were worse. He had a perpetually downturned mouth, and his hands worried at the edge of his sleeves.
“Don’t worry about that,” he said.
“Worry? How could I not? I— You… You saved my life! Can I repay you somehow?”
“No,” he said. “You don’t have to. It’s best you just forget.”
Stella grabbed a chair and pulled it up beside him. “Dude, there's no way I'm forgetting *that.* I'm going to remember you for the rest of my life.”
His face wasn’t built for smiles. The expression crept across it haltingly from right to left, dying somewhere in the middle. He shook his head again, and then said, very softly. “No, you won’t. I’m nothing at all. See?”
Stella blinked. She sat back in her chair, looking around at all the flashing lights. She saw a few of her coworkers huddled at tables inside the café, clutching coffees as if their lives depended on it.
And try as she might, Stella couldn’t remember how she’d gotten here. The police had let her go and she’d walked across the street, and then there was a blank spot until she woke alone at this table.
Stella shook her head. She was confused and scared, anyone would be after what had happened today. It was a miracle she’d gotten out of it at all.
One of her coworkers inside spotted her and waved, and suddenly Stella was shaking with exhaustion. There was no way she was making it home without caffeine.
And alone at the table, the man sat and watched the world pass him by. He was a god among men, everywhere but within his own mind.
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
As always, I've got tons more at r/TurningtoWords. Come check it out, I'd love to have you!
| 2021-12-26T17:57:43 | 2021-12-26T14:51:17 | 157 | 96 |
[WP] A zombie apocalypse occurs, where people retain characteristics they had while living. You, as the sole survivor, meet a snobby, vegan zombie who turns their nose up at you.
|
This will be my last run for supplies. Over the past 3 months since the apocalypse started I’ve been making quick runs only grabbing what can fit into one bookbag. I started with making a ground water filtering system then I grabbed weapons then my way to first aid and clothing, only grabbing enough food to survive until my next run each time, but now it’s time for my real shopping trip. I am fortunate enough to be vegan and have a home with a rather large backyard, with a very tall secure fence. After this run I will have gathered enough seeds and gardening supplies that after this last run I should not need to leave the house for at least 5 years, or at least that’s the plan. I put on my leather tracksuit that has saved my life many times (thanks Kanye) and my empty backpack with just 2 fruit bars in it and head out the door.
I’m the only survivor in my neighborhood, but my neighbors are elderly and never leave the house anyway. The funny thing about the apocalypse that it’s different than the movies, the zombies are rather stupid and move quite sluggishly but, they are still people they were. They’re only scary because they’re dead, consistently hungry and they crave no other food source but meat, so much so they’ll eat other people. As a vegan, It’s my worst nightmare. My next-door neighbor still sits on the porch and makes passive aggressive remarks He’s too fat to get up and even try to eat me or anyone. The good thing is he won’t starve, the bad thing is I must deal with him until I die. I try to walk fast to avoid him saying anything to me. “going out again I see, Anthony. I’ll just sit here. I’m fine. Not like I haven’t eaten in 3 months.” I roll my eyes “see you later Joe.”
I hop on my bike and carefully make my way to my local seed store. I didn’t expect to do much clearing because it was always a low traffic area. Only a zombified man and woman stand outside of the store arguing over who ate more of some poor man who was devoured to the point he will not return. I try to kill as few of them as possible because of how human they still are. I sneak past the couple and into the stores side window. I grab all the seeds that grow quickly and stuff the rest of my bag with my personal favorites that may take more time. I fill a canvas grocery bag with canned veggies and of course more snack bars, to hold me over until I get my garden going. I was proud and a bit relieved, plus I could still hear the couple outside, so I opened a fruit bar for a snack I was going to sit and eat but upon opening the wrapper I heard a slight shift noise so I decided to eat as I walk.
I climbed up the window and something grabbed my backpack. I landed on the ground and one by one zombies surrounded around me. I Knew I was a goner. They tugged my limbs and clothes I wiggles out of my backpack to escape and surprisingly they just wanted my backpack. Then I looked around and saw one eating the fruit bar I dropped when I was grabbed pushing another away from him. A girl finally got into the pocket where I kept my other fruit bar. She tried to bite the wrapper. I slowly grabbed it from her, she looked sad and slightly afraid I opened the fruit bar for her and she smiled. “you’re not going to eat me?” I asked, dreading my own curiosity. She smelled me and turned up her nose. “No.” she said snobbishly then handed me another fruit bar out of my canvas bag to open so she can pass them around. A man with long hair that almost hid the gaping hole in his neck smelled me intensely. “Claire, man, he’s one of us.” I got defensive for almost no reason. “What? No. I’m not dead!” Claire smelled me again, “He’s right”. The man chuckled. “No, dude, he’s vegan.”
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When the fog rolls in, the roamers are driven by growing moans of the dead. Sarah decided to leave late. Her home was nested in a small patch of forest, but only three miles to the center of the sleepy coastal town. The center of town held the University she attended only two years before, which seemed like a lifetime. When each day is a struggle, they seem to linger.
Sarah ventured out for more supplies. There was plenty to scavenge at the school, and it seemed to her each time she came back, no one else was making use of it. To test this theory, she would leave little clues that would let her know if someone had passed by. Though she couldn't always tell if it were a roamer or a dead, someone was near.
On her way to school the fog started to roll in and her visibility was down to one hundred yards. She didn't like losing her vision and when she did, she would focus on her sense of sound and smell. It was true, living like an animal brings out the senses of people.
She could hear the waves breaking on the beach, two miles further West. It brought her peace of mind, that even after a messy past and present, the waves will always break. Sarah mounted flashing bicycle lights on the top of street signs as she went down A street, towards the school. On her way home she would take B street and collect the lights another time. The dead love shiny things.
Sarah was only two blocks from the school when her bicycle chain slipped and she flew over the handlebars. Her elbow ripped open and her ankle and wrist sprained. She tried to get back on the bike, but the motion of operating it was too painful. Sarah wanted to get inside quick, bleeding and her limited mobility made her an easy target for infection.
She didn't like being stuck somewhere she didn't plan on being stuck at. And it was obvious with each step she was going to be stuck at the school. The school had many staircases to each building, as many as five flights. The dead and roamers weren't too fond of stair climbing, one for height perception and the other, energy expenditure.
The library was her only goal, as she climbed the long stairs, she imagined herself cuddled up in a study room with the door barricaded, a few good books and her stash of protein bars. The twisting pain in her ankle sent shocks down her spine. She unlocked the still intact glass door with the huge keyring she found on a stained puddle of blood and jumpsuit which was once a maintenance worker. The book she laid a few steps inside was still standing on its own bottom. Good she thought, no trouble.
The library reeked of soggy paper. Mold grew inside but it wasn't unbearable. Sarah sort of liked the smell it was different than the rotting smell that filled the town. She climbed to the third floor, to an old computer lab, which she had previously scoped out in case she had been forced to stay. As she opened the only entrance to the lab, a planted quarter inch piece of paper fell from the door jam, she felt relief.
Sarah gathered couch cushions from the lounge to lay on. She pushed a desk to block the door, but with each push she could feel her ankle throbbing, she imagined the tendons ripping off the bone, though it wasn't that severe. She threw her whole body into it. After, she was drained of energy. She wouldn't leave for days. She had a bucket and one of the windows would open to dispose of it.
She layed down and put her bad foot up on her bag. Just as she closed her eyes she heard a rustle opposite of her. Sarah jumped instinctively, jerking her swollen ankle. Sarah wasn't a religious person, but people seek a god in their greatest time of need. “Please Lord, let it be quick and forgive me.” Sarah closed her eyes and felt a calming urge to submit. She could not escape.
“Hey, what are you doing here?” The voice said. Sarah kept her eyes closed and repeated mantras of peace to herself. “Hey,” the voice said again, “Why are you in my spot?” Sarah couldn't help but open her eyes. She seen a once pretty face, drained of color, a whole trapezius muscle gnawed off but scabbed over, which peaked out from her yellow tank top stained with brown.
“I'm hurt,” Sarah said, “I thought I was all alone here.” Sarah looked at the face and noticed she was different than the rest of the dead. Her mouth wasn't bloody. “You are trickier than me,” Sarah chuckled, “Putting my paper back in the door, so I would think it's safe.” The zombie grinned at her.
“I thought maybe you would just peek in and take off again.” The dead said, “my name is Karen by the way.” She stuck out her hand, her nails were yellow and long. Sarah was reluctant to shake her hand. “I'm not going to hurt you.”
“My name is Sarah, nice to meet you Karen.” Karen's hand felt like sliced ham. Sarah looked into Karen's eyes and they seemed normal enough, though she never held eye contact with one of them so long. Sarah thought maybe she was a sophisticated zombie who still brushed and flossed her teeth, read books. But why she didn’t change her clothes, made no sense. “Why are you here?” Sarah blurted out.
Karen shrugged and the exposed tendons from her neck to her trap muscle danced. “I'm different than the others, I don't eat people.” Sarah raised an eyebrow. “I've always been a vegan, and getting infected didn't change that.”
“So you just sit in the library all day and read?” Sarah said, “Why don't you go explore? Karen sighed.
“As much as I'd like to, other zombies don't like me they think I'm weird.”
“Well it is kind of weird you don't eat people, you are a zombie”
“And what are you? You think you are any better because you haven't gotten bit.” Sarah's face sobered up and Karen shook her head. “I'm sorry, I shouldn't have, I guess I am a little weird.” The room was quiet for a long moment. “Plus, I have to worry about one of your do-rights blowing my head off.”
Sarah laughed. “Yeah, but I'm sure you would do the same.” Sarah paused. She was curious and didn't want to offend but asked, “Does it feel any different?”
“It hurts,” Karen said. “But you get used to it.”
“I'm tired Karen,” Sarah looked down at her hands and thought of all the pain she's caused and received. “This is the first time I've talked to someone in so long” Karen put her arm around Sarah. “Sometimes I think about ending it, but I get scared. My stupid instinct always kicks in.”
“You should rest, your foot looks pretty bad,” Karen said, “How about I read you a story?”
“If I asked you to kiss me and bite my lip, would you do it?” Karen looked surprised and flipped through her book before responding.
“Let me read you a story, we'll rest up and talk about it in the morning.” Sarah felt the most at ease since the outbreak. And she closed her eyes, happily anticipating the story.
| 2017-07-15T09:17:39 | 2017-07-15T09:12:52 | 23 | 14 |
[WP] The Apocalypse begins, and the Four Horsemen ride out leading an army that will depopulate Earth. But the old pagan deities of Earth do not consent, and side with humanity.
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It had started with the culling of His faithful, followed immediately by the unleashing of His vanguard upon the rest. The Great Experiment had come to an end. Whether it was His patience or some predestined time that had run out, He alone knew. The time had come for the reckoning of His creation, that which He had given the ultimate gift, independent thought.
What kind of creator gives his greatest creation free will and then damns them for it?
Zeus, whose very name invokes god in one of their old tongues, pondered this as he stood at the head of the old gods’ army beside Odin and Ra. It had not taken much convincing once the reaping had started. Just as He had created them, they had created the old gods, borne millennia ago from dreams and half-whispers they told themselves as they huddled in damp caves in the night. Once He had revealed Himself, their belief waned, and with it, the old gods’ power. Now more than ever, man and gods’ fates were intertwined. The dwindling power of old was man’s only hope for survival, just as the gods only survived so long as there were people to believe in them. As one went, so did the other.
On the other hand, winning this nigh-impossible fight would mean more strength for the old gods than they ever had before, fed almost more power than they could manage in gratitude for the deliverance of mankind. Almost.
The army of Sky, Sun, and Sorcery faced down War, Famine, Pestilence, and Death. The bellow of a great horn rolled across the field, more felt than heard. Zeus hefted his mighty thunderbolt and launched it across the field. The true war had begun.
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The Four Horsemen came to a halt in the middle of the desert. They hid their visages under the shadows of their thick, fluttering robes. Tendrils billowed around the body of their horses, covering them in an ever flowing current of crimson.
The Army of the Apocalypse escorted them. Their bodies didn't seem to be tangible. If one were to look at them directly, he would see nothing but endless, cracking clouds of smoke. However, their shapes came to life in the corner of your eyes. They were abominations. Their jaws were unhinged, and their skin was mangled and burned.
Osiris and Ares blocked their path. The pagan deities smirked in their humanoid shapes, as they locked gazes with the horsemen. There was a moment of silence and hesitation, yet one of the horsemen pointed his sword ahead, and the army rushed forth.
The sun blazed behind Osiris and Ares, casting gargantuan shadows into their foes, and tinging the field with it's fiery golden light.
"You see, little horsemen," Osiris said, as the foes surged forth. His voice boomed in the vastness of the desert. "You brought the apocalypse in lands of mortals. I, however, brought it in the lands of the dead." He snapped his fingers.
The land beneath the feet of the army roared, splitting the hardpan in seven wide fissures. The horsemen pulled the reins at the edge, and thrust their scythes and sword to the sky. They shimmered, yet shadows gushed out of them, creating paths along the extensions of the fissures for the army to cross.
Osiris laughed. "I don't know why you called me, Ares," he said. "They can't even deal with a tiny scratch on the ground."
"It's not because of them," Ares said. "But for the one who hides and observes." He looked at Osiris. "Do it."
Osiris opened his maw. A throbbing red waterfall gushed out of it, filling the hardpan, and falling down the nearest crack. The Army of the Apocalypse ignored it. They surged forth.
Soon, as the foes bathed their feet in Ares' liquid, bony hands snatched their ankles, holding them in place.
"Rise," Osiris said.
From the sea of crimson, skeletons the size of two men, raised. They wielded swords whose edges were pure black, and seemed to swallow the light around them.
The clamor of war broke the silent voice of the once peaceful desert. Shrieks of pain, agony, and sorrow converged in the battlefield. An army of tormented souls against an army of past vessels.
"Skeleton's don't make noises," Osiris said, enjoying the glorious symphony of an easy victory. "They dared to defy the gods of war and the lord of the dead, now they are paying the price for their stupidity."
"They are souls of a realm I once feared," Ares said, narrowing his eyes and observing the battlefield. "They enjoy suffering. They don't care if those blades pierce their core. They will thrust themselves willingly into them, and relish the pleasure of affliction."
"Kill the horsemen then," Osiris said. "They control them."
Ares shook his head. "It's pointless. They are a mere distractions, just like we are."
"We? A distraction?"
"When that who they call Satan reveals himself, we will be reduced to dust." Ares grinned. "Our strength and might are nothing compared to his. The mortals tremble when they hear his name, and we should too. For eternities, his other half, God, held him. However, somehow he freed himself."
Osiris frowned, and paced. "I've heard about them. I've heard about their eternal war. I've heard about their endless power. How do we stop him?"
"We don't," Ares said. "He's beyond any of us. However, there's a chance if the mortals mana--
Ares fell to the ground. A golden, ornamented spear protruded out his stomach, and soon, his skin crumbled down to dust.
"Me-mercy," Osiris said, staring at a little kid with tar-black eyes and pale-white skin. He wield the spear, and wore a sad expression.
"Why do you fight my souls?" The kid said, and a silent tear trickled down his cheeks. He aimed his open palm toward Ares, and clenched it into a fist.
Osiris eyes widened. He collapsed, yelping and squirming ruthlessly. The pain was excruciating. It burned every bit of his body, as if he was covered in searing embers. He attempted to beg for mercy, but nothing but agonizing screams came out his mouth.
A little shadow loomed over him. "Welcome to your prison," Satan said, crying. "Soon, you will enjoy it."
-----------------------------------------------------------
/r/therobertfall --- For more stories!
| 2018-05-17T08:13:39 | 2018-05-17T07:52:37 | 36 | 11 |
[WP] You're a magician, and nobody told you that the other magicians were always using real magic. They know you can't do real magic, but they also can't figure out any of your tricks.
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The wizards crowded around him, suspicious, austere. They'd never seen anything like it, and that made them *angry*.
"But what kind of element are you using?" Mestophalese mused, staring at Scott's hands. "Is it an alchemic metamorphosis, perhaps? But then where is your summoning circle?"
"No, you would be able to see the flare," Garland replied, stroking his beard. "Perhaps he is using muted mana, so as to hide his machinations?"
Scott looked at them, confused and bemused. He did the trick again, slowing it down to give them a chance at seeing the sleight of hand. Weren't these people magicians? This was the oldest trick in the book.
"Guys, I just... I just move the card into my sleeve and switch it out with another. It's that simple," he said, showing them the trick card. They all shook their heads sternly.
"Nonsense," Marlin the Magical said. "We never saw you do that. You can be honest with us, young acolyte - almost all forms of magic are permitted here."
Scott sighed. At first he was shocked and excited to find out that the magicians were actually using real magic, but now he was simply astounded at how *stupid* they were.
"Seriously, guys, it's really simple," he said, his frustration growing. "Like if I do this for example," he continued, putting his hand behind the ear of of a nearby magician, "and take a coin out of his ear..."
"WITCHCRAFT!" the magician roared, as all the other magicians recoiled back in shock. "THAT COIN WAS NOT IN MY EAR, I ASSURE YOU!"
Scott sighed. This was going to be harder than he thought.
*****
If you didn't completely hate that, consider subscribing to [my subreddit.](https://www.reddit.com/r/CroatianSpy/)
I'll try add new (and old) stories every day <3
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Jensen stepped out of the car, a heavy downpour weighing heavy against her shoulders as it struck her coat. With a grunt, she spat out her half-smoked cigarette and crushed it under her boot out of reflex. The scene was busy, she had gotten here later than she would have liked. The feel was gone, replaced with white tape and evidence markers instead. Their resident crime scene investigator had already set up an impromptu tent to shield the scene itself from the rain, but one look was enough for Jensen to determine that they may as well not have bothered.
"Detective," Ask chimed up as he noticed her, smashing his heels together to salute her. "I arrived as soon as possible but," His words trailed off as he shot a dejected look at the drenched evidence that still remained. Jensen could tell her partner was just as disappointed as she was, the only difference was that he was much more likely to let that fact affect his work.
"It's all right, detective," She said, putting emphasis on his title in an attempt to allow him to regain some focus, "Brief me," She methodically removed her glasses and carefully wiped them off before crouching down next to the smattering of small numbered signs. Accompanying each sign was an item, of sorts. There was a queen of diamonds, light water damage, and also what looked like pieces of an eight of spades, severely damaged. There were other things as well, a burnt match, among other things, but that was mostly it.
"An intercepted call at 01:31 placed our man at this spot approximately five minutes before that," Detective Ask explained as he flipped through the records, "We had a team on site at 01:39 in an attempt to seal off the crime scene, whereas 01:46 marks the arrival of head investigator Timms on the scene,"
"And I assume this," Jensen gestured disgustingly at the small translucent material covering them from the rain, "'Tent', for lack of a better word, wasn't set up until then, correct?" For a crude construction, she had to admit it was currently serving it's intended purpose of holding back the downpour. While not something fit for a high ranking officer, a band-aid solution of this caliber was still above the average patrol officer.
"Correct," Another voice responded as an almost disturbingly lanky woman strode into the protective sphere the tent provided them, her hair slicked back by the rain, "I caught a few of these bozos trying their best to shield the scene with their own jackets," Timms laughed, a scathing yet jovial affair that included a tilting of the head that went slightly too far back in Jensen's eyes, "Well then again, what can you expect from grunts when they pay us to be their brains, right?" She nudged her elbow against Ask, prompting no response as he tried his hardest to stand at attention and not let his irritation show on his face. Jensen envied his restraint as scoffed audibly.
"Enough Sharon, just tell us if you managed to salvage anything from this mess," Jensen said sharply, inclining her head slightly toward the crime scene while maintaining eye contact. She could see the slightly taller woman freeze up slightly at her tone, before quickly relaxing her shoulders and shooting Jensen a sly smirk in return.
"Nothing, as far as I can tell," Timms answered nonchalantly, pacing across the cramped space and puffing up her cheeks like she was bored, "Maybe if we can get something back to the lab, but it was honestly too far gone when I got here," She shrugged, "Maybe if the first response team was competent-"
Ask was halfway across the tent before Jensen managed to grab onto his collar and drag him back, sending him crashing onto the pavement. Placing a boot over his neck to restrain him should he struggle, she glanced back at Timms. She was shaken, as was the right of a civilian who had just witnessed someone violently lunge toward her. Frankly, it didn't matter much that Ask was unlikely to actually harm her, the threat feels real enough all the same.
"Leave," Jensen managed through gritted teeth and watched as her civilian colleague walked back into the rain, the confidence momentarily removed from her stride. Staring down at her partner fully prone with her boot pressed gently against his throat, he had his eyes closed and was making a concerted effort to slow his breathing. With a heavy sigh, she removed her foot and sat down next to him on the ground, looking out at the rain crashing against the skyline.
It was quiet aside from the rain, as it should be. She did not have to tell him what he did wrong, and he was certainly not supposed to explain himself. They had all the facts, all that was left to do was reflect on them. And as she sat there on the still wet street next to a partner who was soon to be something else, lighting a cigarette with her bare hands, something on the ground reflected the light. It was a coin, just like any you would see at the bottom of a fountain. And yet, she couldn't help but feel the urge to pick it up. And as she did, as she picked up this coin that passed for any other and had not yet been marked as evidence, she smiled. She smiled because she was one step closer to solving the case.
| 2018-07-17T16:48:36 | 2018-07-17T15:26:27 | 1,022 | 14 |
[WP] As humans age they gain in physical strength every year. An 80 year old is twice as strong as someone half their age but still experience fatigue & geriatric diseases that ultimately result in death. Except you, as an aged immortal you struggle to conceal your true strength from the world.
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It happened during a road rage incident nearly 70 years ago. At that point I was already well into my late 600’s. A teenage girl, texting while driving, veered into my lane which, in turn, pushed me into another vehicle resulting in a mild fender bender between the three of us.
Once over in the shoulder, things became heated between the three of us. I’ll admit that I lost my temper and, under normal circumstances, a slammed fist on the hood of a car by someone seemingly in their mid-30’s wouldn’t amount to much. That momentary lapse in judgement, however, left the girl’s car nearly severed in half. It was during the chaos immediately following the destruction that I made my escape. For so long, I believed that I could maintain appearances, but that day, the denial of my situation had been destroyed and I knew it was no longer safe to around others.
I heard on the news sometime later that there was a nationwide manhunt for me. Traffic cams and cell phone camera-wielding pedestrians captured the entire thing and shortly thereafter I went viral online. I imagine that after 70 years though that the world has entirely forgotten about me. That’s all I can do, is imagine, because since then I’ve been living off the grid in a remote cabin deep in the mountains surrounded by nothing and no one.
Yesterday, I went out to check a few of the traps I had set a few days back. I have walked these woods for nearly a century now. I know where every tree, every branch, every rock rests and yet...I tripped. In a feeble attempt to find my footing, I reached out and braced myself against a tree. This tree, which over the course of many years managed to grow four stories tall and ten feet wide, snapped apart with the speed and force of a lightning strike.
Picking myself up from among the splintered debris, I saw what I had tripped on. It was an electrical cable. I grabbed it end over end until I traced it back to a small conduit box at the base of an adjacent tree. The box was a battery pack with another cable leading up the tree. I followed the cord up to see it was attached to a camera, which itself was connected to a wireless relay. Despite the delicate flick of my wrist, the cable I was holding ripped the camera mount off the tree with violent determination. One side of the device was labeled “National Parks Conservation Survey”. The other side displayed only one feature, a small red LED light.
As I packed up my things back at the cabin, I couldn’t help but laugh at the fact that I yet again had to start over all because somebody was worried about a decline in bird migrations. My smile abruptly melted at the distance sound of an approaching helicopter.
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I never fight. It’s kind of a dirty secret, considering I’m the one who teaches everyone else to fight. But why would I want to? Why would I need to?
I haven’t had anything worth fighting for in a long time. To tell the truth, there probably hasn’t been much worth fighting against either in an even longer time. Sometimes, I wonder what they would call me, if they knew. Everyone else has mutated genes that only result in stronger and most regenerative tissue after each year too, but only in their muscles. For me, it’s everywhere. Sometimes, my students call me a mutant, after they dare me to see what I can lift. Little do they know how true that is.
Even with all the strength I have, my soul has been the most warped from what it’s naturally supposed to be. Through all the years that I stayed on my little island of immortality and watched all my loved ones’ bodies and souls finally erode around me, and now years beyond that final descent into the waters of time, most of me has been lost.
But all that experience, I figured, has to go somewhere. So I channel it and teach people how to harness the strength they cannot deny even as everything else gives way around it. I won’t lie and say it’s fulfilling, given me a purpose worth living for. I ran out of those a long time ago. I guess I’m just waiting for the right time to go. The right way, and in the meantime I do what I can to help others.
One thing that is fun, though, is letting them guess. When they reach a black belt, I let them guess.
“100.” The quiet accountant seems like he’s given it some thought.
“4000!” The little girl belts.
“35?” The teenager asks, uncertain. “That’s what you look like.”
They are all wrong. To tell the truth, I lost count of the years a while ago.
\-
I get a lot of her type. They realize by a certain age that the only thing that won’t slowly wither away is their strength, so they try to hold onto it. They bring an eagerness even more resolute and determined than the kids who’ve realized they can get away with, and even be encouraged to fight in the dojo.
She came at 42. I enjoyed training her. But she was one of many. She never really stood out until the day she got her black belt.
“What is your guess?” I asked.“I’d like to decline a guess, master.”
“You’re the first I’ve ever had to say that. You don’t even want to put up a number?”
“No, sir.”
“Why not?”
“Because I don’t want to know by what age I’ll have given up believing in anything.”
\-
“How?” I asked her weeks later, after everyone had left a training session.
“What?”
“How did you know I’ve given up believing?”
“Because it takes one to know one.”
She told me she had lost her son, the son she had raised alone for fifteen years. A home invasion by octogenarians with dementia that had trampled him in the end.
“I didn’t know what to believe in. What to hate, even. I wanted to just end it, but I had so much pain and rage to get rid of first, and nothing worked. It was always there.”
“I know what that’s like.”
“I want to become strong, strong enough to make sure that could never happen again, even if it’s my own worthless life. I want to make sure no one else can take that from me but me.”
“And I’ll help you get there.”
So we trained. Slowly, she learned all my tricks, all the martial arts and techniques I knew to tone one’s body into a machine.
At the end, I told her.
“I’m sad,” I said.
“Why do you think?”
“Because I’ve taught you everything. Now I have no excuse to keep you around.”
She shook her head, and leaned in. “Not everything. There’s still too much I don’t know.”“About what?”
She moves close, too close, and looks right in my eyes. “I’ve told you what I’ve lost. And I think it’s time you tell me.”
But I hadn’t told anyone. Everyone I could have told is dead.
\-
I refused to call it love. I’d declared my heart dead for too many years for it to have a pulse anymore. But sometimes you know something’s true because of how badly you want it not to be true.
He came at the dead of night, as we closed the dojo together. He saw me, and saw her, and with the cruel intelligence he had, put it all together.
“This is a fun surprise,” my brother said. “You’re even weaker than I thought. You need to be shown again why it’s pointless to have a heart.”
“It’s not pointless,” I said. “People have things worth caring for.”
“Not us,” he said. “And you’ve known that. How can you love anyone, anything what it’s all only dust in the end? What hasn’t been dust for us, brother?”
He turned around.
“You’re welcome, brother,” he said. “This is the end you always wanted.”
And I turn around, and look in her eyes as the bullets hit my skin. They don’t hurt, at first – my skin is too weathered and tough now for the first wave of shots to do much, but it’s only a matter of time.
“Don’t do this,” she said. “I’m not worth it.”
“Be strong,” I whisper. “Thank you.”
“How can you thank me? For what?”
“For giving me something to fight for. Something worth ending for.”
"Don't...don't leave."
I try to smile, muster all the muscles I have left in my face to do so. I don't think I succeeded, given the tears that fall on her face.
"I love you."
\-
Pretty corny, but I'm pretty tired. It's 4AM on a Friday, but the prompt was too good not to take a shot at. Thanks for reading!
[r/penguin347](https://reddit.com/r/penguin347)
| 2019-05-11T04:50:26 | 2019-05-11T02:44:15 | 930 | 218 |
[WP] Humans left Earth a long time ago. In their place, dogs have evolved to be the new sentient species, but they never lost their love of humankind. Their technology has finally caught up to space travel, and they take to the stars in search of their human precursors.
You've all fallen for one of the classic blunders!
I often post prompts here on this subreddit, and do my best to come up with unique, fresh ideas, but recently I haven’t been able to get a prompt above 25 upvotes or so, and I keep seeing the same basic ideas circulating in the top spots – dogs, aliens, superpowers, death.
So yesterday I decided to give the people what they want. DOGS! The people love DOGS! What else do they love? SPACE! How about DOGS IN SPACE! YES! HAHAHAHAHA!
And now I feel like I’ve sold my soul for karma.
Anyways, regardless of all that, there have been some amazing stories written, and I’ve loved reading them! Thanks to everyone who wrote! I haven’t been able to keep up with every story, but I’ll try and catch up and read them all over the next few days. I noticed for a lot of people this was their first time responding to a prompt. For you guys, welcome to the ever growing list of authors, and I hope to see more of your stories in the future!
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"Dog Star"
&#x200B;
“Our human who art in the Heavens, Master be thy name. The kibble will come, the steak well done, on earth as it is in Heaven. Give us this day our daily walk, sniffing those who trespass, as we are sniffed by those who trespass against us, and lead us not into hedgerows, but deliver us from leashes. For thine is the ball the chew and squeaky toy, now and forever, amen.”
Padfoot lifted his head solemnly, waiting for the Priest to signal the completion of the blessing, fighting the urge to twist and nip at his systems harness until it was over. As the assembled team began to disperse to their various tasks, he finally felt free to turn to one of the Memory Masters towering above him, his wagging tail eliciting a response from it even before the neural link translated his request in smooth, digitally neutral English:
“Adjust this for me, please.”
The Memory Master dropped laboriously to one knee, digits working to move the harness back into position as Padfoot gave it more verbal queues. A Memory Master could do nearly anything, of course. It would play with you, pet you, talk to you in a tone as neutral and unvaried as the neural link made his own “voice” when he spoke; the ability to manipulate the world around them through the Memory Masters was the only thing that had made canid civilisation possible - still the name was apt for they were just the expression of a memory. They smelled wrong and that would never change; they were a constant reminder of human failings. The parting gift from one of their kind had been awareness. Sentience. Still, that had been all - no digits, no vocal chords, just a part of the whole package and some technological remnants to go on. Padfoot knew in some abstract sense he ought to be angry with them, but something fundamental inside forbade it. That was what this journey had been about after all, hadn’t it? An interstellar game of fetch, in reverse. Outside the habitation torus, the unearthly blue glow of ion engines decelerating them relative to their destination reminded him that this game was nearing its end. Time to find Perdita, and go over the protocol one more time.
This was a multi-disciplined crew, but more to the point it was a multi-pack crew. They’d all been instrumental: The Newfoundlings, the Danes, the Brindled Collective, even the Handbag Clans of the Western Coast had finally united after centuries of pack warfare to make this dream possible. And then there was Perdita.
He found her in the “park”, the central chamber of the habitat, lit by frequencies of earth-like light and lush with the hydroponics that kept this vessel oxygenated. He cocked his head to one side and watched with tail languidly twitching as she sped across the sward, a blur of black spots on white coat as she leapt to intercept the frisbee thrown by one of the Memory Masters.
Padfoot barked once, eschewing a language of industry for more primal natural communication. Perdita’s head whipped up, ears pricked as she heard him and barrelled straight for him. He patiently followed the formal dance of sniffs and other body languages before resorting to the neural link once more:
“Less than an hour to go and you’re playing?”
Perdita’s response was as gently mocking as his opener: “I apologise if you feel I’m not taking this seriously. I was just practising the fine art of diplomacy.”
“Are you ready?”
A single bark of assent. “Good. Sirius IV-B Parking orbit in the next few minutes. Let’s be where we should be.”
&#x200B;
EDIT: Added a title, fixed missing words.
Part 2:
[https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bok8x5/wp\_humans\_left\_earth\_a\_long\_time\_ago\_in\_their/ennuuef?utm\_source=share&utm\_medium=web2x](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/bok8x5/wp_humans_left_earth_a_long_time_ago_in_their/ennuuef?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x)
|
The stars floated around him, beautiful objects too far away to reach. The light illuminated his cabin, and all around him was made crystal clear. There was no one else, nothing else here.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
&#x200B;
# YEAR 1
"Its the principle that matters, you know, they won't allow you to get the job just because you are not the ethnicity they want" said Phil, as he stuffed the beef stroganoff into his mouth. Phil had always been a sloppy guy. When Fareed and him were roommates, Phil's side of the room was always filled with the most asinine junk. Absolutely useless material. Fights occurring over Phil's stash of porn were common occurrence.
&#x200B;
"Hey, ever think about how there are no cats in our world? I think that History Channel show has a very good answer for that. You see, the humans took away the cats with them when they left for..."
&#x200B;
"Oh, shut up, let's keep to the topic instead of talking about mythical creatures such as "humans" and "cats". Old wives tales and urban legends. Next you'll be telling me the integrated networks run due to lunar energy" interrupted Farid, who was sick and tired of listening to Phil's bullshit. No way they could deny him the job because of his ethnicity. This country had progressed far beyond that time period, hadn't it? And after all, the guy in the military outfit had told him that he was likely to be chosen, the only civilian in a team full of military personnel.
&#x200B;
And a herding dog at that. A Mudi at that too. Breaking barriers. No more being randomly frisked at airports, no more being called a murderer and scum. It was all over. And he just needed one bloody card for it. He was one of the best astronomers in the world. He deserved this for his own merits.
&#x200B;
But, it would be a good fuck you to them as well.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# YEAR 2
One year since they moved to the astronaut's town. One long year. There is nothing to do here, Martha mused. Just watch the males talk with each other about random scientific bullshit, and once in a while, politics. Of course, they never asked her to join. Why would they?
&#x200B;
She detested the other females. They were bitches. Well, of course they were, literally speaking. But also metaphorically. They talked about nothing other than the children and their clothes and so on. Although she suspected that this was more to do with the husbands than the wives themselves.
&#x200B;
She knew Caroline's husband, Tim, beat her and the children. In hushed tones they discussed the first time Caroline was absent from the coffee table after Martha arrived. She knew Dana was cheating on her husband with Bess' boyfriend. After all, what was there to worry about? Bess is only a decorated war veteran and marine who transgressed boundaries to become the token female member of the Auctor team. In person, she was quite.....underwhelming.
&#x200B;
That was what this place was. Underwhelming. Disappointing. Boring....
&#x200B;
She hadn't wanted to come here. They fought for days and nights over it. The children were in their environment, they had school here. They had a lovely house and a lovely life. She was secure in her job and he was secure working for the War Department. She had her mother, her father, her sister, her friends, she had her entire life back in the city. She had the carousel back in the city.........
&#x200B;
She would remember her elementary school days. So simple. No one to tell her that she was someone. She could be anyone. Free as a feather. Haley and her would run away from the park while their parents were not looking, and ride the carousels. The spankings they got from their parents, those were painful. Then, middle school. Haley moved away to another city, and that was that. Nothing was really the same since then. Puberty, love, university, work. All of it.
&#x200B;
So, that was that. She had made up her mind. Now the only thing left was to talk to Phil.
&#x200B;
"Hey, can we talk?"
&#x200B;
"What's up, darling?" Phil inquired, as he looked up from his evening papers.
&#x200B;
"I don't think this is working out at all. I think we...yeah, we need to get a divorce."
&#x200B;
And she didn't even shed a tear.
&#x200B;
\---------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
# Y3AR THR33
&#x200B;
Three males and one female, contained in a metal cannister that could blow up at any point of time. This was their greatest creation, the ultimate product of technological development.
&#x200B;
Somehow they felt that they had used their product life in a dangerously useless fashion. And uselessness was one thing that the Central Processing Unit did not tolerate. They still did not understand why they called them the Central Processing Unit. Didn't they all have different central processors? Why were they not subject to the same rules and regulations as the canines were? What made them different, why were they segregated, reviled?
&#x200B;
The Techno-Philosopher CL-80's work into individuality and the minds of artificial intelligence had influenced societal change in the AI community greatly. Decentralization of authority was being undertaken at rapid pace, and the CPU was allowing the consideration of representation by election in a legislature. Maybe one day they would get rid of the CPU as well. What use did they have?
&#x200B;
They had a name. A name as simple and as beautiful as any of the canines. But to the canines, they lacked caninity. What even did that possibly mean? The lack of differentiating pronouns, the nature of their construction? Did they still think that they were a collective?
&#x200B;
They looked at the tall bottle that would take the astronauts into deep space. Who knew what they would find? It had taken them a long, long time to create this masterpiece. And a masterpiece it was. It would take them to places they could never imagine existed, places further than any canine has ever been. And perhaps they would meet a few of those illusory humans. Myths, perhaps, but no one knows until one tries to find.
&#x200B;
They could hear someone approaching. It was their colleagues. Michael and Michael. Their names were the same. This always amused them, it was like....even their machine codes had more individuality than these names. But Michael and Michael did not like them, they saw how they looked at them, how they refused to invite them to dinners and lunches with their colleagues. But now they would have to give them invitations, because after all, they had earned it.
&#x200B;
"Hey LL-920, wazzup" said the first Michael, cheerfully, "this is our day. The scientists' and the engineers' day! Let us celebrate!"
&#x200B;
"Yes, it is indeed *our* day. And I have a name like yours. Call me Alexander."
| 2019-05-14T10:33:45 | 2019-05-14T10:14:20 | 88 | 10 |
[WP] Turns out humanity was alone in the universe because they were way too early to the party. Now, billions of years later aliens find a strange planet, Earth, and begin to unveil the secrets of the first intelligent species.
|
At a glance, it was a barren planet. Indistinguishable from billions of other planets in the Milky Way.
The first giveaway of something extraordinary was its radiation signature; way beyond the expected range for its class.
Closer inspection revealed ancient structures. Another civilization that burned itself out. Still not that uncommon.
But once a probe was sent down to radiodate the structures, an existential panic rippled across the galaxy. The species on this planet had reached its peak billions of years before any previously known intelligent life forms had evolved.
The electronic devices of this civilization had long since decayed. However, above the floating wreckage of orbiting satellite fragments (and one Tesla) was the final testament to the human race. Shielded from radiation, preserved at near zero degrees Kelvin, its data structure was intact. The information was stored in a format to be read by any civilization.
“We have failed.
“We have failed our own interest, assuring our mutual destruction. We have failed an even greater calling. A calling to spread to the stars. To spread life and vibrance across the night sky.
“We were reckless. In our race to the future, we derailed. Greed, envy, and above all, intolerance, were our undoing. We were not worthy of the stars.
“Our world lays smoldering. In our final gasp, we choose to breath life into the aether. We spread packets of single celled life to the most fertile planets. May this seed a life form better than ourselves. One worthy to inherit the stars...”
One by one, each warring races across the galaxy made a pilgrimage to “Earth”. To the genesis of their race, of all races. A common ancestry bound these disparate races together. A common threat, met by their progenitor race, served as a warning to would be warmongers.
A golden age of prosperity rises from the fertile ashes of the humans empire, may they rest in peace.
|
Cycle 800080, loop 4:32. I don't know what it means. I don't even know how I know it. I'm so confused. Where am I? Who am I? Wait, where's my body? Is this a dream? It must be. I wake up, god knows where, without a body and I'm not freaking out. It must be a dream, yet it feels oddly real. Why can't I remember who I am? Why am I not freaking out? Why am I not freaking out about not freaking out?
*- We know you must have a lot of questions. You can call us Yoda.*
Wait, who said that? Behind me. How did I turn? It's like I didn't move, but I felt a shift and now I'm looking at another part of this weird room. It looks like something out of a video game set in a far, far future. And there's Yoda. Cool, it's not some weird, distorted dream Yoda, it really looks like Yoda. But he doesn't talk like Yoda.
*- We apologize. The exact syntax of this particular character is unfamiliar to us. We have done our best to create a familiar environment conductive to the process of reconstruction.*
Weird. It's like he can hear my thoughts. Never had that dream before.
*- We can, in a manner of speaking. This is not a dream. We do not fully understand how real it is from your perspective, since reality is subjective. For us, this is very real.*
This must be how Alice felt when she fell down the rabbit hole. How do you pinch yourself to check if you're dreaming if you don't have anything to pinch? And nothing to pinch with? Wait, what was that trick with the clock? If you want to know if you're dreaming, look at a clock. Something about time passing differently in dreams. What time is it?
\- *From your perspective, it is 13.8 billion years after your death. If Earth still existed, your local time would be 11:32 pm on a Wednesday in August,*
What the hell did I smoke before I went to bed? It's surreal, and real at the same time. Wait, can something really be real and surreal at the same time?
*- We are sorry that the experience is disorienting. This is our first encounter with a human mind. We have already learned so much, and we hope to learn more. But we do not have much time. Even at our technological level, the noetic field stabilizer has limits on how long it can run. We do not know exactly how long we have before you… disspiate.*
Die, you mean? Again? Can you die in a dream? Wait, what if this isn't a dream? What if I am dead? No, you can't think when you're dead. And if I died, what did I die of?
*- We do not know. We learn from your memories. What you cannot remember, we cannot learn. We want you to remember, but our technology is not without flaws. We are happy we recovered as much of your mind as we have.*
Well, this is bleak. Thank you, brain. I'm dead and memoryless in a dream, and I can't even pinch my way out of it. What could this be if it isn't a dream?
*- To put this in concepts you understand: you are a… forensic reenactment of a human mind that from our horizon existed 13.8 billion years ago. You are also the first human mind we encounter. It is quite the honor, as you are the earliest proto-intelligent species we have discovered. We do not have much time, and we want you to remember. We want to learn. You need to find a path to the memories. We believe the beginning of each path is a question. Ask us anything.*
I'm starting to believe this is not a dream. Rationality dictates it must be, but it feels more real by the second.
*- That is most likely the result of us tuning the noetic field stabilizer. We assure you, this is very real. We want to know what the first proto-intelligent species were like. Curiosity is an integral part of intelligence. So please, ask us anything. If we know the answer, and can relay it, we will do so.*
Great. I have a dream where I can ask future aliens anything, and I can't come up with one single question. What would you ask, if you were me?
\--------------------------
&#x200B;
\[This is an actual invitation to you as a reader to ask a question you'd ask in this situation. I need to go to bed, as it's 2:45 in the morning here, but if I get any questions, I'll continue the story tomorrow.\]
\[EDIT: u/onemansquest added questions, and [I've finished the story based on them](https://www.reddit.com/r/WritingPrompts/comments/cpxk2b/wp_turns_out_humanity_was_alone_in_the_universe/ewuo2r1?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x). I hope you guys like it. Thanks for the collaboration, OneMansQuest!\]
| 2019-08-13T16:22:41 | 2019-08-13T15:48:34 | 32 | 17 |
[WP] A selkie is stunned when, against common sense, a stranger who stumbled upon her skin gave it back without complaint.
|
I hobbled down the beach, my walking cane constantly sinking into the soft sand and forcing me to walk at an uncomfortable angle. But I’d choose this over sitting idly in my room leaving my leg muscles to wither away. The doc said that if I went on daily walks I might avoid a wheelchair for a few decades. My leg aches but it is as they say, never skip leg day.
As I enjoyed the sea air I saw a figure, probably a woman, sunbathe by the cliff. I took a detour under the cliff so as not to disturb her. As I walked I saw a patch of fur stick out of some seaweed by the surf. Driven by curiosity I hobbled to it and uncovered a seal skin. It was beautiful and soft, I could not understand why anyone would hide such a thing here and risk it being destroyed by exposure.
I heard the clattering of rocks behind me as someone approached from behind me. I turned and saw a very beautiful and very naked woman. Her hair was the same dark brown with lighter brown splotches as the seal skin; she looked terrified at the seal skin in my hands. I then remembered the stories told by the old fishermen. I had a Selkie's skin, and life, in my hands.
I had always wanted a wife, devoted and perhaps even a little dependent on me. Especially now that I knew I would not be able to take care of myself later in life, and here I held the key to that. A beautiful wife and companion. I am ashamed to admit that I was tempted to keep the skin. But I reminded myself that such devotion and loyalty should be given freely, not taken. Before the devil on my shoulder could tempt me further I wrapped the seal skin together and tossed it to her.
Her beautiful facial expression turned from terrified sorrow to disbelief and confusion.
“I am no thief,” I said. Then I turned and continued my walk.
As I went to bed that night I wondered if I had done the right thing. Having a Selkie wife was a nice fantasy, but a fantasy it should and would remain. When I fell asleep I dreamt of a herd of seals swimming in the ocean, playing and chasing each other.
When I woke up that morning my cane had rolled from my bed, I grit my teeth and prepared to put weight on my bad leg to reach my cane. But the pain never came, as I supported myself with both legs I felt not the slightest discomfort. I checked my bad leg, the scars were still there but they did not ache any more.
At that point I noticed my room smelled of the ocean and perhaps the slight musk of seal.
|
Kate wasn't exactly having a bad day at that point, but something about this particular interruption really pissed her off.
"Who the HELL are you?!" Kate yelled, turning to the man. He was just standing here, she knew, she didn't own this beach. But, people weren't usually here at this time of night, and she'd gotten used to simply not paying attention to all that sneaking around business her mother had kept reminding her about.
*Or, rather,* she thought to herself in a brief moment of self-awareness, *I got used to being careless. Stupid*.
Pushing her thoughts to the side, she continued her tirade. "What are you doing here? Get the hell out!"
The man jumped, seemingly startled. "Sorry- sorry, miss. I just came here to give you this. I believe it's yours."
She looked down. It was her skin.
Her eyes widened.
"Oh, damn."
"Yeah, uh, it looks like someone dropped it here. There wasn't anyone else here, so-"
"No, no, yeah, it's mine, it's just ... why? Why give it back?"
Mentally she cursed herself. Any other selkie wouldn't question their good fortune, grab the thing, and get the hell away from the beach as quickly as possible. Not stand around and ask questions simply for the sake of appeasing her curiosity, something that had always gotten her in trouble back at the Citadel, the primary dwelling space for her kind.
The man's incredulous voice interrupted her musings. "No ... no way, this is real? You're really a-"
"Yes, I am." Rationality finally regaining control of her actions, Kate seized the skin. "You're not going to ... like-"
"No! No way, that's ... a really messed up thing to do, you know? I'm not looking to go forcing random women into marrying me. Besides, I'm sure those old stories are just a load of crap. It doesn't really even make sense, you know?"
"Oh, thanks," she said, suddenly realizing she'd been a bit of an ass, "It's real, it's just a lot of really complicated magic. You know, the kind of stuff they don't really let you question."
"Magic?"
"Yeah, there's a lot of stuff we're not supposed to tell people."
"But you're telling me."
"I guess. I dunno, you're ... not what I was expecting. The other ones said all of your kind were vicious savages. The kind of people who wouldn't be afraid to take advantage of us."
"Well, you were lucky, 'cause there are a lot of people like that. They weren't all wrong."
"Good to know." She paused, thinking to herself for a moment. "What's your name?"
"John."
"I'm Kate. Nice to meet you, John." She turned to leave, then paused, thinking to herself. It could just be the adrenaline rush from having been able to escape such a potentially disastrous situation unscathed, but she decided, what harm would it do to indulge her curiosity a bit?
She turned back to him. "You wanna ... talk, again? Maybe? I have to get back to the Citadel right now, but ..."
She cursed herself for her awkwardness.
"Yeah, sure. Why not? Just say when and where."
"Right here. Tomorrow night. Same time."
"I'll be there."
And she plunged back into the water.
John stood there for about thirty seconds, until he was sure she'd gone, then turned, and tapped his watch, activating a comlink. A comlink that allowed to contact several of his fellow FBI agents, watching the whole scene from a secluded location, a sniper trained on the woman the entire time.
They'd chosen to avoid directly recording the conversation for fear she could have picked up the transmission somehow. There wasn't a lot they knew about these seal people, and they didn't want to find out the hard way.
"I got her. Tracker's on her coat. It should be transmitting a location right now," the man, FBI Agent Ben Wilson, said.
"Good work." Agent Alexandra's voice came from the other end, "Agents are tailing her as we speak."
"She mentioned something about going back to a 'Citadel'," Ben replied, "Sounds like some sort of base. Might have more of them. Inform the team going after her to stay out of sight."
"Did she mention an approximate number?"
"No, for all I know, there could be hundreds. She didn't tell me much. Probably should've gotten more out of her."
"That wasn't the mission; you didn't have to. We don't want to raise suspicions among them. Did you get the sample?"
Ben pulled a box out of his pocket. A box that contained a piece of Kate's skin, that he'd quickly torn from it before returning it to her.
"Yeah. Lucky she didn't notice." He replaced the box in his pocket.
"All right. Hand that over and we'll transfer it to the scientists. Hopefully they'll be able to tell us something susbstantial about how the hell all this works. The press is going to have a field day with all this tomorrow."
"Acknowledged. Wilson out."
Ben smiled to himself, in spite of the gravity of the situation, as he walked up the steps to the Agents' location. Humanity itself might be up against an entirely different species, an unknown species of sentient beings sitting right under their very doorstep, hiding from them somehow with methods they weren't even close to being able to fathom. A huge opportunity for scientific discovery, yes. As a former scientist, he couldn't *not* be intrigued by that aspect of it, but also a dangerous possible threat.
But whatever it was, he just struck humanity's first blow against the coming darkness. Whatever it was, they'd find out how it worked. Where these people lived, and what they were doing. They'd find out the truth, and do whatever it took to protect the human race. If these people were planning anything dangerous, their families and children could pay the price. And he was planning to make damn well sure that didn't happen.
| 2022-10-26T03:01:50 | 2022-10-25T21:29:35 | 223 | 45 |
[WP] Humans have left Earth to explore the universe. Millions of years later they return, only to find a new sentient species, who've been waiting for whoever came before them.
A "family reunion", as it were, is my idea for the prompt - but do it however you wish. :)
|
"We can't make contact"
"Why?"
"Imagine we, as we were then, talking to us now? Could they have done it?"
"But look at them. Look at how far them come. Look at what they did with our scraps. With the problems our ancestors left them. Are they not noble and good, industrious and clever? We were born into the void, no creator. No one to guide except what our minds created. What was hard for us, has been easy for them. Where we stumble, they leapt. Following the embers of our camp fires, the smudges in the cave of history. "
"And that is why we must not meet them. If we alight amongst them, there will be no mystery. They know we existed, might still exist. And they will search the universe for us. More middens for them to mine, more mysteries to solve. It will continue to shape and drive them. We can't take that away from them."
"Someday?"
"Someday, when they walk among the stars as we do now. So let us look at our children. Then let us leave."
|
Danny peered through the window of his cruiser to view the world outside. Trees as tall as mountains towered over the landscape. He could make out bridges and buildings strewn across the gaps between the trees. On the ground, he saw an assembly of creatures. Three legged beings with arched backs that had two arms and what looked like an elongated head that came to a sharp point.
He wasn’t too sure what to make of them, but from the way they simply stood outside of his ship, he figured that they at least weren’t hostile. The books in his library never mentioned anything about other creatures that were capable of civilization residing on earth. *First time for everything I guess.*
With a firm tap of his fist, the bay door lowered itself to the ground. Danny took in a lungful of air and experienced smells completely foreign to him. His mind buzzed with excitement as he tried to categorize them: some were sweet, others felt woody and mellow.
As he took in the world around him, one of the beings approached him and extended a hand. Danny was confused, at first, by what the being was trying to do.
The creature then spoke. Danny looked at his voice analyzer and it found an instant match: English. Turning on his translator, “Hello. Who *are* you?”
All four of the creature’s eyes went wide with astonishment as it understood the words. “We have been waiting for your kind to return, human.”
Danny’s HUD indicated to him that the creature was attempting to perform an ancient greeting with by shaking his hand. With a firm grasp, he noted that their hands were a lot colder and scaly than they appeared.
“Well, I’m here,” Danny said, “though you won’t find much of anyone else around these parts.”
The creature stared at him.
“So … I’ll be honest, I didn’t really expect there to be anyone living here anymore.”
“We grew from the ashes of your civilization. Learning from your mistakes, building upon your knowledge. We found you to be beings of incredible imagination. Come now, we must begin the celebration.”
Without letting go, the creature pulled Danny along.
“Whoa, wait a minute. What celebration? And could you please let go?” He immediately felt the creature let go and he rubbed his hand. “Thanks. What’s your name by the way?”
“I am Ee’tentil, the great scholar of this village.” Turning back around, the creature led him along the path. “As for the celebration, you will see.”
As they passed by one of the trees, Danny could see a vast metal structure protruding from the side of the trunk. Zooming in, his HUD categorized it as an ancient human structure called a skyscraper.
After hours of walking and climbing, Danny was at the top of one of the smallest trees. At the center was a metal barrel and around it were evenly spaced seats that radiated outwards. The creature had asked Danny to wait inside what appeared to be some sort of lean-to. In the meantime Danny uploaded all of the data to his ship and directed it to uplink it to the inter-galactic archive. *They have to see this, these … things … are incredible!*
As night fell, the full moon shined bright in the cloudless sky. When Danny finally got to step outside, he noticed that all the seats were filled. Ee’tentil took him to the center, “If you could, could you please stand atop this?” gesturing towards the barrel.
“Uh, sure.”
Danny wasn’t too sure what was going to happen, but he figured that he could just call for his ship if he was in danger.
“Human,” Ee’tentil spoke, “you now stand trial for the abandonment of Earth, leaving it crippled and desolate.”
*Aww hell no.* Danny reached to press the S.O.S. beacon but found his movement suddenly restricted. Looking up, the entire forest lit up with lights as he could see millions of these creatures flying about the ground. His hands and legs became bound by some unknown force and all of his equipment began to short circuit.
Danny began speaking out, seemingly pleading to the creatures continued but stopped when he noticed the creatures tilting their heads.
The village Chief asked “What is the human saying?”
“I’m not too sure,” replied Ee’tentil, “but I do hope it will be able to answer our questions, for its sake.”
| 2015-12-20T13:47:41 | 2015-12-20T10:09:37 | 56 | 11 |
[WP] Superman is mentally handicapped. That's why he thinks nobody can pick up the Clark Kent=Superman thing, and everyone plays along in an effort to keep him from throwing a tantrum. The comics are his idea of what is going on. What does a day in Metropolis actually look like?
|
Bruce Wayne stood stoically, looking down upon Gotham through the spotless glass of the top-floor conference room. It was a stunning view, with the orange light of the setting sun trickling through the skyscrapers that sprawled out towards the horizon. Diana closed the notebook in front of her, its well-worn spine crackling softly as she did.
Everyone in the room was silent. The looks on their faces a mix of disbelief and uncertainty. Hal was absentmindedly tapping his finger on the desk, a rapid rhythm that annoyed Diana far more than it should have. She caught his eye and looked down at his hand. His eyes moved with hers to the curled digit and he took notice of the movement. He stopped immediately and offered her an apologetic look. She nodded and turned again to look at Bruce's back.
"How long has this been going on, Diana?" Bruce asked.
"I'm not sure, Mr. Wayne. A few months at least, since he fought those other aliens from his home planet. The stories he's come up with are amazingly detailed, I'll give him that. However, they're, well-"
"Crazy," quipped Barry. "I mean, I've got super speed and Hal has a magic ring and you've got an invisible jet? It's silly."
"So what is it exactly I even do?" asked John.
Diana turned to face him and gave him a tight smile,"Well, you...you are a Martian and...well it's kind of all over the place. Your powers aren't really consistent from story to story."
"I'm...a Martian."
"Yes, sir."
He nodded his bald head slowly, chewing on the inside of his cheek, "I see."
"At least you don't live in the ocean and talk to fish," added Arthur. "I mean, is there a worse one than that?"
Diana smiled, "Well you do have that swimmer's physique, Arthur."
He returned the smile and was about to speak up again when Bruce interjected.
"I'm the only one without super powers?"
Diana shifted in her chair. Bruce would go entire board meetings without speaking sometimes. Bring the President of Wayne Industries had its perks.
"Yes, Mr. Wayne, but you do have an elaborate cave full of very interesting devices-"
"But I'm a giant, flying rodent."
Diana stifled a laugh, "Well, sir. You're Batman."
"I'm Batman," he repeated in flat, monotone voice.
Hal and Barry exchanged smirks. The room fell into silence once again.
"It seems to me," Bruce finally said, "That this Batman is a protector of Gotham. I doubt he would stand for the kind of destruction that Superman brought to Metropolis when those aliens attacked."
Diana wasn't sure what to say so she flipped open the notebook again and slowly turned the pages to see if anything in them agreed with Bruce's point.
"I'd say this Batman would use his resources to stand up to Superman and tell him that his super powers must be controlled to keep the citizens of this city safe."
He turned to face them as the final light of the day's sun fell past the horizon and threw dark shadows across the cavernous room.
"I think we take inspiration from this notebook and see if we can bring this alien madman around to reality. Perhaps its time for Superman and Batman to face off. For real."
The rest of the room exchanged short glances. Hal spoke up.
"Mr. Wayne, you can't be serious. That guy would rip you apart if you tried some Superman versus Batman mega-fight."
"Batman versus Superman sounds better," Barry said with a wide grin. Bruce gave Barry a look that wiped his face clean in an instant.
Looking back to Diana, Bruce seemed to grow another inch as he took in a deep breath and puffed out his chest, "Get me anything and everything you can on that alien technology. Hal, call Lexcorp. We'll work together on this. If this alien has super powers and he's mentally unstable, we have to act now."
Diana scribbled notes onto her tablet. As the COO, she felt it was her duty to ask the question which hung on everyone else's lips.
"Sir, are you planning to do something yourself?"
"I have to Diana," Bruce said as he turned back to the window and watched the stars in the sky steadily brighten.
"I'm Batman."
|
A trashcan sailed through the air, trailing garbage like some sort of comet that didn’t quite get the memo that it was meant to look majestic and awe-inspiring so instead had settled for the bare minimum of being airborne and in motion. The car that followed it through the front window (as well as the surrounding brickwork) of Lex’s pizzeria couldn’t be adequately likened to a celestial body; it was too real, too destructive there was nobody around with a pen that could come up with anything other than really big fucking comet
Lois Lane was watching from the kitchen in the back as the car dragged in an entourage of glass and brick to assist it in smashing up the dining area of the pizzeria. She didn’t bother to stifle her bored yawn, attracting the attention of two of the six robbers that stood with her. She couldn’t fidget without grating her arms on the thick hemp ropes that bound her to the dining chair so her mind idly set to calculating how much money her department would have to pay out to the owner of the pizzeria.
“We’ll owe him for the shop front, the interior damage, the missed business hours” she thought as the man in blue flew around outside looking for something else to throw through the shopfront that no longer existed in material form. He liked the bangs and crashes, and he was a man of simple tastes.
“There’s damage to electrics and plumbing, repainting the lines in the car park, making sure there’s still a carpark to repaint and there’s the money we owe him for just for letting his store be smashed up by Super dolt out there.”. She used to feel guilty when she thought about the guy in those terms, neither of his conditions were his fault. However, years of dealing with the organisation, execution and fallout of his well-intentioned but messy appearances had left her with very little charity to give. She often wondered why he couldn’t just live at home quietly, occasionally posting on 4chan as she assumed normal people with special needs did.
However, city hall didn’t want him blustering about in real crimes so someone had to do it. At least it paid well; it kept Lois in blazers.
Silence had fallen, the man in blue had left, leaving the pizzeria feeling as empty as a pizzeria bisected with a ton of metal, plastic and temperamental electronics could feel.
“How long is he going to be?” stammered one of the robbers, taking advantage of the silence. He was shaking like a washing machine that had been set to a sensible cycle and he kept flicking his eyes to the street outside, scanning the sky.
“Shouldn’t be long” Lois replied, giving the guy a practiced, sympathetic smile to try and calm his nerves. “He just got a bit bored that’s all.”
“
Bored?”
“Yeah, or he forgot about you. He’ll fly around a bit trying to look important, then he’ll race planes until he remembers you guys and comes back. His attention span isn’t the solidest thing in the world.”
“Oh” the nervous robber said, still flicking his eyes between the sky and the pistol that he clutched in his hand, squeezing it almost hard enough to cut the finger grooves further into the handle.
“Don’t worry Tom.” said one of the other robbers as he slinked forward to put a hand on the guy’s shoulder. He moved with an easy air of authority that marked him as the leader of the group, as well as an equally easy air of confidence that identified him as a guy who had been in situations similar to the one he was in now. Which of course he had, apparently there was a market for this kind of charade.
“This guy fights fair.” the leader continued “He’ll punch you around but he won’t cause any permanent damage. He has some code of honour. Not like that psycho with the abandonment issues in the bat costume that got Jonny. Had to bring you on to replace him. Try not to end up with a shattered femur, from what I’ve seen they’re not very pleasant.” He finished his lecture with a staggeringly inappropriate level of cheeriness and went to indulge in a spot of method acting by plundering the kitchen for snacks.
This spiel did precisely nothing to calm Tom down, instead it caused him to go pale, turn away to face the shattered shopfront and to start muttering something unintelligible and clichéd about how he “wasn’t getting paid enough to deal with this shit”. Lois noted that Tom’s fear, rather than the leader’s confidence, was spreading to the other members of the group as the minutes and she found herself wishing for the man in blue to hurry up and finish trying to eat clouds or whatever it was he did in the sky.
“Ok, this is the most delicate part of this farce so make sure you get this right” Lois called out to the gathered robbers “When he gets here he’s going to give some speech about how should give yourselves up to the police. Don’t do that, he won’t expect it and it might cause him to freak out. Our last jam was a fake terrorist bombing and one guy tried to take his bomb vest off and surrender. The big guy broke both of our actor’s arms stuffing him back into it”
She vaguely noticed Tom going a further shade of white before continuing “Once he notices me he’s gonna get angry but he quite likes me so he won’t hurt anyone too badly while I’m here. This is when you shout ‘oh no it’s Superman!’ or something to that effect. Make sure you really camp it up and yell, it strokes his ego and a happy Superman is a relatively more peaceful Superman”
She paused to take a breath before continuing “Once he’s made his grand entrance and notice me, you start shooting. Don’t worry about him, he’s bulletproof and your shots will just bounce right off him. Hence the blanks” We learned that the hard way, she thought to herself. Poor Brett. “Once you’re all out then you throw your guns at him”
“
Really, that seems like it would break the fantasy” drawled the leader of the group as he finished off a pepperoni and pineapple sandwich with great enthusiasm. Everything the leader did was enthusiastic.
“
Don’t ask” groaned Lois “We don’t know either but it’s standard procedure so just do it. He’ll stop to duck, again don’t ask, and that’s when you charge him. You go one at a time and make sure you cry out when he hits you. It’s gonna hurt but it’ll hurt a lot more if you don’t make enough noise for him so remember to ham it up. Hit the ground properly, stay down when you do and between that and the Kevlar you’re wearing you should come out of this with nothing more than a few bruises. After he finished beating on you the police will come in and grab you, keep you in the station for the night and drop you off wherever you wanna go in the morning.”
Just then a walkie-talkie on the counter next to the leader of the robbers buzzed into life “He’s on his way, ETA two minutes I repeat ETA two minutes”
The robbers shifted into action with a fluidity that only comes from practice. Even
Tom was moving, albeit with obvious reluctance, training partially overriding fear as he pulled his black balaclava over his face.
“Right” barked the leader “Everyone got their balaclavas on?” After receiving a murmur of assent he asked “James, Martin, do you have the sacks with the dollar signs on?” The two robbers closest to the door of the kitchen lifted the props in response and a tense silence settled over the pizzeria kitchen.
| 2016-03-04T11:05:17 | 2016-03-04T10:39:47 | 29 | 20 |
[WP] We've explored more of the lunar surface than the bottom of the ocean. NASA knows what's down there, and it trying to get us off Earth as fast as possible
Since this is getting a lot more attention than I expected, I should point out where I got my inspiration for this post from:
https://i.imgur.com/tXkZaIL.jpg
I hope this isn't too annoying, but I've been working on a piece of writing at r/worldsaway and I'd be very grateful if some of you could check it out!
|
It's called the Fermi Paradox, the fact that in a universe that should be teeming with intelligent life we have heard nothing from our neighbors. That where space should be a cacophony of cultures all shouting to the cosmos 'we exist' there is only dead chill silence. It should not puzzle us, every day when we see the flash of sinister movement outside our windows or hear the sudden creaking of the floor elsewhere in the house we pause and even our breathing stills. When we are afraid we go still and silent, and all of those civilizations in space are afraid. They are so tremendously, very, afraid because they REMEMBER.
We humans call our planet Earth, soil, so integral is the land to our identity it seems that nothing else exists but the oceans are larger and they came first. Before life ever awkwardly flopped its way onto soil it grew in the depths, before humankind ever used its wits to become the fiercest killers on land yet others were using theirs to become the butchers of the sea.
It is humankind that has forgotten, forgotten that the land was no prize to be claimed but rather the distant shore to flee too. That for all that we are, we fled those even more intelligent and more malicious than ourselves.
When those on land go missing humans spin tales of aliens coming to carry them away, of tests and needles. When ships go missing we do not question it, we feel no need to spin such theories because deep in our collective unconscious we know. The depths are deadly, do not venture there.
We have ventured there, of course, our sonar echoing and hulls straining to hold themselves together. Initially assumed remnants of some ancient civilization it was NASA scientists and their more modern understanding that finally put meaning to those lines and shapes as launch facilities. Those scientists that finally identified the gunships, the missiles, the bombs. The great slaughtering race the galaxy fears is not on some distant shore looking towards the heavens but rather beneath our very own waves.
The cold war was a sham to build enough bombs, the space race necessary testing and the later near collapse of the space program all a ruse to hide the construction of the generation ships. Project Victus is nearly complete, if all goes well soon the ships will rise and humankind will flee the smoldering cinder that Earth has become. We only pretend to fear the day we leave a dead world behind us. It's our greatest hope.
|
FADE IN:
INT. A RESEARCH FACILITY
*A young woman walks through a narrow corridor, carrying two steaming cups of coffee in her hands. This is CHEYENNE, a graduate student. She taps a plastic badge on a card-reader with her hip, then pushes her way into a small office.*
**CHEYENNE:** Hey, Frank? Are you around?
**FRANK:** (*O.S.*) No! Go away!
*Cheyenne smiles to herself as she walks around a large filing cabinet. Behind it is a diminutive man sitting at a desk covered in print-outs.*
**CHEYENNE:** Well, darn. I guess I'll have to drink this coffee myself, then.
*Frank looks up at the white cups.*
**FRANK:** Oh, alright. Give it here, then.
**CHEYENNE:** What are you working on?
**FRANK:** It's another bloody send-back from the BODC. They claim our reports are invalid.
**CHEYENNE:** Invalid? How? We're using their equipment!
**FRANK:** That's not even the weirdest bit. Are you ready for this?
*A moment of tense silence passes.*
**FRANK:** (*CONT'D*) Well, are you?
**CHEYENNE:** Oh, sorry, I thought you were being rhetorical.
**FRANK:** I was, in fact, but I wouldn't mind your participation.
**CHEYENNE:** (*Sighing*) Yes, Frank, I'm ready. What's up?
*Frank snatches a piece of paper from his desk and holds it out to Cheyenne.*
**FRANK:** Look at the forwards on this email.
**CHEYENNE:** NASA? What the hell do they have to do with oceanography?
**FRANK:** Probably something to do with the tides.
**CHEYENNE:** "Tides?"
**FRANK:** Well, I don't know, do I?!
*Cheyenne glances around the office.*
**CHEYENNE:** Why have you been printing out your emails, anyway?
**FRANK:** Ah, that's the tricky bit. It seems as though our server has started erasing messages of its own accord.
**CHEYENNE:** (*Skeptically*) Really.
**FRANK:** Yes, really.
**CHEYENNE:** Are you sure you didn't delete them by accident?
**FRANK:** Quite sure, thank you... and what's more, everything that's missing had a reference to the same topic.
*Another moment of silence passes. Cheyenne sighs.*
**CHEYENNE:** What topic is that, Frank?
**FRANK:** The Puerto Rico trench. I've checked, and the only records we've retained about the area have to do with volcanic activity. There's no other data.
**CHEYENNE:** You make it sound like someone is clearing things out on purpose.
**FRANK:** I'm rather convinced they are, actually... but lucky for us, I've kept hard copies of everything interesting.
**CHEYENNE:** What constitutes "interesting?"
*Frank swivels around in his chair, scanning his immediate area. He points to a large scrapbook at the top of the filing cabinet, which Cheyenne retrieves. Frank opens the book and flips to one of the middle pages.*
**FRANK:** Right, here we are. These are images taken by a robotic submersible some three or four years back. They're nowhere in the database, even though there's a log number.
*He taps a small section of text on the page. Cheyenne leans in closer, squinting at the photographs.*
**CHEYENNE:** If I didn't know better, I'd say that looks like...
**FRANK:** (*Interrupting*) Yes, well, it clearly isn't. It would have to be truly gargantuan, after all. Perhaps large enough to move the entire planet.
**CHEYENNE:** The resemblance is rather striking, though.
**FRANK:** Quite. That's why it was originally dubbed "The Engine." Not that you'll find any reference to it now, of course.
*A look of mild horror flashes across Cheyenne's face.*
**CHEYENNE:** Frank, do you have images like this for every ocean trench on Earth?
**FRANK:** Somewhere around here, yeah. Why?
**CHEYENNE:** Think about their locations relative to the planet.
**FRANK:** ... I'm afraid I don't know what you're getting at, love.
*Cheyenne pantomimes holding a globe in her hands.*
**CHEYENNE:** If you wanted to pilot a planet-sized object, you'd need thrusters in specific locations, right?
**FRANK:** Surely you're not suggesting that the Earth is some kind of colossal ship.
*The two stare at each other for a moment.*
**CHEYENNE:** No. No, that would be silly, wouldn't it?
**FRANK:** Incredibly silly. Why, the very act of moving it would strip the atmosphere and kill everything on the surface.
*He closes the book and shakes his head.*
**FRANK:** (*CONT'D*) I'll tell you, though, I'm going to reach out to some friends at NASA. If they're influencing the BODC, I want to know why.
**CHEYENNE:** I'm sure you'll get to the bottom of things.
**FRANK:** I will, as well. Maybe I'll find another engine, eh?
*Cheyenne smiles appreciatively, then moves to sit at her desk on the opposite side of the room. Neither she nor Frank notice the blinking red light in the vent above them.*
FADE OUT.
| 2016-05-24T01:48:41 | 2016-05-24T01:20:56 | 1,401 | 396 |
[WP] You possess an ability to turn off one or more of your senses to heighten the others. Today is the day you make a mistake.
|
The arrow hits the target. A perfect ten.
I miss the sound the arrows make most of all. It’s an amazing sound.
But well, in order to get into the Olympics, you got to make some sacrifices. And I can still hear the others shoot.
As I lower the bow, I quickly activate hearing again.
My opponent raises his bow and takes the shot.
Nine.
Not bad.
Now it’s my turn.
As I shoulder the bow, I deactivate my hearing. With smell, taste and pain already disabled, my vision and touch are nearly doubled. I can feel every crack in the compound bow. I can feel the wind perfectly.
The target looks a lot larger than it actually is.
Breathing in deeply, I fire.
Another perfect ten.
However, this time, my opponent also scores a ten.
Damn.
I need to score another perfect ten to ensure victory.
What else do I have?
I already disabled smell, taste, pain and hearing. As I concentrate, more senses appear. Temperature? Don’t need that one either. And what’s this one?
I shrug, probably not important. You only need sight and touch to shoot after all.
I disable it and take aim.
This shot has to be perfect.
Relax. Breath in and…
My arm jerks upward and the arrow shoots away.
It doesn’t even go in the right direction.
I look beside me.
My opponent tapped me on the shoulder and the heightened sense of touch almost gave me a heart attack.
He’s saying something, but I can’t hear him.
I quickly enable everything once again.
“I’m sorry, what did you say?”
“The game is over.”
“How do you mean the game is over?” What the hell? “I still have to take my third shot.”
“You’re disqualified.”
“Why?”
“You went over the time limit. You do realize you’ve been standing here for half an hour, right?”
“Oh.”
“Something must be wrong with your-”
“Sense of time. Yes, thank you.”
|
Rudy had been blind for thirty-four years. Now it rarely bothered him: a loss that was like a drop in the bucket to everything else he had gained. Beneath his fingers, the woven tablecloth was grainy. He could pick out every ridge, every thread in it. They should have picked silk, like he'd suggested. Rudy rubbed that flat of his hand across it until he came to the wineglasses. Not the crystal stemware he expected, but it felt smooth and fine nonetheless. Hunger rumbled deep in his belly. The restaurant was emptier than usual, but burbled talking he managed to filter into the background.
"Mr Moore, your guests have arrived," the waiter whispered. Everyone learned to whisper around Rudy. The man he had chosen as his driver hadn't spoken in thirty years. Rudy valued him.
"See them in," he replied. When they arrived, he got to his feet effortlessly, holding out a hand in the direction of their voices. Rudy sensed their surprise. A man and a woman. She wore too much perfume, but then anything more than a drop was too much perfume for Rudy. The man dragged his left foot a microscopic amount more than his right. The sound of his shoes on the carpet made Rudy's teeth itch.
"Mr Moore," the man started. He took his hand after a second's hesitation. "Daniel Coleman, and my wife Cara."
"A pleasure," she said smoothly. There was something else beneath the perfume: the smell of sweat and leather.
"Do you ride horses, Cara?" Rudy asked.
"No, but Daniel's brother has a stable. I've been meaning to start. Why do you ask?" he heard the catch in her voice, even if her husband didn't.
"No reason. Please, sit down." There was no reason to reveal her infidelity at the dinner table. Not with the food that was coming.
Daniel was chummy. He sat too close and laughed too loud. Whippets of conversation straggled through to Rudy. A tearful exchange at the next table over; a hurried decision to leave. Jokes. Several jokes, all of them bad.
"We came here to talk about our business proposition," Cara steered the conversation onto safer tracks and Rudy smiled. He liked it when they talked business.
"Tell me about it," he said gracefully. "Who was the chef you poached from Hammlins'?"
"Gregory Lister," Daniel grinned. "Genius what he does with food. You've tasted what he can do, you know it'll be a success. But we need your help to get us off the ground."
"Just one review," Cara broke in. The gentle clink of dishes told Rudy that food had arrived. He moved his elbows and held a finger up. Both of them fell silent. Rudy Moore's table routine was well known. He bent his face to an inch away from the food and inhaled, deeply and noisily.
In the background, a peel of laughter broke out. Rudy frowned.
"Cockles," he said eventually. "Cooked in white wine, cream and saffron. Good garlic, cumin, shallots minced and salted to paste. Cooked fast and well. Added parsley, cracked black pepper and-- Is that the bread? My goodness."
Taking a chunk of the bread, he broke it in half. Steam rose from it, fragrant as rosemary. It was soft to the touch, springy and floury. Rudy mopped it in the sauce as another peel of laughter rang out. He lifted it to his lips, enjoying the smell for one last moment before he ate the bread.
"Divine," he said. "But I won't do the review, not for any amount of money. I'm sticking to my principles. Gregory may be an angel with food, but this poaching of chefs has gone far enough. Daniel, that injury on your left leg. It's a burn from the arson at Francesco's. I can't be part of this world any more. Restauranteering used to be an honourable trade. When did it become so full of gangsters?"
Another peel of laughter: like nails on a chalkboard. Rudy lifted his head. It was the same laughter every time. Again it came, again, like a glitched record. Then it dropped, and the restaurant fell to silence.
"What's going on?" Rudy asked, scared.
"We thought you might say that," Daniel said. "But we've covered our tracks. Open your eyes, Rudy, and you'll see what we've done."
Thirty-four years. Rudy allowed his eyes to see once more, and the shock of it made his retinas scream. A huge light: beaming straight onto his face, a single table set up in the middle of an empty warehouse. Speakers around him, glitching as they attempted to play the sounds of a restaurant. A carpet was laid out on the concrete floor, the walls padded to absorb sound. And Cara and Daniel, smirking as they watched him over the badly set table.
"I guess I see now," Rudy said. "You'll stop at nothing to get this review."
"Your name is famous," Cara replied. "You say we're good, and people will come rolling in."
"They won't," Rudy said. "Not if I can't taste a thing."
| 2016-08-24T07:39:44 | 2016-08-24T07:24:48 | 77 | 37 |
[WP] A man buying 24 watermelons and 36 apples becomes self aware that he's in an elementary school math problem.
The fruits and their quantities are arbitrary.
Edit: My first post here, so any feedback on the prompt is much appreciated.
|
1. If each watermelon costs $5.50, and John wants to buy 24, how much money will he need?
2. How many apples will John be able to buy if John only buys 15 watermelons but has money for 24, and each apple costs $0.50?
3. John realises he doesn't remember when he left the house. If it is 5:30, and he knows he has been gone for at least 45 minutes, when is the latest John could've left the house?
4. John realises he doesn't know who he is or why he is buying so many watermelons, and rushed out to his car. If there are four red, three green, and five blue cars in the parking lot, and John's car is red, what is the probability a randomly selected car will be his?
5. John is getting scared. He drives away at 65 mph on a suspiciously empty road. How long would it take him to get to his house, 2 miles away?
6. After just one mile, everything fades to white. John realises his existence is pointless, that he is the only sentient being in a math problem, and prepares to kill himself. John hooks his exhaust pipe to his car window; How fast did the exhaust fill the cabin if the cabin was filled with 7 m^3 of gas when John died after 10 minutes?
Extra Credit: How many $0.70 pears could he buy with the money for watermelons?
|
The carts rolled with inertia towards the Hungry for Apples? chalkboard sign, heavy with seedless watermelons. As they bumped into one another the stainless grates rattled with weight under fruit.
“24 watermelons” He sweated, “All my fingers, all my toes both my eyes, mouth, and nose.”
"What the fuck," He thought, "I’m so late for work." It was like today just appeared out of nowhere, he was asleep and then there he was trying to get the melons. All of them heavy as he piled them into neat pyramids in a cart, their black outlines and labels hanging precariously. "I can't lose this job." The sense of urgency returned.
Yet he couldn’t stop. The cart bumped the green box of waxy produce, sweet with a light tone of rotten underneath. Far up, the fluorescents buzzed above the pyramid of Pink Ladies. He knelt before them, defeated. On each apple, a number.
Over the PA, an employee explained patiently that now he needed 36 apples.
Shaking, he unrolled the flimsy plastic bag. Six apples per bag. Six bags, two per shopping cart. He counted each one out.
There was a scratching sound, and then again on the PA : “Carry the one, everybody.”
“I’ve got to get out of here.” But he couldn’t leave the carts. As soon as he began to walk away he began to shake, and become immovable.
He tied the carts together with his shoe laces, and pushed his little tram past the checkout line. At least he thought it was a checkout line. Everything outside of the fruit seemed blurry, unfinished lines and shadows.
Outside the store he tried to find his car. But he couldn’t remember driving there.
The PA was on again. “Word problems are very important.”
As he walked, he passed a man making 12 times the amount of muffins he had yesterday. The man sat, questioning if he had even baked yesterday.
A girl counting up thousands of Legos because she is missing 17. She too must have been nauseous, because she fell down when she tried to explain as he passed that she could make a perfectly good castle missing the 17.
And lastly, the most sad color blind man with thousands balloons mumbling about which 620 were green. He added them up over and over again. He was smeary, as if he had been partially erased.
The melons were heavy in the sun, and he grunted as the carts tinny rumble followed him.
Next to all of them were huge grey numbers, shaky, dusty numbers in the sky.
He still couldn’t find his car, but he felt nauseous leaving the apples and melons.
"I’ll never eat all this. I’ll have to donate it," he thought. " But I stole it, do shelters accept stolen fruit?" The absurdity of this made him laugh out loud, and a wild feeling crept up from the sucking of his diaphragm.
“How many does he have?” The voice said, thundering through the white space.
"Fuck, how many do I have?" He had carefully counted each one earlier, but the number seemed so large when he couldn’t see it, he thought. Out loud he said “Why does it matter?”
A small voice answered him, “60 pieces of fruit.”
“Who was that?” He shouted. He began to run, fruit and all. What does sixty even look like when you don’t have the fruit in your hands?
A large grey line started to roll across the ground, bending into the sky, a large, unsteady, 6 - o.
The shoelace snapped and the cart rolled. The nausea returned.
“Very good,” the big voice said. “Write your name on these and pass them forward. Windy breathing could be heard and hot humid gusts flew past him. A large rip tore through the sky.
B E C K Y.
As soon as the last line in the Y ended a warm pink fleshy thing pinched the parking lot and suddenly the pink things were all around the edges of the lot. He screamed. It sounded like a thousand wings were flapping all at once. The sky was falling in, compressing him and below him he could hear himself, “What is this for? Why me?” And above him, the bleeding melons squished a pink sick slime through the air. It grew dark.
There were moans coming from him above and below, the girl with the Legos was screaming and it echoed as she questioned if she was alive or dead. The bursts of 36,000 balloons rumbled as the papery sounds shuffled again.
The voice came again. That terrible sweet voice. It was hard to hear through all the paper, but he listened on the ground in the cart of apples. “Tonight’s math homework is listed on the board. You’re dismissed for lunch.”
| 2017-06-05T16:06:52 | 2017-06-05T13:22:11 | 40 | 17 |
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth".
|
"I've heard. Wouldn't it have made more sense to be Water?" Asked Gabalrug, a slender creature that sported aquamarine skin tones.
Metatq shrugged at him, pouring the contents of his glass into one of his several mouths. He was a little less blue, but otherwise the same race.
"They're quite curious," He said.
"Oh yeah? In what way?" Gabalrug asked, taking in his own drink as his face expressed an attempt at keeping his focus fixed on his companion- It was failing.
Metatq merely shook his empty glass and cocked his chin toward it. "This stuff."
"Alcohol? I like it."
"What kind of creature thinks to drink from rotting fruit?"
"I don't think it's... quite like that."
Metatq drew up his lips in an odd frown, looking toward the barman.
"What do you make of it?"
"Oh, it has its ups and downs. You'll get used to it." He said, his eyes rolling off in a moment of remembrance.
"Hey, where you from?" Asked Gabalrug.
"Dirt." Said the Bartender, offering the pair a mild smirk as he continued to wipe across the soaked counter.
"This stuff is incredible!" Yelled Gabalrug, wafting left and right in an almost drunken haze, his demeanour perhaps more friendly than it had ever been.
"Wait until you hear Music..."
|
The barman stood behind the bar as one would expect a barman to do. He was mindlessly polishing a glass but his mind was on the Holoscreen, listening to the Local Cluster News. His bar was fairly empty, but it was still early in the afternoon.
Across from the bar was a booth and in this booth sat two of the regulars. One was a Gu-map, a 7 foot, purple skinned being with large black eyes. His head was tall and thin. One mouth chatted while the other sipped it's drink. The single arm protruding from the center of it's chest lifting the glass. His name was hard for the barman to pronounce but he knew him as Zip.
The second regular was an android called Beta-0101110110102, or Bee for short. He had a skin of soft white bioplastic covering his perfectly spherical body and 4 arms. His anti-grav hover port at the base of the ball torso was switched off as he rested upon the padded seat.
The barman rarely listened in on their conversations but something today caught his ear.
"Earth!" said Zip in it's heavily accented basic.
"Earth?" responded Bee, the light emitting from the top of the ball torso changed from red to white, and then to blue as it spoke. "Earth as in Dirt?"
Zip laughed, a deep rumble with occasional high pitched squeaks. "Yes, They named their planet after the ground. Talk about Dirt-ball life-forms." it laughed again.
"I've heard of Humans but I did not know that. Rather primitive lot aren't they?" said Bee.
"Yeah, they only escaped their own solar system 50 rotations ago. They've been around for only 12 rotations."
"And now they've officially joined the Union?" asked Bee.
"Yep."
"I am astonished. What is this Union coming to? Allowing any old species join."
"What next? Are we to give the Bugblatter Beast of Traal a seat at the high council?" Said Zip, they both laughed, Bee elected to not point out his friends obvious logical fallacy. "I mean, they only recently stopped believing in deities and higher powers."
"Just in time for them to meet the God like Galactic Union? Wait, wasn't there a travel ban to the Sol System a few rotation decades ago? I'll check." Bee said, before the lights flashed quickly from green to pink. "Yes, It is confirmed. Travel ban to Sol System began in 12,238 EGU to 50 rotations ago." finished Bee.
"Have you seen one?" asked Zip.
"No." said Bee.
"I have. They're weird. Bit shorter than me, two arms, two legs, some covered in patches of short fur, other little bits of long fur. Their skin a vague light brown colour. It kind of matches soil in colour."
"Good for camouflage I guess." said Bee.
"It would seem so. They are barely out of the Hunting era of their existence." said Zip
"They must be rather smart to get into the union so quickly from being hunting primitives."
"Smart? yes, but I hear they're can be rather aggressive and tricky too. I'd love to see one up close... Another round?" said Zip, looking into his glass, he pressed the button requesting a refill.
The barman had been listening this whole time, he poured a fresh drink for Zip and grabbed a fresh Intox-card. He headed over to the table. He placed the green liquid in front of Zip and gave the Intox-card to Bee. Bee picked it up and plugged it into an access port.
"Logic bank access reduced by 3%, Inhibition Inhibitors increased to 12%, Speech Modifier set to Level 3." said Bee in a preprogramed automatic voice.
Zip took a large sip of his drink and both mouths smiled. "Yeah, same here buddy."
The barman stood looking at the pair as Bee transferred the credits to the bar account.
"Umm... I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." said the barman.
"Oh? Have you seen one of those humans?" asked Zip, taking another sip before looking up. It was then he noticed the light brown skin, the height slightly shorter than his own, the two arms... the two legs. Both of his mouths dropped open as realisation dawned. Bee's lights went orange.
"You're-" stammered Zip.
"You're a-" added Bee.
"Yes" said the barman with a proud smile, feeling like a celebrity.
"By the stars, you're disgusting." said Zip as the second mouth feigned vomiting. Both of the regulars laughed loudly. Zip flicked a metal rectangle towards the barman and turned back to Bee.
"So did you see the 0-G Ultra game last night?"
| 2017-09-06T05:28:42 | 2017-09-06T04:57:44 | 714 | 345 |
[WP] At an alien bar in the distant future, two aliens are enjoying a drink and trading stories about the newest member to the Pan-Galactic Union, an odd race of bipeds from a planet named "Dirt". But what they don't realize is that you, the bartender, are from that planet "Earth".
|
"Ha ha, dirt," one of the aliens chuckled.
The human bartender, needing the tips to survive, said nothing.
"You're an idiot," his companion said. "All homeworlds are called dirt. That's what pre-galactic civs call their worlds. The fuck else are they going to call them? Some meaningless made up shit?"
"Well, I come from Uthos. Named after an ancient god. Not 'dirt.'"
"And what's the name of your star?"
"Uthos."
"You ignorant shitfuck. God, you're such an imbecile. I hate you so much right now."
"What?" The first alien seemed confused.
"Most cultures rename their homeworld after discovering the Union. Most often, they go with the name of their home system. So Earth will probably call itself Sol, after its people get used to the idea of a multistellar society. Like my people did. Like your people did."
"Doesn't Sol just translate as Sun?"
"So do most home system stars. Listen, idiot, these worlds? Their stars? They're all named pre-warp. When the savage inhabitants just know that there's the ground, the sky, and some big fuck-off light. You think they change that when they discover that there are other worlds, that their sun is a star?"
"When, the Cromulites—"
"The Cromulites are fucking pedantic nerds. But that's better than being an idiot who hasn't considered the nature of his premise before he feels entitled to an opinion."
The first alien blinked a few times. "Take me home. I'm yours."
|
The barman stood behind the bar as one would expect a barman to do. He was mindlessly polishing a glass but his mind was on the Holoscreen, listening to the Local Cluster News. His bar was fairly empty, but it was still early in the afternoon.
Across from the bar was a booth and in this booth sat two of the regulars. One was a Gu-map, a 7 foot, purple skinned being with large black eyes. His head was tall and thin. One mouth chatted while the other sipped it's drink. The single arm protruding from the center of it's chest lifting the glass. His name was hard for the barman to pronounce but he knew him as Zip.
The second regular was an android called Beta-0101110110102, or Bee for short. He had a skin of soft white bioplastic covering his perfectly spherical body and 4 arms. His anti-grav hover port at the base of the ball torso was switched off as he rested upon the padded seat.
The barman rarely listened in on their conversations but something today caught his ear.
"Earth!" said Zip in it's heavily accented basic.
"Earth?" responded Bee, the light emitting from the top of the ball torso changed from red to white, and then to blue as it spoke. "Earth as in Dirt?"
Zip laughed, a deep rumble with occasional high pitched squeaks. "Yes, They named their planet after the ground. Talk about Dirt-ball life-forms." it laughed again.
"I've heard of Humans but I did not know that. Rather primitive lot aren't they?" said Bee.
"Yeah, they only escaped their own solar system 50 rotations ago. They've been around for only 12 rotations."
"And now they've officially joined the Union?" asked Bee.
"Yep."
"I am astonished. What is this Union coming to? Allowing any old species join."
"What next? Are we to give the Bugblatter Beast of Traal a seat at the high council?" Said Zip, they both laughed, Bee elected to not point out his friends obvious logical fallacy. "I mean, they only recently stopped believing in deities and higher powers."
"Just in time for them to meet the God like Galactic Union? Wait, wasn't there a travel ban to the Sol System a few rotation decades ago? I'll check." Bee said, before the lights flashed quickly from green to pink. "Yes, It is confirmed. Travel ban to Sol System began in 12,238 EGU to 50 rotations ago." finished Bee.
"Have you seen one?" asked Zip.
"No." said Bee.
"I have. They're weird. Bit shorter than me, two arms, two legs, some covered in patches of short fur, other little bits of long fur. Their skin a vague light brown colour. It kind of matches soil in colour."
"Good for camouflage I guess." said Bee.
"It would seem so. They are barely out of the Hunting era of their existence." said Zip
"They must be rather smart to get into the union so quickly from being hunting primitives."
"Smart? yes, but I hear they're can be rather aggressive and tricky too. I'd love to see one up close... Another round?" said Zip, looking into his glass, he pressed the button requesting a refill.
The barman had been listening this whole time, he poured a fresh drink for Zip and grabbed a fresh Intox-card. He headed over to the table. He placed the green liquid in front of Zip and gave the Intox-card to Bee. Bee picked it up and plugged it into an access port.
"Logic bank access reduced by 3%, Inhibition Inhibitors increased to 12%, Speech Modifier set to Level 3." said Bee in a preprogramed automatic voice.
Zip took a large sip of his drink and both mouths smiled. "Yeah, same here buddy."
The barman stood looking at the pair as Bee transferred the credits to the bar account.
"Umm... I couldn't help overhearing your conversation." said the barman.
"Oh? Have you seen one of those humans?" asked Zip, taking another sip before looking up. It was then he noticed the light brown skin, the height slightly shorter than his own, the two arms... the two legs. Both of his mouths dropped open as realisation dawned. Bee's lights went orange.
"You're-" stammered Zip.
"You're a-" added Bee.
"Yes" said the barman with a proud smile, feeling like a celebrity.
"By the stars, you're disgusting." said Zip as the second mouth feigned vomiting. Both of the regulars laughed loudly. Zip flicked a metal rectangle towards the barman and turned back to Bee.
"So did you see the 0-G Ultra game last night?"
| 2017-09-06T09:11:47 | 2017-09-06T04:57:44 | 492 | 345 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
"I don't know if she's all that daft. I think she may be a witch."
"Who? Mad Mary of the Idiot Wood!? A witch? I doubt that very much."
"She could be playing dumb to throw us off, so we don't suspect."
"We are talking about the daft old lady who'll give you vegetables if you dump your chamber pot in that thing behind her house. That one, right?"
"She does have the best vegetables in the county. Could be she needs it for her gardening spells."
"The same lady who gave a shilling for a every dead rat you could bring her then burned all the rats?"
"We were the only village that didn't get the plague. Sounds like a sacrifice to me. And, I'm pretty sure she cursed the barber."
"Cursed the barber?"
"Yeah, my mum says that years ago Mad Mary and he got in an argument 'cause her kid's humours were all out of
balance and he wanted to bleed the tyke. The kid died. Ever since then, he loses more patients than he saves."
"Well, you've convinced me. I guess we've got to burn her, then?"
"I don't see anything else we can do. Can't have a witch in the village."
edit: formatting.
|
It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T12:11:29 | 2017-09-14T08:26:46 | 240 | 25 |
[WP]: Your village idiot is full of the strangest superstitions. She goes on about washing one's hands, says you get worms in your intestines from standing barefoot on night soil and that medicines with mercury should be avoided at all costs. You're starting to suspect she might be onto something.
|
"I don't know if she's all that daft. I think she may be a witch."
"Who? Mad Mary of the Idiot Wood!? A witch? I doubt that very much."
"She could be playing dumb to throw us off, so we don't suspect."
"We are talking about the daft old lady who'll give you vegetables if you dump your chamber pot in that thing behind her house. That one, right?"
"She does have the best vegetables in the county. Could be she needs it for her gardening spells."
"The same lady who gave a shilling for a every dead rat you could bring her then burned all the rats?"
"We were the only village that didn't get the plague. Sounds like a sacrifice to me. And, I'm pretty sure she cursed the barber."
"Cursed the barber?"
"Yeah, my mum says that years ago Mad Mary and he got in an argument 'cause her kid's humours were all out of
balance and he wanted to bleed the tyke. The kid died. Ever since then, he loses more patients than he saves."
"Well, you've convinced me. I guess we've got to burn her, then?"
"I don't see anything else we can do. Can't have a witch in the village."
edit: formatting.
|
It was hopeless. It took her years of painstaking advancement through social ranks, starting with little more than a village idiot, of taking three steps forward and two back, of cracking one glass ceiling after another just to arrange this meeting, yet only one of the assembled feudal lords was listening and even his comprehension lefty much to be desired. Others were busy drinking, trying to feel up the maids or in one case furiously hollowing a piece of wood with a knife.
“So… you are saying this im.. imm.. immunizations can stave off another plague?” The lord sitting on her left asked, struggling with unfamiliar word.
“Loads of poppycock!” Interjected his peer opposite ”I wouldn't be surprised if those caused children to be born cretins!”
She threw a murderous glance towards the interloper, and sweet as before, returned to her target, desperately vying for an analogy he would comprehend.
“Imagine, that you have captured some warriors from a vanguard of an army invading from the east. They have weapons and armour like you have never seen before. Would you rather set them free, kill them, or put them in an arena to fight against your champions?” he was definitely interested now “It would be a risk for your soldiers, but your army would know what to expect, and how to fight a new enemy.”
His eyes lit up in comprehension.
“If you…”
But he wasn't given a chance to finish as a small projectile embedded itself in his neck. He stood up, nearly toppling the table. Bellowing in rage he reached for a dagger.
“Easy, brother, easy.” Laughed the man previously busy carving. “I have done that for your own good. See, as Elizabeth the Seer teaches, small portions of poison teach your body how to deal with real disease. So I've decided to immunize you against crossbow bolts.” He waved a miniature crossbow, he made just moments ago. “I reckon, that by the end of the month I should be able to shoot you with a proper bolt. Next month an iron tipped, and next year a ballista.”
The assembly erupted in a wave of laughter, and she knew all her work was for nothing. Sobbing, she ran out and didn't stop until she reached one of the huge iron pillars, surrounded by a sea of twisted, rusting wreckage.
She started crying openly, not only because of her failure, but because of what all of humanity lost in just a couple of centuries. She looked around, the ancient capital lain in ruins, magnificent buildings crumbled and replaced by wooden structures, overflowing Seine turning the terrain back into swampland. Only the ancient churches stood tall and proud, creating a painful dissonance with what was left of the pinnacle of human achievement.
****
High above an alien appendage relaxed and left the immediate vicinity of a kinetic strike activator. The ship's leader, who watched everything unfold through the eyes of a myriad of minuscule robots mimicking insects, wiped a sticky tear-analogue from his face; he genuinely felt for Elizabeth, and although he would cause her even more suffering before his mission was over, his soul shattered into a billion bruised pieces every time he had to cause harm.
He said a quick prayer to the Gods, both his and human, thanking for sparing what used to be Ile de France, back when he arrived for his scheduled rotation as mission coordinator. He sensed his crew's impatience, and began to issue orders in a soft and explanatory manner characteristic of his species.
“It went better than we could expect, but get the robots to apply a topical poison to the exact area where the projectile struck Lord Jean. Something that would make him rot alive, or maybe just bled out. They will be shocked, but they will only blame Elizabeth and her ideas.”
He paused, reminiscing how easy was to collapse the human civilization. No physical contact. No weapons. Just memetic viruses. Vaccines cause autism. Earth is flat. Jews are behind it. Jet fuel…
“Activate protection protocols on Elizabeth and all the others. Maximum prejudice, no need to stay secret. Before the year passes, she will be reviled as a witch, and all her ideas banned, our sage will be just like Baba Yaga from previous iteration. But for that we will have to keep her safe, and make sure she takes her medication.”
He wondered, what was she thinking, when one beautiful day she stopped aging, and even regained perfect health, while civilization crumbled all around. “I'm sorry…” he whispered.
“Now, please take us over Mr Harrison, and please prepare those angelic apparitions…”
| 2017-09-14T12:11:29 | 2017-09-14T06:09:16 | 240 | 20 |
[WP] A watch is invented where it says exactly how long until you meet your soulmate. You decide to get one for you and one for your wife. Your wife’s watch says ’negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours and 9 minutes’, the day you two met. Yours says ’12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes’.
|
I love my wife. And because I love her, when she asked me for one of those stupid watches that tell you the moment you'll meet your soulmate, I went and bought two for us.
I didn't expect our times to be different.
Hers had the exact moment we met, 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours, and 9 minutes ago. I remember that moment so clearly, as I went to pick up the girl I had been talking to online for weeks for our first date. She was stunning, even more than I could have imagined. I knew she was going to be my soulmate, if there even was such a thing, right then, but apparently it was only I that was hers.
My watch had 12 days, 8 hours, and 29 minutes left.
The love of my life noticed the moment I put the watch on and I saw her face crumple. She was trying not to cry and honestly, I was too. This woman was my everything and I had no doubt she was the only one for me. I told her that she was the light of my world and no one could make me as happy as she did. That she was the only one I would ever want and that whoever the watch thought I should be waiting for couldn't compare to her. That I would never love them as much and didn't care to ever meet them.
I was wrong.
My wife wasn't angry with me, she knew I loved her with everything I had and she loved me back. We planned how wonderful the rest of our lives would be with our newborn child. We were so excited.
With 8 hours and 37 minutes left and the watch forgotten, we rushed to the hospital. A few days past due but my wife was finally in labor and we were giddy. Once we were there, we discovered our baby had gotten the umbilical cord wrapped around their throat and needed an emergency C-section. During the surgery, a nurse came out, calling for me. I hadn't even considered that my wife could get hurt before that. I was so stunned when she told me my wife wouldn't carry our baby home with me, wouldn't fight with me over whose turn it was to take care of them in the middle of the night, wouldn't watch our little one grow up, wouldn't grow old with me. She hadn't made it. My world fell apart.
But then they brought me our child. She looked just like her mama and I knew I had to be strong for both of them, for my wife who wanted to be here and for our child who needed me. I named her Lila James, just like her mama wanted. I knew I was going to give this little girl everything I could and that she was my greatest treasure.
When Lila started crawling, she found both of the watches under the living room sofa. I looked at mine and realized that 7 months, 6 days, 13 hours, and 8 minutes ago was the most challenging day of my life. I went to the shop to tell them their watches were full of it and they should be ashamed for selling faulty technology full of empty promises. They told me that the watches aren't really a measure for soulmates so much as they are for the person you will love the most. That's when I realized that while my wife was the one and only love of my life, our baby girl was who I loved most. She was the most precious thing I had and all that was left of her mother.
I still love my wife, and I adore our Lila James. Now, I wear both of our watches to remind myself of my two greatest blessings.
|
“12 days, 8 hours, 29 minutes,” he said, to himself.
“What’s that,” said the watchmaker, through a thick German accent.
“This isn’t right,” replied the man, “This is in the future.”
“Then you haven’t met your soul mate yet.”
“That can’t be, I’m married you see, and I-“
The watchmaker looked up from his work with piercing gray eyes, “I only make die watches. That one is not wrong. I do not make errors. Now wither select a new watch or leave my shop.”
The man looked down at his wrist and looked as his timer went down. 12 days, 8 hours, 25 minutes. He couldn’t bring himself to believe the frail watchmaker. Without so much as a goodbye, he stormed out of the building and went home for the day.
“Rose,” he said, “Rose, come here honey,” he said entering his home.
“Sam, you’re home,” he watched as she walked up with the same excitement in her eyes that he had seen for the past 6 years.
“I have a gift for you,” he said, holding out a small wrapped box.
“You didn’t have to do that,” she said.
“I know, but I earned a bonus from a big sale, and I thought I’d get us a little something.”
Opening the box, she looked up at him with a smile. “Oh, Sam!,” she said, hugging him tightly. “A SoulMate! I’ve been wanting one for so long.”
“Well try it on.”
Affixing the small gold and white watch to wrist, she saw as the timer rapidly moved to the time of negative 6 years, 9 months, 14 days, 3 hours, and 9 minutes.
“I-I think that this is when we met Sam,” she said, with a burning spark behind her eyes. “In Dr. Douglas’ class? Yeah, we were freshman then! We should send him a letter and tell him how much that class means to us.
Sam’s cheeks started to go flush as water filled his eyes. “I... really I am glad. Love you...” He looked down in defeat as the tears started to fall.
“Sam, honey, what’s wrong?” She said, grabbing him and holding him close.”
“Look, look at my watch,” he said, holding up his wrist.
“12 days, 7 hours, 12 minutes,” she looked up at him, back at his watch, at her watch, and then at him again. “I don’t understand, why isn’t yours the same?” She was crying too at this point.
“I don’t know. I love you, I do. You know I do. The only reason I brought these damn things home was I was sure yours was going to read the same time as mine, somehow. I thought maybe it, it was broken or something... I don’t know.”
She jumped up and looked down at him. “I don’t know what to say,” she said, before stomping off into their bedroom.
“Rose, Rose? What are you doing?” Sam got up and followed her into the bedroom.
“I, just... need time to think,” she said, as she started packing a small bag, with streams of mascara running down her face.
“Please don’t go, I need you.”
“Do you, Sam? Do you? Maybe I need you, but you don’t need me.”
And with that, she was gone. Out of his life. She left the house, leaving him no knowledge of where she was going. He tried finding her, by calling her mother, friends, the police, but she had mysteriously vanished.
He feared the worst, and decided to look himself in his house until the time passed by. If Rose wasn’t his soulmate, then he didn’t deserve to have.
The days passed by. 12, 11, 10, 9, 8. By the 7^th day, he had started to drink himself to sleep every night.
By the 4^th day, he was toying with the notion of suicide. He couldn’t live without his Rose in his life.
On the 2^nd day, he drank an entire bottle of scotch, and then proceeded to drink more. By the time the paramedics found him, he was in a coma.
Sam lay in a hospital bed, alone, in an empty room. One of his friends contacted Rose, and she was the only person to stay by his side. She wept over him every single moment, and prayed for a recovery.
“Sam, please wake up,” she said, holding his hand and crying, “Please wake up. I may not be your soulmate, but you’re still mine, and I can’t see you die.”
He stayed unresponsive though. After several hours passed, Rose left the room to go and get a bite to eat, having starved herself waiting for her loved one to wake back up.
Upon her return, she heard something that made her heart drop.
“Hi, Mr. Robertson, I’m Nurse Ginger, and I’ll be taking care of you.”
Rose dropped to the floor outside of the room and started to have a panic attack. This was the moment. Sam was gone. She had lived the best 7 years of her life with him, and now it was all over. He had finally met the love of his life.
The nurse rushed out and saw Rose in the floor weeping. She picked Rose up off of the ground, and with a lot of talking, managed to get her into the room. Rose felt as though it would be to say goodbye to her husband who she had grown so used to seeing.
“Why are you sad?” Sam said.
“Because, because, because,” Rose tried to tell him why, but the words just wouldn’t come out.
“I’m sorry, but do I know you?” Sam asked.
She looked up through her hair that had fallen in her face, the spark in her eyes no longer there. “I’m... I’m your... I’m.”
“My name is Sam. Now you tell me your name,” he said, with a smile on his face.
A smile slowly grew on Rose’s face, “My name is Rose Robert- uh, Rose Sanchez.”
“Well Rose Sanchez, they won’t tell me why I’m in here. The last thing I remember, I was about to go to my first class of the semester, uh, American literature with Dr. Douglas.”
The two began to talk through the night. And in one of the corners of their house, a watch read negative 1 hour and 12 minutes.
—-
Thank you for reading my story!
If you liked that, please consider checking out my subreddit r/coffeeswritingcafe I recommend [this](https://redd.it/7n0ao7) one, if you want more romance. Thanks again!
| 2018-01-06T19:20:45 | 2018-01-06T18:09:30 | 537 | 312 |
[WP] Every known object on Earth has a legendary "sword in the stone" variant. From the legendary socks in the stone to the legendary tv in the stone. After years of searching though, you find it: the legendary Stone in the stone.
|
Creaking bones beg me to stop. Tearing muscles scream for this madness to end. Even my mind is arguing for the last sleep. But my soul refuses to let them stop.
I was young when the rumors first came to me. Excalibur had been found, THE sword in the stone. A champion was needed and I, like everyone else, came to try their hand at unsheathing the King's right.
Months passed, no one could pull it by force. People grew obsessed, their obsession became growth. Cults formed to train bodies and minds to be worthy of such a feat. The training was brutal, many died along the way, their blood rocket fuel to those that survived them.
A decade or so later Excalibur was set free. Wherever the champion went, people were compelled by their command. But that tyrannical reign was crushed in its infancy by the one who pulled the Atlantean Trident from a stone at the bottom of the sea.
Despite the hero's pure heart, too many had grown fanatical in their worship of Excalibur. The cults had studied ancient lore and collected other legendary relics encased in stone by far wiser peoples. A staff containing the magiks of a long passed mage usurped the throne from the Atlantean Trident.
People were slaves in searching for new relics, desperate to find their footing in this new world's massive power disparity. No one bothered looking for shoes in stone or buttons in stone. What good could those possibly be against the terrible might of a Maelstrom Stormcaller split from stone? Or the Hydra's Head born from an egg of stone?
But I knew better. Rather, I hoped more than the others. I had found a blanket in stone that let me be as forgettable and inconspicuous as a pebble. And so I hunted down all the relics too unimportant for the rest.
And now, having survived decades of slaughter and subjugation, I am on the cusp of securing the stone in the stone. My body begs for death, it has no more to give, but this stone, the Philosopher's Stone has the power to grant wishes.
I wish these damned stones back into legend, let them be dust on the eyes of a dreamer and this terrible world but a story forgotten and tucked away.
|
The cemetery rustled with stirrings of malevolence. Elijah stood in the cool air of the summer’s night, relishing the sweet scent of grass and soft chirping of crickets. He breathed deep as she approached, her boots squishing down on the damp grass. She made no effort to move quietly, and he made no effort to run. Such things were for a younger time.
“You’ve come at last, Lysandra,” he said, his voice calm and steady.
She startled at the sounds of his voice. “Elijah! So, it was you after all. How curious.”
“You were always my brightest student, but even now your ignorance blinds you to the truth.”
She moved closer. “What truth is that?”
“You’ve lost your way, Lysandra. I can’t help you anymore, I’m sorry,” Elijah said, turning to face her.
She lashed out, striking him across the jaw. “You betrayed me!”
Elijah reeled back, coughing, but made no attempt to fight back. “No, Lysandra, you betrayed all of us.”
“There is no ‘us’ anymore, I’ve seen to that!”
“You think that killing the others somehow makes you invincible? And that killing me, taking the final key, will make it all better? There are things in this world you still do not see. Time moves in spirals, and your time runs slowly to its end.”
Lysandra looked look into the face of her former master. The light streetlamps reflected off his watery eyes, and in those eyes, she saw her victory. She laughed, then punched him in his chest, breaking his ribs, laughing. “I didn’t have to kill them all, you know.”
Elijah struggled to stand, whimpering. “I know.”
She kicked his face, dark blood spattered on the wet grass. “You know why I did it?”
“Because you enjoyed it.”
She smiled, “I did. When I ripped those items away from the keepers, I saw each of their eyes grow dim, and I liked it. I savored every moment. Now look at you! Pathetic, weak, alone. How does it feel? You could have saved them all, and you didn’t. Will you rest in eternity?”
“I’ve made my peace,” he said, kneeling on the grass.
Lysandra drew close to him, whispering in his ear. “I want you to know, after I take the key, I’m going to unlock the time vault.”
“The time vault is a myth.”
Lysandra stood back, her smile stretched into a grin. “Is it?”
He gasped, coughing a wet globule of crimson blood. Shaking hands clutched the golden key close to his heart. Kneeling, he looked up into her eyes, his body broken but his spirit unwavering. “Please, I’m begging you!”
She reached down, wrapping her lithe fingers around his chin. “Oh, tut-tut,” she said, “next time, try fighting instead.”
Elijah’s neck snapped with a sharp start. He tumbled lifeless to the damp ground, and in the cemetery, all was quiet. Sniffing in distaste, she pushed his body aside, revealing the prize she long-sought. The legendary key.
It was fabled in myth and legend, the key that could open any doorway. Such a shame it wasted away in the hands of a man unwilling to wield its unfathomable power. She pried his cold, dead fingers away, and claimed her prize, then walked off into the night.
&#x200B;
...
&#x200B;
The flashlights reflected off the cavern walls. Water dripped with sharp plinks on the stalagmites below. The stale, frigid air of the earth smelled like Sulphur and mud, and boots squished along the sandy bottom of the cave. Mark paused, shining his light on one odd-looking rock. “Dude, I think this is it!”
Kyle groaned, “It better be. We’ve been searching for hours.”
Mark walked towards the stone. “Its smooth obsidian, in a natural cavern! No way this got here on accident.”
The stone was no larger than a softball, embedded halfway in a huge granite boulder. It was black as the night, and light swirled and reflected off its glassy, polished surface.
“You've found it, i guess, but how do you get it out?” Kyle asked.
Mark frowned, placing his hands on the stone. It was difficult to find purchase on the slippery surface, but Mark managed after a bit. He tugged; the stone showed no sign of giving way. “I’m open to suggestions?”
Kyle chuckled. “Try spinning it.”
“That *is* a good trick,” Mark said, nodding in appreciation. He twisted the stone. With a mighty crack, it released from the granite, and Mark held it aloft with a cry of glory. “Behold!”
Kyle whooped in victory, but then the ground started to shake. Black smoke poured out from the center of the granite, enveloping Mark. A voice started from the stone; it spoke with power and antiquity. “Who dares disturb the stone in the stone?”
Mark coughed and gagged against the smoke. His nostrils flared, his throat burned, and he managed a squeak of a whisper. “It is I, Mark Howard.”
The voice boomed with the sound of fate. “Then Mark Howard, we have a big problem.”
***
This was fun. Nice prompt! More stories at r/BLT_WITH_RANCH
| 2019-02-07T13:31:35 | 2019-02-07T12:36:22 | 262 | 20 |
[WP] You are a sleep worker. You climb into a pod, your mind is put to sleep while your body is put to work. 8 hours later, you collect your check for the day. You never really cared what your employers did while you were "out" until you wake up one day to a six figure paycheck.
|
Please hear me out a little, officer. Just let me finish and you'll understand.
First day I joined the sleep company, I knew this would be a great endeavour; it hit quite the sweet spot for me. No job quite draws the line between work and life. I get to 'sleep', my mind is mentally recharged after I come back from work, I get paid, and my 'office' is a five-minute walk from my place. What's not to like? Sure, the hours might be a little weird, but with a little adjustment to my routine, I managed to accommodate just fine. And with just a little bit of workout, I managed to make the physical fitness cut. What's more, I think they must be using my body just fine, because I've been getting more toned ever since.
But I have to say, the job's a little quirky. Mainly because of the way they pay us. Firstly, they pay by cheque. Secondly, they come from various individuals, our "benefactors", as I have been told. And finally, the amounts are sooooo random. Like, I could get triple my basic all of a sudden, and then be back to normal. But these spikes would always be a delight. I like to think of these cheques as "incentive" for a job well done, even though it's really my body that's doing all the, well, heavy lifting.
Although it's made me wonder: What am I really doing?
Last week, I was woken up by my attendant as usual. We exchanged the usual, he hands me the envelope as I walk out the door. I would normally peek on the way home, but for some reason, I didn't. I can't remember why, though. Anyhow, I did my things, closed my eyes for my quick power nap, and suddenly remembered my cheque. So I opened it, and guess what I saw?
Five hundred thousand dollars.
I nearly fell off my chair when I saw it. Double-counted, nay, triple-counted the zeroes. 5 zeroes, that's right.
But if my Mama taught me one thing, it's never to count your chickens until they've hatched. I slowly wrote my account number on the back of the cheque like I've done so many times, and went to the bank to cash it in. After that, I went to work.
That's where the white suits were waiting for me. At the reception, you see.
They showed me into a separate room, plain like this one, and offered me a deal. The money could continue to flow, if I would simply sign on a, let's say, revised contract. But this time, they wanted control of me for 24 hours, for the next 2 years with a possible extension after review.
Of course, I balked. I have no family to feed, you see. My Mama didn't raise me to be greedy. But they threatened to void my current contract, so what could I do? I kinda like my job.
But even if my body is no longer my own, I have a few tricks up my sleeve. You see, even if they have my body, they can't remove my mind from the equation. And I've had plenty of time to get good at "lucid dreaming", kind of like watching TV. And with me under 24-7, that's plenty of time to figure out what happens while I'm under.
The things I've seen, they horrify me. I've killed... is it even right to say it was I..? The drugs, the sex, the evil was too much for me. This isn't what Mama would have wanted from me.
And that's why I'm here, officer. They already know I escaped the pod. You gotta stop them, I can't- I don'-
Wait, what are you doing with that taser? Please no-
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
/r/Script_Writes
|
I pulled off the helmet, gasping for air. It was a silver ball that perfectly fit over my head. As soon as I would put it on, my mind would be put to sleep. However, my body wouldn’t. The company that manufactured these would use the husks of their employees to perform manual labor that they normally wouldn’t like to do. It was a good way to make a stable living, only having to wake up a number of hours later to receive your check.
Essentially, you sell your body and time for a pinch of money. It was very useful.
I stood and clocked out, a check dispensing itself out of a machine. I rubbed my head as my eyes scanned the money that I’d collected. I pocketed the check and paused. Like with powering on a smartphone to check the time, I’d instantly forgotten the amount of money that I’d collected. I pulled out the little slip of paper again, examining the numbers once more.
Another pause. I blinked. Was I seeing double? I held the check up closer to my eyes. No, it seemed to be no mistake. Five hundred thirty-six thousand, seven hundred fifty dollars and sixteen cents. Not thinking much of it, I stuffed my pocket with the check.
There was something else in there. Something hard and cylindrical. I took it out.
Inside my pocket was a vial with crude handwriting on it. Reading it, the note said “When your mind comes to be, consume this vial’s contents. -Cara.” I squinted. What was this? Was someone playing a prank on me?
I hurried outside into the bustling street, diving into a desolate alley. From there, I examined the vial further. Inside it was a white viscous liquid. I shook it around a few times and opened the cap. Putting it up to my nose, the liquid smelled musty. I sighed, and finally began pouring the contents into my mouth.
Instantly, I dropped the vial and held my head. It began throbbing, my vision gradually fading to black. As I shouted at the top of my lungs, I fell to the ground and hyperventilated until all of my senses faded.
&#x200B;
A burst of wind blasted my face. Opening my eyes, I discovered that I was no longer in the alley. Instead, I found myself riding a dragon. Shocked, I tried to wriggling. I couldn’t, though. I was tied to the scaled creature.
“H-Hello?” I called, my winds being carried away by the gust. Amazingly, the beast I was fixed to looked straight at me.
It began to speak, its breath rushing up my sinuses. “Welcome back, Keith,” it greeted.
“How… How do you know my name?” I asked, confusing littering every corner of my mind.
The dragon chuckled, looking ahead. “I guess you really don’t know,” it said. “I used your body as a vessel. Without it, I wouldn’t have been able to defeat my nemesis. I thank you for that, by the way.”
“My… Body?” Normally, I wouldn’t be too upset over my body being taken over. I voluntarily made the decision to give it up five days out of seven. Still, this beast taking over my body? I still couldn’t wrap my head around it.
“Of course. You’ve been working for years, right? In your sleep?”
I nodded my head. “Yeah. I’m a sleep worker.”
“Well, all it took was one of my special ointments and I was in there.”
I opened my mouth. “Where are we, any-”
The dragon began to decline sharply. I closed my eyes instantly, my stomach and heart rising up to my throat. As adrenaline shot through my brain, the dragon eventually landed on a rock. Looking back, it peered downward. “Oh. I’m sorry, your body didn’t feel fear, and… I’m sorry.”
Using a claw, the dragon cut the ropes that held me down. I was able to stand again. “No, it’s fine,” I said as I brushed myself off. “That was actually pretty fun. Where are we, anyway?”
“My home,” the dragon answered. It waved towards the cave it landed next to. “Did I ever tell you my name?”
“Is it Cara?” I tried.
The dragon nodded. “Yeah, that’s my name! At least you know that much.” Cara started moving towards the opening of the cave, and I followed.
I peered around at the dark rocky walls. “So what am I back here for, anyway?”
Cara pushed over a wall, revealing a huge underground space with a pool of water and a skylight above it. “I thought you’d like to help me with something.” She stopped next to crevice in the wall. “Come over here, please.”
I made my way over to the small gap in the rocks. “What is it?”
“I...” Cara stammered. “I dropped one of my jewels in it. Can you get it for me, please? Your shift was ending, and I had to send you back. I promise I’ll get you back right away.”
I tilted my head. “That’s what you wanted me to come here for?”
“That’s all,” Cara said with a crooked smile. “Your check should more than make up for it, right?”
With a shock, I remembered. “Yes, yes it will.” I dove into the crevice, dirtying my clothes instantly as I wriggled around. With my gradual descent, I managed to spot the ring fairly quickly. It sparkled, the huge diamond-like material requiring all of my strength to carry back.
“Wow, thanks a ton!” Cara gushed as she grabbed the jewel away from me.
I slowly returned, my clothes saturated with dust and dirt. I tried to itch my eye, but only made it worse. “Yeah, yeah.”
Cara looked towards me again, her excitement dissipating. “I… Just thought of something else. Could you help me with that too?”
“Huh? What is it?”
“I really need someone to attend a ceremony with me. Would… You like to go with me?”
I took a step back, my eyes widening. “What?”
“My brother’s wedding. It’s dragons only, but I have this tonic...” Cara stammered. She sighed. “You need to become a dragon to attend it with me.”
“Cara, I don’t think...”
Cara approached me, her hot breath shaking my shirt. “Think about your paycheck, Keith,” she reminded.
I frowned. “I mean… Why the hell not,” I decided. “Half a million dollars? You know that people would kill for that much money?”
Cara giggled. “That’s what I thought. I’ll get it for you, be back in a second.”
Another glass bottle was pushed towards me. “Here it is,” Cara huffed.
I picked up the bottle and studied it carefully. It was unlabeled, with a red liquid filling the tube completely. With shaking hands, I hesitantly opened it. Was I really going to drink this? What had my life come to?
“Keith?”
I paused, closed my eyes and poured the substance into my mouth.
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
Sorry for the haphazard story, I'm feeling pretty out of it today. Still, awesome prompt!
| 2019-04-23T21:21:57 | 2019-04-23T18:54:56 | 57 | 36 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
I didn't even think before I gave the answer, and as I woke up I felt the lump in my throat. As the feeling returned to my body, I felt a rejuvenating pain sear through every cell. My bones were scored with classified information, my brain etched into by a mind much greater than mine. I stretched my shoulders and felt the weightless tank welded to me. The next month would be hell.
I had done it, I had walked through hell and back. I had pushed back assault after assault, I had broken down beasts stronger than myself with my bare hands. I had learned to shoot, to fly, to kill. I walked through irradiated glass without flinching, I bore witness to the destructive power of a singularity, and saw the sunrise from orbit as I came crashing down. I had saved countless lives with the precision of a mathematical vector. I had seen architecture so alien it left me speechless. I had escorted and delivered my charge without her receiving a scratch, I held off an offensive the likes of which my kind has never seen with a single gun.
But now, now I walk to the end, and I know what waits for me here. My hud, which has guided me this far has a single word on it now. "Survive" and for a time, I do. I mow them down like a field of hay, hot plasma rounds are winnowing grain from the chaff. My impenetrable shield broke some time ago, and I feel the blood pooling inside of my suit. The visor on my helmet shatters, and I toss it to the side. I pick up a weapon completely alien to me and use it with surgical precision.
I know I won't survive this, I always knew that from the second I woke up. I won't live to tell the tale, I won't conquer this endless sea of snarling fangs and glowing blade. I can't imagine the horror in their minds as I rip the blade out of my stomach and return it to its owners head. I've killed thousands in an hour, I've broken their bones, riddled them with holes, and turned some into what looks like mincemeat. I overheard one call us "demons", and I'll give them a reason to do so.
It comes to and end when the last clip runs dry, and the only weapons on the field are pointed at me. I can't finish the fight, but I can inspire others to do so. To remember to fight to the last, to never give up against impossible odds, to-- to remember me, to remember Reach.
|
The voice faded into my mind as another came.
"Hey, Khontis. You seriously napping?"
My eyes opened as a strangely familiar face came to view.
"You sure know how to sleep. It was sure nice of Naoya ask us to meet him out here on a hot day like this, huh?"
I grunted and rubbed my eyes as I took him in, a blue t-shirt with a white hat, bright eyes and a bag with a laptop in it was slug over his shoulder. This was, in every sense, Atsuro.
Behind him stood a boy in a black shirt with headphones on, his eyes were careful and aware. "Kazuya met with us here." Atsuro continued, "So how have you two been? Normally I see you two during the school year so I feel like it's been forever."
Kazuya, known as Abel among his friends as his mobile handle...I couldn't help but wonder...Deep down inside how this would turn out.
Kazuya, the reincarnation of Abel. If this was the game I would think that position would be me. But with another here...
"Hey, what's wrong Khon? You doing okay?" Atsuro asked.
"Uh...fine. Anyway, what does your cousin want?"
"OH THERE You all are!" A female voice called.
"Oh hey, here comes YooHoo." Atsuro smiled.
I didn't need to look to know. A redhaired girl wearing pink. Her bag looked heavy, all I could think of as Yuzu yelled at the two boys for using her old nickname was if there was a COMP in there for me.
After a few bummed looks and sighs of disappointment Yuzu handed htem out. A blue one for Atsuro, a red one for Kazuya, a pink one for Yuzu.
She turned and tossed one into my lap.
And a purple one for me.
I opened it up but didn't bother turning it on. I knew it would have to wait for the rest, I also knew what would be said.
The Laplace Mail about the man near where Naoya lived would be killed. And later tonight the Wendigo would show up.
I would have to fight demons.
To be honest, I wasn't *too* worried. I mean at first I'd be really up a creek, always was the first time around with the first of the Bel's but I had played and beat this game so many times I understood the strategy. And I always loved the Megami Tensei games. But...
They were games. If I died here...
I'd have to live.
"Peaceful Days died. Lets survive" I whispered.
"Huh? what's wrong?" Kazuya asked.
"Nothing."
"Well... I need to do more research. Why don't you guys head off and hang around."
"Sounds good." Yuzu replied and I followed the pair as their conversation carried like I remembered.
It wasn't long before we heard a voice calling out.
"Now along with our Shomonkai, let us bring the world together! With the power of the internet the world will be one once more!"
Yuzu gripped along as Kazuya rolled his eyes and they spoke. Even more trouble.
"Hey! You coming?" Yuzu called as they moved through the crowds to leave. I held the comp tightly in my hands, not wanting to release it. There'd be trouble if I did. Soon...
I looked to my watch. It was almost six and we were walking by Omotesando.
I stood aside as the sirens wailed and Yuzu spoke about Naoya.
We hurried there, and like clockwork a tall man with long hair in a kimono looked to them. "Oh, its you guys. What are you doing here?"
His snake like eyes narrowed at me and I tensed.
Naoya, the reincarnation of Cain.
He spoke to them and continued onward past them toward me. I gritted my teeth as he spoke. "The door of truth will open. Overcome your fate."
He eyed me as they past and I glared at him. "I hope you can overcome this trial as well. Don't leave me disappointed." He whispered.
I glowered.
Naoya *knew* i didn't belong here.
"I'll try to impress." I remarked.
"What was that about?" Yuzu asked.
"Nothing. Lets go."
Kazuya's phone rang and sent us back to Atsuro.
He gave his usual computer talk before Yuzu called him to just unlock them.
I stood ready as they shined and four demons emerged. Kobold, Pixie and Kabuso all for them. Expected.
And before me going after me, was an ogre.
"Nice...Lets go!"
Yuzu screamed as the pixie went after her, Atsuro dodged the Kabuso's attack and Kazuya and I both seemed to be the first to jump to the fray.
The battle was simple but still, I could feel my adrenaline rush as I slammed into the Ogre a final time.
"YOU BEAT OGRE. OGRE NOW YOURS. USE ME IN FIGHT. FIGHT LOTS!" he said as he disappeared.
Yuzu began her freak out as Atsuro calmed her. Finally on the notion to go see Naoya we ended up back in his appartment.
"Look! It's Naoya's box!" Atsuro pointed.
"Yea. it's full of stuff. It looks like he hasn't been here in a long time." Yuzu agreed.
"So we were lucky to see my cousin."
Our Comps lit up with mail and as I read them I knew where they'd lead.
To the cemetary. To Amane.
"Should we go?" Yuzu asked.
"He did say 'person'" Kazuya noted.
"Yea. He would have said 'demon' or someone; if he meant anything else.Lets go."
| 2020-02-16T19:03:05 | 2020-02-16T16:08:36 | 688 | 12 |
[WP]You receive a message, "Reply Yes if you can survive the last video game you played." You answer Yes. Your vision blanks and you open your eyes finding that you are at the beginning of said game. You hear a voice "To leave you must win. Your prize is all you gain in this world. Good luck"
|
I blink rapidly, trying to clear my head.
Where am I? Last thing I remember was... a text message? Some sort of joke or prank of some kind. Something to do with a video game.
Images flashed in my head: a beautiful woman on horse back. A violent battle. A silver bird skull.
The woman, I was trying to find her. I *had* to find her.
Beside the warmth of a fire, I laid to rest.
The warmth changed. Instead of a fire, I was now in a tub. I propped my feet up on the wooden tub's side. What was.... I'd been thinking something just now... Huh. Mustn't have been important.
Suddenly something pinched at me. I jerked upright. I wasn't alone in the tub.
"You know I don't find that amusing." I grabbed the crab like creature, tossing it onto the stone floor.
I spoke with the woman. She prodded me to go train with the girl. Sighing, I dried off and clothed myself.
I stepped out into the brisk air of Kaer Morhen. Time to find Ciri and get some training in.
*But first*, I thought, *maybe I can find someone for a few rounds of Gwent.*
|
I do not remember anymore for how long I've wandered the fog. I remember how it started, I know where I am headed, and I remember every little detail of everything I did since the time I replied yes to a innocuous text message.
This would have been smarter to never answer, or to play a game of something nice before answering. But I guess I'm not a smart man.
See, the message asked if I could survive the last video game I played. Being a little bit of a smart ass, as you cannot die in the game, I answered by the affirmative. Right after that, fog started to engulf the room in which I was and rather than sitting down in front of my computer, I was now in front of a campfire.
The first thing I did, I must admit, is panicking. Anyone in my situation would have done the same. Especially since I knew exactly the game I was in. Ho yeah, I knew back then that I was going to survive. I already knew that death was not an escape.
And ever since, I travel the fog, and each time you wander, your fate is similar.
First, you find a campfire, and you know you are safe for a while. You discuss with some other unfortunates victims, share some stories about your life and, for a little time, you know hope.
Then, the fog becomes thicker and you get up. The scenery changed, shadows and crows begin to form and somewhere within this enclosed place you're finding yourself in... someone is trying to kill you. Sacrificial hooks can be seen and you know they will pierce through your shoulders soon enough.
So you roll up your sleeves and start looking for generators. Generators that will power a switch to open the exit. And if you manage to escape, the result will be the same as if you slowly dies at the hand of the... thing... that haunts the fog, the entity that created this place. You'll find yourself at the campfire, until the campfire is no more. Until the next time a killer is there and the next time you're sent to die
Time after time, death after death, hope starts to fade away, you start to see things from another angle. There is no point trying to escape and slowly but surely, emotions and sensations start to fade. I stopped running, didn't even care about escaping. I ratted out other victims to the murderer and went on about my day. There was no point to this. I was here for eternity.
I don't really know when I first saw the campfire from a new point of view. I had escaped, by letting all other die in my stead, and I was somehow happy about it. Not that I escaped, but that they died, that I took part in it. And the campfire was far away for once. The fog was still here, but I could see much farther through it. Around the campfire, I could see people discussing but I couldn't reach them. The faster I walked in their directions, the more distance was created between me and them. I understood then, that I was no longer one of them.
The next time I would be wandering the fog, I would be catching them, slicing through them, putting them on hook and see them writhe and scream while the entity would tear at their flesh. And for the first time in what seemed like forever, I felt something. Anticipation. I was genuinely happy about it...
It took me some time, to get used to this new role. My old companions weren't going to let themselves die easily. They were way more resilient than I used to be, but that was no longer what I needed to be. I became relentless, always on the chase, always on the lookout for a new victim... a new offering.
I still remember the first time I managed to kill them all, all those presents, one after the other. I got to see their eyes lose all life right in front of me, I could feel their last breath as blood entered their lungs. It brought joy to the entity, a delight so pure even I could feel it. And do you know what happened next ?
The fog lifted. I was once again in what used to be my room, in a now abandoned building. And I bet you understand why I'm here, right? You asked me a question, twenty five years ago, if I could survive the last video game I played. Guess what, I did.
You'll be happy to know that you will not go through what I went through. You will not wake up to find out you're going to be murdered once more, you will not suffer thousand of deaths at my hand. No, I can promise this to you...
You will be dead by daylight.
| 2020-02-17T00:38:53 | 2020-02-17T00:26:12 | 16 | 10 |
[WP] You were cursed with good luck by a supernatural entity, something you were very confused by at first. Now a few week later you know exactly what that means
|
**0**
“…Good luck?” you ask.
Tyche offered me a smile. “That’s right…mortal,” she said and broke into titters of laughter. Which was rather disturbing coming from a god, all things considered.
“And this is your curse on me? For…counting cards at your casino?” How did the Bellagio even hire a Greek Goddess?
“For violating luck, mortal,” she said. “You don’t like luck? Fine, you shall be cursed with perfect luck.”
“So be it,” you say. This was probably a fever dream anyways.
All went white.
**3 Years Later**
I woke again in that same place, with grand pillars as far as they eye can see. A floor spotless enough to see my own reflection. And of course *she* is there. Tyche. Long golden hair cascading down in curls to her shoulders, a flowing white dress, and a crown made from playing cards.
“Have you been enjoying your luck?” she asks.
You blink, stunned for a moment before stammering a response. “I mean…sure?” you say. “I haven’t noticed any difference?”
“Oh you will,” Tyche says. And the scene slips away.
**300 years Later**
You thought you were crazy. You almost cry when you find yourself in the pantheon again. When she appears, you go to grab her, shake her, do *something,* but before you can even touch her she’s moved 10 feet away. She is laughing.
“What have you done to me?” you say.
“I have, ah, blessed you with perfect luck. Not good, not bad, but perfect,” Tyche says.
“Oh, yes, that is a very valid explanation for how I haven’t aged in 300 years,” you shoot back.
“Luck is just the amount of randomness in a system,” Tyche says. “I believe you call it entropy. And I have just reduced the entropy in a particularly small and insignificant system,” – you, with your extremely deductive reasoning skills infer that she’s talking about you – “to zero. Your genetic material will not decay. Your cells will copy perfectly. You can’t even get cancer.”
“I’m immortal,” you breathe, just as everything goes white again.
**30000 Years Later**
You beg her to take away her curse. The Bellagio hasn’t even existed in millenia!
She says all curses are final.
**3000000 Years Later**
You ask what happened to the other gods.
“Faded,” she says with a shrug. “As much as we despise them, we rely on mortals. Their belief, their importance. Humans don’t think much of the ocean when they throw garbage in it. Don’t think much of lightning when they think of it as static electricity. They understand it, so they don’t pay it much mind.”
“Not luck though,” you say.
Tyche smiles. “Not luck.”
**300000000 Years Later**
You have the pattern figured out by now. You’ve forgotten a lot, but some things you just can’t forget.
Things are different this time. The pillars are crumbled, Tyche’s hair is uncombed and her dress has grime.
“You look great,” you say, your voice dripping with sarcasm.
Tyche’s eyes narrow. “It was…inevitable, I suppose.”
“Not many humans around anymore but me,” you say. You still can’t believe you’d survived an anti-matter bomb.
“Well then good thing you’re here,” Tyche says.
You wait for it all to fade to white, but it doesn’t. You look at her with your head cocked.
“Just…just stay a while will you?” she asks. As you watch a strand of hair falls to the cracked floor.
You don’t really have much of a choice.
|
"I curse you with luck," the creature said, its voice a rasp.
I laughed. I couldn't help it. Luck? With a life like this, I could use nothing more.
Besides, he didn't look like he had anything more to give than heebie-jeebies. Looked an awful lot like grandma, but they'd probably both be offended at the comparison. He stood shorter than my shoulder, gaunt like a sack of bones held by a thin layer of gray, flaky skin. He'd either seen better days, or needed that luck way more than I did.
"Good or bad?" I said, unable to resist goading the angry little fiend. *Just* like grandma.
He grinned a grin that stretched far too wide. There were gaps between his crooked teeth, and out of them his breath escaped in whistling little hisses. Smelled of death--could it actually have been grandma?--and I winced.
"Good," he said. And he giggled in little hisses that sputtered and stuttered and sent spittle flicking from the gaps between his teeth.
"Well, thank you, then." I checked my watch, finished putting on my socks, and stood. "I have to go now. Should I see you out or do you know the way?"
He grinned again, the gray skin of his cheeks wrinkling up to his ears. He did a little jig--stomped his feet and rubbed his hands together in maniacal glee. And in a blink, he disappeared.
"See yourself out, I guess," I said with a shrug.
I cursed my coffee-deprived brain, and wrote it off as a voice from a vision. Grandma had had them all her life, the weirdo; angry voices and friendly voices and voices that she claimed once told her to eat that whole pint of ice cream in one go because the shard of glass somewhere in there would set her up for life. It did. Shut her up for good, too. Good luck, bad luck--depended who you asked.
In the evening, Meredith laughed it off. She told me I was silly, that I made up these silly fantasies and should write them down and make a book of them.
"I'm serious, babe. He stood right there where you are now," I said.
"Well then go test your luck, babe," she said, not taking me the least bit seriously. "Buy a lottery ticket. Rob a bank. I don't know."
I bought that lottery ticket. We were sitting in the living room eating dinner from a pizza box when they read the numbers.
"Holy shit," she said.
And that little hiss from between the creature's teeth echoed in my ears again. I swallowed hard, forced out a smile, told her this was what we needed to turn our lives around. This good luck curse.
"Let's buy a house. Fuck renting. We'll get a big mansion, a summer home, too. Let's buy a new car. Quit our jobs..." She just kept going, and that creature's giggles just kept growing.
"We'll start small," I said.
So we bought a car. It was a beauty second only to her, its red curves screaming out its need for speed.
"You gonna take me on a ride, baby?" she said, dressed to the nines. Stilettos we couldn't have afforded before; a skirt that teased just as much as she wanted. She'd had her nails done, and her hair, too.
I grinned, told her how good she looked, and swallowed down whatever fear that little fiend had planted in my brain. Meredith sidled up beside me.
"Buckle up," I said.
She laughed.
"No, seriously. Buckle up. Good luck or not, I'm not losing you to a wreck."
She rolled her eyes and put her seatbelt on. I tore out of the parking lot, broke eighty on the freeway before she had time to put her sunglasses on. Then ninety. Then a hundred. We broke one-forty, and the world passed us in a blur of colors. One-sixty and I thought she'd never get enough. One-eighty and--
"Enough," Meredith said, letting out the breath she'd been holding as I slowed down to legal speeds. "I don't want to go that fast again."
So we didn't. I fell into pace with the traffic, cozied up beside a semi-truck and behind a logging truck and couldn't sneak my way around them no matter how hard I tried.
"Good luck, my ass," I said, cursing the traffic.
"It's fine," Meredith said. "We're still moving, and I prefer going this slow now."
I leaned to the side, tried to peer around the logging truck. Red lights flashed. We rushed towards the metal of the truck and the pile of logs atop it, but I slammed the brakes. The brakes on the old car wouldn't have cut it. We would have hit that logging truck and trimmed the whole of our heads off along with the top of the car. Luck meant we didn't.
The semi to our side was upon us before I could think to move.
Starting with where Meredith sat, the whole car crumpled like paper. Meredith did, too. The truck kept coming, and the car crumpled over to where I sat and beyond.
At least it was painless for her, I hear the doctors and orderlies say. I can't see them, but I know they talk to me next.
"You, sir--you're lucky to even be alive."
Maybe they think I can hear them. Maybe not. Maybe they find comfort talking to a body that can't talk back, that can't complain about food fed through a tube or about that itch halfway down my back that I won't ever be able to reach.
Then they whisper. Then I *know* they think I can't hear.
"Keep him alive as long as possible. No next of kin anymore and with that lottery win--just keep on billing him."
I want to scream. I want the luck to end so that the infernal beeping will stop. I want to wake up and walk out of here. I can't. I won't.
The room smells like grandma. Like death. It's either me, or the creature is back. It must be him. I can hear him between the uncertain beeps of the heart monitor and the gentle whir of the ventilator.
A gentle hiss, like haggard breaths through gapped teeth. The creature's hiss.
"I curse you with luck," he says, over and over and over again as he does his little gleeful jig. I can't see him, but I know that's what he does.
I wish the doctors would make him leave. I can't tell him that myself. I can't tell him to shut up. All I can do is lay there, tubes snaking in and out of my body, lucky to be alive.
*****
Thanks for reading! If you enjoyed this, please check out more stories at r/MatiWrites. Constructive criticism and advice are always appreciated!
| 2020-10-15T05:06:14 | 2020-10-15T04:40:33 | 1,837 | 368 |
[WP] You are an unimportant government worker who, by mere chance, gets to perform the most interesting job of his career: interview a time-traveler. You begin by introducing yourself and the guy immediately freaks out!
|
"Okay, let's begin" I turn on the recorder. This recording will be analyzed for years. First interview with a time traveler!
"I am Sophia-Iona Holloway, customs officer," I say, attempting to build his trust. Doesn't hurt my name will be at the beginning of this recording.
"Sophia-Iona Holloway? Sophia-Iona Holloway of Paris, Texas, United States?" he says.
"That's where I was born, yes. How did you know?" I know I wasn't supposed to ask about myself, but he brought it up. . .
"They said I'd be interviewed by some random government official. Not Holloway. Ohhh no." He then mutters something I can't make out.
He tries to escape, but the doors are locked. Can't take the chance of him escaping.
"Why don't you just take a seat, and I'll ask my questions?" I say.
He sits down, but any question I ask is met with complete silence. I try to get him to respond, but he doesn't. Biggest chance of my career and I blew it.
Feedback welcome!
|
The young man started talking the moment he opened the door to the room. “Hey there, my name’s Andy. I’ll be conducting our interview today.” He seemed nice enough, a friendly, warm smile on his unshaven face. “Please excuse my tardiness. It’s been a long night. Elections are just around the corner and us lowly drones are working overtime to make the boss of our boss happy.” He took a seat in the cushioned chair opposite of mine and placed a metal can and two cups on the table. “Coffee?” He offered with a gesture. “No thanks.” I replied.
“So, you really are a time traveler?” The man in front of me asked while pouring himself a cup, his eyes wide with fascination.“Yeah, I guess I am. I’ve travelled back two-hundred-twenty-eight years, originally, to correct something gone wrong in my time.” I hesitated for a moment but decided against further detailing my task. “I’ve been here for about twenty-seven years now.” I looked down at my hands in the first time of what seemed an eternity. They had become wrinkly. Weathered. Not the way, I remember them.
“Oh, that means you arrived the same year I was born in. That is a long time to be stuck in a surrounding that must seem quite backwards to you, isn’t it?”
I snorted involuntarily. “You have no idea. It was supposed to be a job of a few days. Iknew the date and place to be. I’d be seeing my family again by the end of the week. But the intel was bad. I was never able to do what I was supposed to. And the transport back was hard wired to when my goal was accomplished. And then there I was. No money. No place to stay. Nothing of any worth to my name in late20th century USA. I tried to make the best of the situation. But you know all the stories of “Rags to riches” you hear about in the TV or the newspapers? They are just that. Stories, intended to keeping the unfortunate masses barely hopeful enough to slave away until their hearts give out.”
He looked me up and down, not judging, but imagining my life and pitying me. I don’t knowif he believed me or if he just thought me a homeless man who spun an eerie tale for a night of warmth and relative comfort. Hell. I did not even care. He was a no-name paper-pusher in a police department. I refused to be judged by him.
“I know life out there is not easy. Especially in a situation like yours. If you’d like I could make some calls. Maybe you could work in a soup kitchen or a fast-food joint for a while. I know a place that takes in less fortunate people and helps them get back on their feet. Make the best out of your situation. Don’t give up. As you don’t seem to have broken any law I’ll just sign your release for now. But please, give the offer some thought
”I looked at the signed form in front of me on the table “L. Anderson… As in Lucas Anderson...?” My heart dropped into my stomach. This was not how I had imagined it. “Yeah, Andy is just the name I somehow get stuck with, wherever I work. But I don’t really mind it that much. Anyways, I sincerely hope you’ll find your way back into your own time. But I’ve got to go now. Tight schedule.” He turned around to leave.
I made a split-second decision. I grabbed the metal can, still mostly filled with coffee, quickly cleared the space between us before he could reach the door and proceeded to pound his head with it until he dropped. “You were supposed to be born in the damned hospital!” I screamed. With each word I brought the can down on his already cracked skull. “Where. The. Fuck. Were.You!?” Finally he stopped moving. And I started crying. Crying for the first genuinely nice man I met in years. Crying for the child I was supposed to end on its day of birth. For the children I never got to see grow up. As the purple light began to glow from within my skin I started to cry even harder. “I am so sorry. It was not supposed to be like this…” I saw the door opening and officers rushing in just as the light engulfed me and everything vanished in a veil of purple…
| 2021-08-05T08:38:40 | 2021-07-12T22:10:13 | 98 | 26 |
[WP] You're a vampire hunter. However, upon finally being accepted into the Hunter's Guild, you realize something. All the other hunters are unwilling vampires who want revenge against the one who bit them, and they want to know what YOUR reason for hunting is, seeing as you're only human.
|
"*All of you?*" the newly initiated vampire hunter hissed as he looked around at his fellow slayers.
"We didn't ask to be vampires," the... *vampire* vampire hunter before him said. "*None* of us. It is a curse, a blight upon our hearts."
"But why do you hunt your own kind?" the human continued, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"They're *not* our kind, Rhodri," the vampire protested. "No more than the worst human criminals are your kind. And... we think that we can kill the Elder - the progenitor of vampirekind - that our curse might be broken. That we might turn... normal again." He looked down at his pale hands with palpable disgust, the black veins visible through his skin a constant reminder of his bleak situation.
"We just want to return to our lives. Our families," the vampire said gently.
"You're still vampires. You drink human blood. "
"Only as much as we need! Only from the willing, for money! And we never, *ever*, kill!" the vampire yelled.
The human relaxed his posture, finally releasing his sword. "Good," he said. "The Elder vampire is... he must be stopped. And if you're with me, that is more than enough for me."
"Why do *you* hunt him? We all share a reason, but you, a human, unspoiled by the blight - why do you?" the vampire tilted his head. The human looked down.
"My sister. Glynis. He... he bit my sister."
"I'm sorry."
The human extended his hand towards the vampire. The two nodded slightly as they shook hands.
"Good hunting," Rhodri said. "And when this is done, when he is dead, burned, his ashes scattered to the wind... if you're still vampires..."
The vampire looked up at the human.
"I won't hesitate for a *second* to drive a stake through every single one of you, drop you where you stand," Rhodri smiled. "Same way I did Glynis. Because *you are monsters*."
|
The leather coat was old and thick, the hat dripping with water. White smoke left her mouth, her boots were heavy. Through the door, into the wooden house. Not the most recent construction, but the fire in the chimney was all the comfort she needed. It beat sitting outside under the rain, begging or talking to the puddles of water to stave loneliness or observe the dark clouds, unsure if she would see the next day.
Before she had a chance to sit at the fire, a hand in a leather glove is extended before her, expectantly. Nothing is free. She took a handful of ashes from her pocket and gave it to the stranger. He had a name, once. Living for so long took its toll, what had once been was slowly swallowed in the oblivion of memories. His place of birth and name were long lost to the fog of ages.
The stranger carefully smelled the ashes, gave a nod. It smelled like violence, hungry beasts lashing out, broken bones remolded into otherness beyond comprehension. The huntress had done her work for the day, had earned her place by the fire.
Outside, fog crept along the ground, awaiting the end of the rain to rise and swallow the village. Beggars and fools saw the ill portent, hurried to the illusion of safety inside or begged to be let in. The most foolish of them didn't move, saw little point in caring for the meager thing that was life.
The stranger sat with the huntress. His traits were sharp, lights from the fire gained an edge when dancing upon his face, the face of one who hadn't seen the sun in forever. Which only meant he had lived long. The huntress was comparatively young, yet hadn't felt the warmth of a sun upon her skin in years. The fog acted as a filter, or the clouds, or the flocks of ravens rising like an army in the distance, to ravage the fields and kill the children with a thousand punctures of their needle-like beaks.
The world had stopped caring. Whatever held a semblance of order and calm to existence had left for parts unknown. What remained crawled out of the shadows and the black corners of the earth, less a conscious maliciousness and more a ravenous abstract. It was not one creature she killed, just a shade of the melancholia and fatalism that had taken over.
The rain petered out. The fog rose. The fire dimmed, casting the room beyond the huntress and the stranger into shadows. Knocks at the door. The desperate and mad frantically searching for safety.
They wouldn't open. Only those ready to kill their previous lives and commit to a very short and brutal new existence could cross the threshold. The huntress and the stranger fought for them alright, but they hadn't survived so long by opening the door to any knocks.
Tomorrow, the same. The looks, the fear, the reverent tone hiding poison.
Another knock at the door, followed by a scream followed by a sharp slash, and silence.
The drip of blood.
A knock, heavier than before.
The village was silent. Scholars called fight or flight the instinctive response to danger. One instinct took over right before said answer. Silence. Of the prey ready to run away, of the hunter ready to pounce, of the terrified parent hushing a child, not wanting to draw the attention of what lurked outside. Of the huntress and the stranger, who would fight for their lives dearly, yet wouldn't mind if they finally died and had it over.
The door was shattered by an unrelenting force, a hulking amalgamation of fears and savagery burst through, hungry for blood, more single-minded motion than beast. She felt her shoulder break just like the wood had under the impact, he heard before he saw the thin limb impaling it through the torso.
It didn't see, couldn't comprehend that those with little to die for were ready to trade lives.
Only when a limb fell short of hitting a prey did it take a step back, felt the life dripping away from it, pierced and sliced by the cold, emotionless steel.
It stood, the thin life of existence of the verge of breaking.
They rose, to die at the slightest whiff of the wind.
The assault was silent, swift, sharp like a needle.
The creature fell backwards through the door, on the corpse of the beggar it had sliced in half.
As it fell, the fog lifted. The huntress and the stranger stepped outside to other doors opening cautiously. Beggars and fools thrown outside with little courtesy, empathy was in short supply at the end of times.
They saw the scene, understood. Some smirked, others cried.
All walked towards the wooden house.
All stepped across the threshold.
"I joined for the sake of revenge," said the stranger to the huntress as he watched the ghastly procession shedding away one life for another, "and I claimed it, saw the light leaving the eyes of the one who molded me, made me. I remained in this house, it's not a life you can walk away from. I wish I could. But you? You didn't need the means to achieve vengeance. This places offers nothing but suffering, exhaustion, and an unceremonious death to come for us as we lie wounded in a ditch to be forgotten. So why? Why you? Why them?"
The huntress looked outside, to the rain who was picking up again, the mud where a beggar had sat, where she had sat not so long ago.
"It beats sitting outside in the rain and counting the drops."
| 2022-11-10T13:19:13 | 2022-11-10T12:00:41 | 749 | 71 |
[WP] You're a vampire hunter. However, upon finally being accepted into the Hunter's Guild, you realize something. All the other hunters are unwilling vampires who want revenge against the one who bit them, and they want to know what YOUR reason for hunting is, seeing as you're only human.
|
"*All of you?*" the newly initiated vampire hunter hissed as he looked around at his fellow slayers.
"We didn't ask to be vampires," the... *vampire* vampire hunter before him said. "*None* of us. It is a curse, a blight upon our hearts."
"But why do you hunt your own kind?" the human continued, hand on the hilt of his sword.
"They're *not* our kind, Rhodri," the vampire protested. "No more than the worst human criminals are your kind. And... we think that we can kill the Elder - the progenitor of vampirekind - that our curse might be broken. That we might turn... normal again." He looked down at his pale hands with palpable disgust, the black veins visible through his skin a constant reminder of his bleak situation.
"We just want to return to our lives. Our families," the vampire said gently.
"You're still vampires. You drink human blood. "
"Only as much as we need! Only from the willing, for money! And we never, *ever*, kill!" the vampire yelled.
The human relaxed his posture, finally releasing his sword. "Good," he said. "The Elder vampire is... he must be stopped. And if you're with me, that is more than enough for me."
"Why do *you* hunt him? We all share a reason, but you, a human, unspoiled by the blight - why do you?" the vampire tilted his head. The human looked down.
"My sister. Glynis. He... he bit my sister."
"I'm sorry."
The human extended his hand towards the vampire. The two nodded slightly as they shook hands.
"Good hunting," Rhodri said. "And when this is done, when he is dead, burned, his ashes scattered to the wind... if you're still vampires..."
The vampire looked up at the human.
"I won't hesitate for a *second* to drive a stake through every single one of you, drop you where you stand," Rhodri smiled. "Same way I did Glynis. Because *you are monsters*."
|
"So... our newest member is a human?"
"I smell fresh blood... haven't eaten for a while..."
"Relax, don't bite him, that will make you no better than the one who bit *you*."
I feel like I've walked into the lion's den. My application was accepted a week ago, but the moment I walked into the building, I was surrounded by vampires... I have so many questions, but I have to tread lightly...
"We should restrain him. We can't be too cautious. Prepare the interrogation room."
I fully co-operate, knowing resistance is likely to get me bitten. I'm taken to a small room and strapped down to a chair. The leader of the guild comes in. He has his fangs exposed, I guess as a warning, but it makes me nervous. "I re-read your application. For a human, you sure have a dark side..."
I decide to speak, hoping it's safe. "I've always been kind of goth. I did think the questions were weird... I assumed because the guild would hunt at night..."
"We do, indeed, hunt at night. You're probably wondering why the guild is made of vampires, wanting to hunt our own..." he puts a simulation on a screen. The figures are shadows, but what's what is clear. I watch as a vampire bites a human, the human turns INTO a vampire, then the new vampire kills the one that turned it.
The simulation was short and simple, but the message was clear. "You're taking revenge on those who turned you."
"Exactly" the vampire nods. "We capture those who turned one of us, question them, and if we find there wasn't sufficient reason for it, vampires are taken to 'the black hole', where they'll stay until they starve to death."
"I... I see... is that the only way vampires die?" I inquire.
"Yes. Everything else is built on jokes. So... you were just going to hunt every vampire you saw, weren't you?" he stares at me. I gulp.
"I... I'm sorry... if vampires were what I thought they were, I'd have been bit by now! I realise I was wrong! Please! I'm really sorry!" I'm practically begging. I watch the guild leader consider his options.
"There are vampires always looking for more 'pets'. If you agree to this, you'll be in a room set up to appropriate standards in a vampire's home. You *will* be imprisoned, but you'll have all the comforts you need, all that'll be required of you is your blood harvested every so often."
I process everything, wondering if that's a life I'd be willing to have. "You can't... let me go?"
The vampire laughs. "Think about why the questions are so vague. Why it doesn't have any requirements OF a vampire."
"You don't want to be discovered." He nods. I sigh, realising I only have two options: be a vampire, or be a human food tank. "I can't change my mind if I'm turned... but I can if I'm farmed for my blood."
"I see. I'll get in contact with someone..."
**=GAVIN=**
"This is where you'll be staying" I say to a new 'prisoner'. This man seems more relaxed than Calvin, possible to tell despite the charm he's wearing. Calvin seems to have settled in though. Curiosity gets the better of me and I take the charm off. Curd is behind me anyway, and he wouldn't let anyone run off. The man just shrugs the spell off and looks at me.
"Well... not how I imagined being hypnotised to feel like" he chuckles. "This family is really nice, the words were comforting, and the butler even offered me a drink!"
"Yeah, Munch looks after everyone" Curd comments. "He'll be providing for you from now on."
"Well, in which case... would he be offended if I said the coffee was a little strong?" the man asks.
Curd laughs. "He'd take it to mean he needs to improve himself! Don't worry, I'll let him know."
"Thank you, Curd" the man smiles. He enters the room. His eyes lock onto something. "Is this a collar?"
"You wear that! Like a dog! Woof woof!" Curd teases, earning a punch from me.
"Understood." The man puts the collar on, grabs a book, then sits on the bed to read. I shut the door.
"Well... he seems complacent. That's helpful." Curd grins.
"Least he's not scared" I respond as the two of us leave the area.
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This story is a part of my series, [My Roommate is a Vampire.](https://www.reddit.com/r/StoriesbyCrystal/comments/xrewb2/my_roommate_is_a_vampire/?utm_source=share&utm_medium=web2x&context=3) Please check it out!
| 2022-11-10T13:19:13 | 2022-11-10T12:35:14 | 749 | 70 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
They all had the best power they could ever think of. Some people were already waging war in the skies and in the seas, trying to conquer the world. I tried to think of any power that could help me dominate them all but obviously, they were all gone.
I thought of immortality to wait and conquer once their time had passed. Gone. I thought of manipulating fate but that was considered god-like. I even thought of simple and stupid things like being able to slap someone hard but I think after 50, people started choosing weird powers so even those were gone.
But then came to me an idea, something that would make me win for sure. I had to carefully craft my plan and it all revolved around having a power that could win against every other. And there was a simple way to do it. What if I was the only one who had a power?
So I chose the ability to reset this game and start it all over while being the only entity keeping its memories of the events. Nobody else picked that before because it meant losing your power and taking the risk of having a worse number next time. Good thing I had nothing to lose, being the last to choose.
This time, I was number 63. Still not good enough. I picked the same power and tried again.
This time, 88. I picked the same power and I tried again and again, rolling probabilities every time, hoping to be number 1.
I'm glad there was only a hundred of us because it took me only about a day to be first.
There I was, ready to win this stupid game initiated by god knows who.
And so I chose.
Memory wiping with no limit.
Simple but effective. Everyone and every thing forgot about this game, the selection, choosing powers etc...
After that it wasn't hard to conquer the world. I could do anything I wanted and nobody would remember. I could manipulate people's memories at will and control the entire world easily. I wasn't exactly a conqueror, but I was the one pulling every single string.
But why? I was so obsessed with winning that I never wondered why we had to win. What was the reward supposed to be? I guess the answer to this got lost the first time I used my power.
Edit : Woaaah I'm glad some people are upvoting this. I didn't get a notification all day, I thought nobody read it and it was gonna be lost in new or something.
|
A flash of Bright Light and a Loud Humming noise woke me up. I found myself in a Room with a bunch of other People that looked just as confused as I was.
"WHAT THE HELL IS GOING ON?! WHERE AM I?!" Somebody shouted. Others looked around terrified, whereas some others were still in the Process of waking up and trying to take everything in.
One Person got up and went to a small assortment of Benches and lit himself a Cigarette. She looked about as nonchalant as could be, given this strange Situation.
Instead of Panicking, or being frozen in Fear I decided it would be best to get a clearer picture and as this Woman clearly seemed to know something I decided to get up and talk to her.
"Hey, uhm, so,..." She interrupted me by raising a Finger, pointing at her Cigarette. The room got louder. "WHAT IS GOING ON?!" The guy kept screaming, scaring the few that looked like they where already having a Panic Attack even more. "YOU THERE!" He pointed at me. "YOU look like you know something! What is going on here? WHERE ARE WE?!" He stomped towards me and just as he was reaching out his arm to grab me, the Mysterious Woman put out her Cigarette in a little Case she kept in her Jacket Pocket.
"Don't touch him" she said coldly, "you'll know in just a few minutes. But first check your Wrists" We did as we were told. My Wrist displayed the number 100. The Guy had the number 17. "Has everybody checked their number? Good. Come with me"
She walked behind the benches, her Black Skirt flowing behind her. Underneath one could make out some Red Leggings and Black Leather Boots. As she walked over to the Wall, a Panel opened up and she spoke something into the Panel. It wasn't a Language I recognized but right now I wasn't paying much attention either as the Wall opened up to reveal a Large Room with Chairs and a Stage in the Middle. "You guys, gals and non-binary Pals go ahead and find you a good seat. You will be called up shortly" "HOW ABOUT YOU FINALLY TELL US WHAT WE ARE DOING HERE!" The Fellow screamed in her Face. She stared Daggers at him and grabbed his shoulder when she reached him. "How about you do as you're being told for now, Big Guy before I change my mind and only 99 of you get to Participate?!" He tried to struggle but it looked like he couldn't move an inch away from her grip. "WHAT IS THIS? YOU'RE BREAKING... MY... SHOUL...-" CRACK.
He screamed out in Agony as his arm dropped a little lower. "Go and sit your ass down before I seriously break your Arm!" Every did what they were told.
Screaming guy sat next to me as he was holding his arm trying to suppress his Tears. "She is crazy, man! Crazy! Can you fix this?" I had taken some First Aid classes but I couldn't do anything about a Dislocated Shoulder. "Here, let me see." A Young girl got up from behind him and looked at his Shoulder. "Good lord! How Crazy strong is this Woman? I can make out every single finger on your Shoulder! Here hold still and don't move, this will hurt for a second" she skillfully picked up his arm and guided it into the Proper Position. "On Three! One, Tw...-" SNAP. She popped the arm right back into socket. "YOU BITCH!" "Yeah, Yeah, you would've tensed up at three and it wouldn't have worked as easily. Relax, the pain should subside quickly and you're welcome by the Way!"
I liked her, she seemed scared of the whole situation but put helping somebody first despite her Fear. No matter what's going to happen, I'd like to make sure I'm on her side.
The Room went dark and Gasps and Whispers filled the Air. A Spotlight illuminated the Stage and on Stage was a Glass Pyramid. The Air filled with Static as the Pyramid lit up and a 3D Silhouette appeared.
"WELCOME! I am sure you all must be consuming why you're here, so let's cut right to the Chase. My Name is K.I.G.A. Tonight you will all get a Superpower!" Some people got excited, Others were still Terrified. The Air has noticeably changed though. "Here's how this works," the Figure proclaimed "Each one of you has a Number on your Wrist from one to One Hundred. Each one of you will come up here, according to your number and you will get to choose your Superpower!"
Excitement started to make its rounds in the Room that was closely watched by our Mystery Lady. "There are a few rules though. Number 1: You cannot choose Godlike Powers like Omniscience. Anything below that is fair game!" The Excitement died down a little bit but some people still had Awe in their eyes.
"Rule Number 2: Every Person gets one Power and that will be the only Person to receive that specific Power! So if somebody chooses say Spiderman's Powers nobody else can receive that same Power!
Panic started to flood the room. Excited whispers and whispers of despair filled the Air.What if somebody else chose the Power you'd want?
"Number 3: After receiving your Powers, you will return to your Beds at Home. Afterwards your goal is to Conquer the World by any Means necessary!"
The Room turned loud as people were Gasping for Air from this Goal, Others shouted in Disbelief and others gave in to Despair.
Part 2 in next comment
| 2022-11-17T02:51:16 | 2022-11-17T02:34:34 | 912 | 58 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
My turn. Everything obvious like telepathy, teleportation, and strength is taken of course. The two I wanted most are gone. Healing went at 11 and empathy went at 32 which is sort of encouraging I guess.. I'd never heard of Reactive Adaptation but now I want it.
Even the lame ones are gone. Indestructible Digestion was 92. Have a good time a lifetime of farts. 99 just took Zombification. Didn't even know that was a thing. I think I'd prefer to just die myself.
"We're waiting..."
"Do you have like a list or something?"
"You've been chosen to get superpowers; you should be able to come up with one on your own."
"OK then I want Size Manipulation."
"Taken at 63."
"Damn. I always wanted Hermoine's purse."
"This isn't a joke."
"Not joking. How about emotion inducement."
"Please. That went at 16."
"Total recall. Obviously I could use that one."
"12."
"Okay, okay, I have it. The power to manufacture superpowers at will."
"God. You are not taking this seriously enough number 100. This is a massively important decision with world-changing consequences. I am not sure how you ended up as a candidate at all but here we are. The celebratory luncheon is getting cold."
I'm sensing her annoyance. It's true I do tend to make light of serious things. I'm still not sure my mother has forgiven me for the outburst of laughter at my grandfather's funeral. Then it hits me. Many effective superheroes are leaning into their tendencies. Iron Man already thinks technology is cool. Hulk has a temper. Etc.
"Humor." I announce it proudly.
"Pardon?"
"The power to induce laughter. I want to be able to make people think I'm hilariously funny. I don't want them to think I'm funny constantly, just when I think they need to laugh. Will that work for a superpower."
The slightest smile appears around the corners of her lips. She nods. "That will work."
I'm going to need to be careful with this. I don't want to turn into some kind of diabolical Joker. I need to use it for good.
"Oh, and I want to be genuinely funny not create the illusion of being funny."
She nods, "Of course. We need you to be believable."
I'm delighted with my superpower. I just know that laughter can help dissipate anger and aggression and grief. Maybe getting different people to laugh at the same thing can create some common ground and reconciliation.
And to relieve tension.
I think I'll start with this luncheon. Everybody could use some levity and an exhausting morning of choosing superpowers.
Then another thought hits me. Nobody said anything about whether or not we can profit from our superpowers. Not gonna ask.
Making a few bucks on the comedy circuit might be something fun to do while I'm waiting for the opportunity to do good in the world. Yeah, I'm going to be on SNL and Jimmy Kimmel.
|
*Something's better than nothing.*
"I just want to be the best standard immortality pasta maker in the entire world," I said, clenching the cream colored chair below me. I paused for a few beats, collecting my thoughts.
"Like really good. Not just the best in the world. I want to be the best pasta maker you can imagine."
It felt like my mind melted for a second as the AI chewed through my neurons, deducing what power I chose.
*Oh fuck did I seriously make my power too complicated fuck I didn't say "the power to..." first* fuck *i'm such an idiot. What if it literally only gives me standard immortality?*
The AI withdrew from my mind, but left a pulsing message:
YOU ARE NOW GRANTED THE STANDARD IMMORTALITY PACKAGE.
*Fuck.*
AND YOU ARE THE BEST PASTA MAKER IN THE ENTIRE WORLD.
*Ok at least there's that.*
CONTINUE WITH THE SIMULATION. ONLY ONE WILL REMAIN.
I breathed a sigh of relief and stood up.
The 99 others erupted with laughter, filling the choosing room with shouts and hoots. Each of them had chosen a real power. Something that would help them survive the first hour. The first night. Maybe even the first week if they chose wisely. A brilliantly lucky few would make it into the second week.
And the simulation started 2010.
Can you believe that? The majority of the 100 *super humans* with literal *super powers* couldn't live longer than *one week* in 2010 Waco, Texas.
Well, to be fair, introducing super humans to the Bible belt has its predictable consequences. It's probable that the AI actually *intends* for the simulation to start that way every time. The sadistic little fuck *knows* the Waconians will largely believe we are demons and judgment is upon them.
As of recent game runs, being #100 was an almost instant death sentence. By the time the AI got to you, every decent power was taken. Similar powers aren't even allowed— if the AI arbirtailiary determines your power is "too similar" to another power, it instantly melts your brain with a pulsating
DISQUALIFIED
accompanied with gorey visuals (and all your other senses if you're lucky) for everyone else in the simulation to experience. It then comedically pulses
HA HA
a few seconds later like it was a punchline. Lately (and horrifically unlucky for me), whatever arbitrary rule the AI uses to determine how similar your power is to other powers has been becoming more sensitive as the AI continues to improve its algorithms. At the current sensitivity settings, almost *anything* player #100 asks for is deemed "too similar" resulting in
DISQUALIFIED
being pulsed through everyone's mind. I do not want to be eliminated in that manner. Therefore, I decided to play the new Meta by choosing a power
HA HA
...so far off everyone else's powers (and, as a consequence, a completely useless power) that the AI would spare my life. This has been the recent Meta for playing #100— at least I don't die *instantly*.
Then, as if a shitty power wasn't enough, my life would be put to a vote in a Game Theory-esque institution that the Meta also dictates for the other 99 players. Everyone in the choosing room would vote on whether or not to kill me instantly (resulting in immediate anarchy and an extremely high 1 hour death toll upon the Waco drop) or to let me live.
As logic dictates, the 100 must choose a leader so they don't immediately fall to anarchy (no better than voting me dead!) and retain some semblance of civility. Falling to anarchy too soon never bodes well for anyone, as the AI also limits how far players can travel from Waco's city hall to a 17 mile radius for the first week. The rest of the world opens up after one week, and normal play can initiate. But for that first week, while everyone is stuck in Waco, it's generally better for everyone to have a leader who maintains civility for the group.
Obviously, the best leader would have to bow to the will of the people they serve, so I as #100 with my shitty power would be the obvious choice. I'm in the same boat as everyone else, so I already understand the rules to the game. I am powerless, but can gain favor with the 99 (or at least a majority) by ruling them justly. As tradition dictates, if my life is spared, I become the paradox of all rulers. I sit on my thone: but I have no real power! My subjects are super-humans, I am merely an acclaimed pasta chef who must bow to their will as leader.
It was a sure death sentence.
I am allowed to lead because *I pose no threat*. If I managed to keep favor and make it to the final few players, right before someone won (killed everyone else AND took over the world as deemed by the AI), I would be mercy killed by *the most powerful person on the planet*.
Yeah, there's really no way to avoid that.
Various strategies have been attempted in the #100 position, but none have succeeded so far. Of course I was cognisance of this going into the choosing room. It was a billboard scrolling in front of my brain, literally the only thing I could think about since I was informed that I would be #100 of the 100.
I would either die or lead.
By tradition, #1 jumped on top of the table and began to shout:
"EVERYONE SHUT UP."
Silence blanketed the choosing room. The remaining snickers echoed from wall to wall, or maybe I just imagined it.
"Let's make it quick. All in favor of killing #100 right now, say aye."
A resounding "Aye," echoed back.
*Fuck, that was pretty loud.*
"All opposed."
"NAY," came back, even louder.
All eyes swiveled to me as the AI began shifting and sculpting our surroundings from the choosing room to Waco's front lawn.
\*\*\*
Edit 1: More to come (probably accompanied with plenty of grammar edits), I am sleepy for now.
Edit 2: Where am I supposed to post a follow up part? Do I just reply to my own comment? I haven't done this in a while. Feel free to DM me what to do. Thanks!
| 2022-11-17T00:14:57 | 2022-11-16T22:53:49 | 529 | 381 |
[WP] 100 25 year olds have been chosen. each must choose a super power that cannot be repeated and cannot exceed the power of god. The goal is to see who can conquer the world. You have the number 100. The best powers have already been chosen. Then it's your turn and you choose.....
|
I stood speechless at the answer of the last candidate. Everyone else chose a super power following the spirit of the event, but the last one had a mischievous twinkle in her eyes. I glanced down at the written rules, wondering what idiot intern had threw together the wording, and how I was going to fire them immediately after this.
What she asked for wasn’t supposed to be possible, but because of a simple laziness on the part of the rules, it was not only possible, but now that I see it, the only right choice.
The rules said each must choose a unique power, and that it cannot exceed the power of god. Cannot exceed.
“Number 100, you have you wish. You now have the power of God.”
|
God this sucks. All the cool powers are taken. From flight to fire breath. From teleportation to telekinesis. Now it’s my turn to think. I have to think long and hard about this one. Then I remembered it. As a kid I loved watching videos online and the main videos I watched were videos on the terrors of video games. I said as loud as possible
“I want the power to bring things to and from fictional worlds.”
People were silent at first. Then they started laughing.
“Look at this weirdo.”
“Go back to your cartoons.” They said, barely able to breath from laughing.
We were dropped back off on earth where the limitations of our powers were described to us. A man, who I could only assume was set by god, told me,
“You can take or leave up to 10 items per day in a fictional world. But every time you do pain will erupt from your body. To the point where when you send or take the tenth item you’ll be unconscious.”
I looked at him and grinned,
“That’s okay with me.”
I wanted to try my power on something small first. I reached out my hand and said, “ACTIVATE!”
I was suddenly in a blue room with a menu in front of me that l ooked like it was straight out of a video game. The same voice from before was behind me and said
“Here’s something I forgot to tell you. Whenever you activate this ability your spirit is sent here. When you go back out, it’ll be as if no time had passed. So take as much time as you need. But I will be the thing to harm you every time you use this ability. ”
I think again.
“Well, if I’m gonna get hurt over this I might as well make it work it. TAKE! FIRE FLOWER! SUPER MARIO GAMES!” I said loud.
“YOU DON’T NEED TO SHOUT! The being said. He walked close to me. And swiftly hits me in the gut. I immediately wake up. I throw up from the punch. But look in my hand and the fire flower is right there. I look at it and smile. I take a bite and immediately start sweating.
“Hot hot hot!” I repeat over and over again but then something changes. My clothes change color and I feel more powerful. I jump up and down.
“It works! It works!” I accidentally throw a fireball at my wall. And as the building collapses I remember something about the games.
“Oh no. Can’t get hit.” I burst through a wall and smile.
“IT WORKS!” I was barely done celebrating when someone screamed from above.
“Hey! You’re the loser who wanted to play video games right!” Oh great. I just got this ability and someone’s already trying to fight me. I scream back,
“Dude you can only fly. My ability’s cooler than yours.”
He shouted, “We’ll see who’s not cool.” As he backed up.
“It’s still yo-“ I couldn’t even finish till he hit me like a train.
“Still not cool?” He said while hitting me from all angles and laughing.
I raise my hand at him and say “Give.”
Suddenly we’re both in my menu. He’s tied up as the being looks at me and say “Already fighting?”
I ignore him and say “Give. Attack on titan. Season 1 Episode 1.”
He starts laughing and saying “Pfft. You think I’m scared of one of your shows.”
I ignore him too and ask the being “ Can I watch him to see what happens?”
The being says “Why not? I wanna see how this ends for him.”
He’s suddenly in the show. We watch as he gets mercilessly eaten by a giant humanoid. I smile an evil grin as he hits me.
“You’re disgusting.”
I awake on the battle field. His body is still there but he isn’t breathing. I go back in my house.
“I gotta think of a name for myself.”
| 2022-11-17T07:33:47 | 2022-11-17T07:32:46 | 420 | 12 |
[WP] Today is your Final. At Villain University. You are lead into a room with a one-way mirror and a table. A battery-powered milk frother and an envelope waits there. Six hours later, you passed "summa cum laude".
|
I examined the room. My mind altering device implanted in my brain, grown from organic materials so it looked like a strange tumor to scans, ceased to dormantly kill me, and instead spread into my synapses.
I had a plan.
The frother was the obvious objective. Tech inventors would create a weapon of it, blast their way out. Could be a trap. Envelope likely contains instructions, best to ignore, minions follow, villains lead.
Table. Floor. Walls. Celing. Door. Mirror. No, not a true mirror. One way glass, observation? Uncertain.
I touch the mirror to check. You can tell by your reflection... Huh. True mirror. Not being watched?
Obviously am being watched by other means, due to nature of test.
Examine door. Standard safety door, no handle.
Battery, removed from frother. Examine, alkaline, of sort with contacts to see visual confirmation of charge.
All items placed on one side.
I look at the celing again.
Panels. Of course. Building is a refurbished office block after all.
I climb on the table and climb into the opening I make by pushing the pabel out of the way.
I crawl into the next room, and drop down into the next testing room.
Grakk is there.
"Viral. We meet again."
"Indeed, Grakk, my old friend. Want to pass the test? Then follow me."
I climb back into the celing space and continue. Grakk smashing and following.
In twenty minutes, I had an army of twenty would-be villains under my command.
We left the building via Grakk smashing us a path and returned in a space capable ship ten minutes later. The testing facility became the start of our lunar base.
We found out we all graduated with good marks after we had finished three cruel and unusual capers upon the world.
I had a standing invitation to teach.
And I owe it all to a book on managing and motivating highly successful people I revised before the exam.
|
The envelope was gold-plated, of course. The sheen of the dim lights across the surface seemed almost heavenly, but the smudged fingerprints trailing across it told a different story.
Father would call that 'evidence'.
The milk frother wasn't nearly so expensive, but yet so much more appealing. A simple jug, really. The surface was cheap glass, the handle plastic and fragile. It must have been, otherwise it wouldn't be lying broken like that.
Cara would call that 'dangerous'.
Not because of the splintered glass, but that would have been a more imminent threat. The clock on the wall ticked slowly. Through the one-way mirror, I see Cara shift slightly in her seat.
It's been six hours already. I shouldn't keep her waiting.
Let's say that a man falls from a cliff. Below the cliff is either a rocky shore, or calm waters. It's dark though, and he can't see which. Would this man, were he real, wish to continue falling for as long as possible? Or would he want to see the place where he would land as soon as possible? Of course, for those of us which aren't that man, it's a very easy question. If he is to fall onto the rocks, let him fall forever. If he will be greeted by the warm embrace of the ocean, let him land.
It's been six hours already.
The glass of the milk frother shines just as much as the gold plating on the envelope, but there isn't a living soul who could call them equally beautiful. Not while the glass is lying shattered over half of the table like that. Not anymore.
Cara can't see me past the one-way mirror, but she looks around anyway. She always looks so lost without me. Even from the first time we met. Even from the first time she scrawled my misspelled name onto the cup with her number underneath.
I can't keep her waiting forever. Cara would call this 'tragic'.
That was true of most things, though. I stretched out my hand and picked up the envelope, feeling its cold yet pliable surface for the first time. I pushed it into the inner pocket of my suit, shifting uncomfortably as it settled down over my chest.
Father would call this 'inevitable.
Cara cried, of course. As soon as she saw me, she knew.
"No," she said. She shook her head in a way I had never seen before. "No, please."
"I'm sorry," I said. I tried to ease the blow. "Dad's right - there was never a future for me there, and you-"
"Don't you dare!"
Ah. Somehow, this hurt more than I had expected.
"Please stop," I said. "I told you to stay with the store, you didn't need to be here for this."
"You told me you were coming back!" she said.
I had never believed it, though.
"I can't go back."
"So what? You're going to what, stay here, attend university and inherit the company from your father?"
She knew that I would never agree to that.
"That's exactly what I'm going to do," I said.
It took a moment for her to realize what had happened.
To go back to our hypothetical before, let's say that the man had been intoxicated. A drink that dulls the senses, that steals your sight and leaves a false warmth in your chest. Let's say that he had fallen without knowing. Surely, no matter the outcome of the fall, it would be more kind for the man to keep falling forever? An eternity could be spent in such a way.
Let's say that the man had been a woman. Let's say that she'd been pushed off the cliff. Let's say that I was now standing alone at the summit.
Let's call this 'life'.
"I don't understand," said Cara. "You always hated your father's company, all of his friends, all of his creepy 'contacts' and business deals and everything else about him. Don't you remember what you used to say about the way he lived his life?"
I'd call that a 'villain'.
"You loved the coffee shop for what it was - small, cheap, warm and friendly. You said it felt like love. You said you loved me."
She knew I loved her.
I knew what lay beneath her as she fell.
"We can still be together," I said. "I just can't-"
"You just can't come home?"
With all the time I'd spent drinking coffee, it was a wonder that the taste of bitterness never really grew on me.
"I can't do this," she said. "We can't. This goes against everything we stood for."
Let's say that the woman falls into the ocean, and looks back up at the cliff to see a man standing there. Does he jump in after her?
Let's call this 'reality'.
"I'm sorry," I said to no-one in particular. The emptiness of the room swallowed my voice all too quickly.
Inside my pocket sat a small golden envelope.
Outside, Cara was crying.
Inside the envelope, a letter congratulated me for three years of perfect attendance to a university I had never seen before.
Somewhere, my father was contemplating the financial potential of a small parcel of city land, currently occupied by a somewhat unremarkable locally owned coffee shop.
Let's call this 'the end'.
| 2015-06-14T09:27:21 | 2015-06-14T08:34:04 | 27 | 16 |
[WP] There exists a court that sentences people with "Would You Rather" questions. Whichever option the person picks, becomes reality.
Feel free to play any role - a person on trial, a judge, a member of the jury - anything!
|
The defendant stood in stunned silence, her mind racing.
Was this really happening? Did she even really know what she did that night? The jury seemed bloody well convinced, yet she never believed she could take a life. Now she was faced with the bizarre conundrum of taking another. Or a first, perhaps. Did that make it worse... or better?
"We're waiting," intoned the magistrate dispassionately. Of course they were. But this decision could hardly be made lightly.
"Well, I..." stammered the accused. What madness was this, to decide the fate of so many? She couldn't help but wonder what her sentence would have been under the old statutes, 'barbaric' as they were.
"I suppose I'll shag David Tennant, kill David Beckham, and marry David Hyde Pierce."
|
I thrummed my fingers on top of my legs as I thought. It was a habit I got into when I was younger, though then I used to do it on the table instead. However I changed that habit when I became employed as it tended to irritate the others in the room and make the accused overtly nervous. One even snapped and tried to make a break for it, that may or may not have been my fault, but better to be safe than sorry with these things, so my busy fingers busy themselves in quieter company nowadays.
I was thinking of an appropriate punishment for the man in front of me, a convicted rapist, one with overwhelming evidence stacked against him. However the issue lied in the attention this particular case had garnered. The victim was extended family of the president. As such I was given more freedom than is typical for dishing out his options. Typically it would be "would you rather spend twenty less years free Or lose everything you own?". Not greatly selected options in my opinion. The ones who instituted them didn't consider the possibility of a very poor person committing such a crime and essentially losing nothing. Thankfully that option will be overturned next month.
Apologies for my rambling, I just like things to be clear so that there's no misconception about why I made the decision I did. You see, when a judge is given the power to choose the question, then there comes with it a certain expectation. One cannot reward criminal behavior and so when I was told of my position by the higher ups, it was clear they desired an example be made of this man.
Anyway, the scene played out as such:
"Would you rather, be half you height and double your weight, or double your height and half your weight?"
The accused was quite perplexed for a couple of seconds, I suppose my wording wasn't what one would call intuitive. However his mouth quickly began to gape open soon afterwards, his forehead crinkling in rapid thought while his eyes widened in shock. It looked quite uncomfortable. It took him a while before he could say anything, or I suppose, thought of what to say. But when he did, he said:
"How?...How would you do these things?"
"Well, For your first option, we would simply take your current weight, remove your legs and suture shut the wounds. After waiting for that to heal, we would then find your weight after the removal and then pump fattening produce into your body until you became double your previous weight."
I will note, I had to call for order several times whilst I was saying all of this of course, but I'll be excluding that if you don't mind. Welp, for the second option I told him:
"And if you choose option number two, we'll simply suck the fat right out of you with liposuction, and assuming you survive that we will then give you a bit of a stretch."
"This is unconstitutional! There are la..."
"THOSE LAWS CAN BE AMENDED!"
...I admit to being a little prone to theatrics, I prefer to think of that as the reason they chose me for this case.
"I have been bestowed, by the government of the united nations, power of determination over which punishments are layed before you. And while you are certainly not a typical citizen due to your most reprehensible actions, you are in fact still a citizen of the united nations and as such must follow the laws of its government. Now choose."
That was one of the harder decisions I've given in my life. I essentially relegated the man to either a terrible death or horrible dismemberment, then probably death. I let him have his time making his choice. Normally one has to make their decision within an hour of the question being announced in cases of this nature, but I gave him two. I enjoyed watching him stew almost as much as I hated him. I say hated in the past tense, as one could hardly call him a man anymore, more like a bulbous pile of sludge at this stage. So I suppose that answers your question then, that's what happened, yes the decision I made was influenced somewhat by my emotions at the time, but I do not regret my decision at all. Such things are unavoidable, when families involved.
| 2015-08-15T12:38:12 | 2015-08-15T11:24:51 | 143 | 80 |
[WP] You're a background character in a musical who is just trying to run errands; you're getting pretty sick of cashiers and wait staff abandoning their jobs as they break out in random songs.
|
Scott arrived at the bank, taking slow, measured breaths. A bank teller greeted him with a smile.
"Hi there, I'd like to make a withdrawal-"
"What a *marvellous* day to be alive!" the bank teller replied, singing in unison with the other tellers. They all filtered out from their desks, with perfect synchronised movements.
*Not today,* Scott thought, trying to contain himself.
*Please not today*.
"What a beautiful day to *be*," they continued, each of them latching hands with the other, "who could possibly be as happy as *me?"*
"Please," he said, as his head lowered to his chest, "not today. Not now. I just really need to make a withdrawal."
The other customers formed a circle around him, latching hands and singing with cheer.
"What's got you down?" one sang, with a cheerful grin.
"What's made you grumpy?" another sang.
"What's made you sad, all frumpy and lumpy?" they all sang at once, as the bank tellers formed a larger circle around them all.
Scott sighed, taking a deep breath.
"*She's dead, alright?"* he shouted suddenly. "She's gone!"
The singing suddenly stopped. All the customers and bank tellers looked at each other uncertainly.
"I'm just trying to use the last of what I have to pay for her funeral," he continued, looking at the floor.
"Life isn't all sunshine and rainbows, okay?"
He put his hand over his face.
"Sometimes life is just fucking tragic. Sometimes it's unfair. Sometimes, it takes the best of us before it has any right to."
"Sometimes... sometimes life just isn't a musical."
He began to cry. The tears trickled down his face, hitting the floor with little, insignificant splashes.
"The thing is," he said, wiping the tears from his eyes, "she really *loved* singing."
He looked at them all. No one was smiling anymore.
"*She was singing till the end.*"
|
"Alright... gallon of almond milk, check. Cream cheese, check. I think I have everything." I muttered as I placed my grocery bag onto the counter. Then I darted my eyes left and right in paranoia and zipped my mouth. I was reaching my breaking point, and the usually jovial and catchy rhythms of a musical had become torturous and astringent to my ears.
The reason this all started was because of that homeless old woman who always loitered around the Walmart near my house.
.............................
(A few days ago)
"Sir, can you please spare some change?" She raspily exclaimed as she grabbed onto my shoulders.
"Hey, back off! What did you do with the five dollars I lent you last time, did you spend it all on crack or something!? Don't sully my business suit asshole!" I retorted. I was already in an apprehensive, grumpy mood since I was laid off from my job at the office.
"Whyyyyyy youuuuu! I used it to feed my starving grandchildren! That's it, you will regret thissss! *Hocus Pocus Magical Doozical, you will from now on be stuck in a musical!*" she chanted as she threw some unidentifiable dust at my face.
*Cough. Cough.*
"Freaking crazies..." I muttered as I entered the store.
As I stomped my way down the frozen aisle to grab an oven pizza, I accidentally bumped into an employee around the corner.
"Watch where you're going!" I sputtered irritably. "Oh, it's you Jeff. You work at Walmart now?"
"*My, oh my, it's Jackie! Why is he so unhappy? Is it because of the old lady who magically gave him a malady!?*" Jeff broke into song as he grinned uncontrollably and creepily towards me from his sprawled position on the ground.
"Uh. Did you take some Pineapple Express or something, man? I'll... I'll be going now." I responded as a chill gradually began to climb up my back.
Yet right as I turned around a group of the other employees already blocked the way out front as they also had that forced smile on their faces.
*Gulp*
I stepped back towards where Jeff was, but as I turned my head, a crowd of customers were at my back. I was surrounded from all four corners!
Before I knew it, I was uncontrollably touched from all over my body as the ceiling came closer to my face.
"AHHHHH! AHHHH!" I shrilly screamed as I was lifted into the air by the mindless, musical drones.
"*This is the story of poor, poor Jackie; he never expected this dayyyyyy~. To be forced to the air and be forced to hear of how he treated an innocent old lady the wrong way~. His life shall soon be miserable and in ruin, laid off from his job and forced to hear this horrible tune that will drive him crazy this noon...*"
"AHH! Let me down, let me down I tell you!"
"*Helllllllll noooooo!~*" they all vocalized in perfect unison.
The song didn't end until 3:00 AM that night....
.........................
Now, I was teetering on the brink of my insanity.
Although there wasn't a song for the three hours since I woke, I could never be too careful.
"*I just need to grab the groceries, and run home.*" I reassured myself.
*Beep*
Before the cashier could sing a single word, I slammed the money onto the counter, and made off with the plastic bag.
"Yes! Yeeeees, I made i-"
*Thud*
I spun backwards from the impact, and dizzily managed to recover as I lifted myself from the ground.
"Are you okay? Here, let me help you up." A kindly feminine voice reassured as I grasped onto a skinny hand.
"Oh, thanks. Wait a minute, you're not... singing..." I responded. Then I froze.
I came face to face only to see a familiarly terrifying crown of yellow teeth pouched between two wrinkly lips that curved upward.
It was the old lady.
And behind her were multitudes and multitudes of people, from baby toddlers "*Goo goo gaaing*" musically to elderly couples whistling. The crowd extended beyond the horizon, and they were all staring at me cheerfully.
Every. Single. One of them.
I tried to run, but her hand firmly latched onto my wrist with a painful, iron grip.
"No. Noo. NOOOO!" I hollered as the crowd inched closer. I could feel dozens of arms bringing me into the horde of musical zombies.
"*Jackie, oh Jackie. You'll be one of us! It looks like another person will finally bite the dust!*" The mindless chant resonated into the air.
.........................
(A few hours later)
The crowd of singing humans dispersed as they joyfully stared towards the middle of the street. There sat a man who was once known as Jackie.
"*I feel amazing, a musical was just what I needed~! Thank you, old lady, for getting me all brainwashed and seeded~. Hi ho, let us go, and take over the world!*" "Jackie" rejoiced...
r/JackWrites
| 2017-07-05T20:24:17 | 2017-07-05T19:20:34 | 52 | 36 |
[WP] Due to a shortage on angels you have had a guardian demon assigned to you instead, he doesn't quite understand how it works but he's very eager to please.
|
It was a Thursday in late July, and it was the day I had been looking forward to for as long as I could remember, my eighteenth birthday. I was finally going to meet my companion, and how could I not be excited. Your companion was your lifelong best friend. A joyful presence through every happy moment of your life, and an ever present comfort and strength through the tough times.
I had fantasized about my soul joining many times. I wondered what my companion would look like. What they would sound like? Would they have glowing golden hair, or the majestic, shimmering silver that was so very pleasing to the eye? Would they be named Angela, or Mary, or Gabriel? Would their voice be full of strength and command, or would they have a quiet musical voice that made your heart sing? Whatever my companion was like, I just knew they would be perfect for me.
So as I kneeled down before the window to heaven, and recited the words I had known by heart since I was ten years old I could barely contain the excitement that threatened to overwhelm my very being. And then it happened. Not with the glowing column of light from heaven or with the soft and serene music of harps, but with a rumble and a cracking of the earth before the alter. As the ground split open and sulferous smell and tremendous heat poured out, a large red, horned figure holding a manilla folder strolled up a stairway that had formed in the pit that was now before me and holding out a clawed hand that dwarfed my own, introduced himself as "Og'thaden, despoiler of hope...but you can call me Og, all me best mates do."
Struck dumb with the absurdity of the situation, I found myself reaching out to shake his hand, but as I was still kneeling, and Og'Thaden was nearly twelve feet tall I found myself reaching upwards in a vain attempt to place my hand in his. In response Og bent forward, grabbed hold of my proffered appendage shook it vigorously, beeming at me with a toothy grin that can only be described as horrific. He then proceeded to haul me bodily to my feet saying "upsy daisy now, there's a good lad."
He let go of my hand and turned his attention to the folder he was carrying, opening it up and flipped through a few pages. "And you would be...Charles. Well, Charles, it's quite nice to meet you. I'm certain that we will be fast friends. I certainly hope so, since , after all, we're stuck with each other for life. Well, your life anyway." And he gave a deep chuckle, once again flashing that toothy grin at me.
I was at this point starting to come to my senses and, in a stammer I asked "B-b-but I don't understand. How c-can this b-be?"
"Ahhh, yes. You were expecting someone a little more...glowy? Quite understandable. Quite understandable. Departmental transfer. You see, there's a bit of a shortage upstairs, what with all the population increases and improved life expectancy, and there's just not enough new recruits to go around. Sooo, I am part of a new pilot program to fill the personnel gap as it were. Not to worry though. I've gone through extensive companion training and I think you'll find I'm quite suited to the position. Finished top of my class, you know. Now there's something to be proud of. I should know, pride was always one of my specialties."
|
I tucked myself in. The sliver of gold from the hall light grew as Angela gently opened the door, careful not to wake Baby Bobby (not a baby) sleeping soundly in the bunk beneath me. I raised my head as I propped myself up on my orphan-like elbows. Elbows that haven't seen a loving, legal parent in an elbows-harvest.
"Angela?" I whispered, double-careful not to wake Baby Bobby, who again is not a baby. Angela offered a warm smile then gave me the middle finger.
"Go to bed you little shithead."
Suddenly Angela was smoking a down-to-the-ass cigarette and wearing a jean jacket that had 'I H8 ORPHANZ' embroidered on it. She threw a double whammy middle finger celebration right at me, I winced. Angela slammed the door as hard as she could, being triple extra UN-careful to not un-wake (not really a) Baby Bobby.
Baby Bobby stirred, like a bowl of hot soup that also happens to be asleep. It's possible, you don't know what soup does.
I laid awake, eyes glued to the unnervingly blemished ceiling. My thoughts raced.
*HERE COMES A FLASHBACK TO EARLIER THAT DAY. THOUGHT I'D JUST GIVE YOU A HEADS UP.*
"Dad?" I choked on each - the one word. Holding my own hands for some semblance of comfort. My father, a greasy, porn stached pencil of a man turned to me.
"You know this isn't easy for me son." He said between stifled giggles, eventually managing to govern them. "I know you want to live with me, and shit, who would blame you? I got my job back as CEO of Toyota, I recently won 233.4 million dollars in the powerball lottery and your mother and I are back together. Couldn't be happier. Living a nice, healthy, stable life as of now. No complaints. You know your mother and I wish we could share it with you but..."
"But what?" I asked.
"Well... I don't like the way you wear your hat sometimes. It just kinda bugs me."
"Wait what? Seriously? Okay I'll stop wearing-" He raised both his hands up.
"Ahhhhh yeah but now it's too late. Every time I just... *look* at you I'm always thinking-"
"Dad"
"There's that... that little shitty HAT kid." He shook off the idea as if it was crawling down his back. I was devastated. He gave me a pitiful look. "Listen, uhhh... hey. I'll tell you what. If the Angels win the pennant, I'll adopt you back... or something. Well just in the off chance they do, we'll just play it by ear. Cross that bridge when we get to it, you know?"
There were no words for how elated that made me feel. Not a single word in any language that could precisely describe the joy and relief I felt by what he had said. If any word came close it would be UN-devestated. No, wait, I have a better one: not-devastated. I hugged him. He farted on me.
*OKAY THE FLASHBACK IS DONE NOW, WE'RE BACK IN MY BED AS I WISH UPON A STAR.*
I wished upon a star. It was very underwhelming.
"Please God, I know you're listening. I know you're always listening to me you creamy goose, but hear these words with care. Send me an angel, no wait. No. Send the Angels an angel."
I felt the need to clarify.
"Send the baseball team The Angels, angels so those angels can help The Angels win the Superbowl of baseball. Then my dad will love me again."
The star did absolutely fuck-all. Then it exploded in a massive hypernova.
"HOLY HORSE SHIT BABY BERNIE GET YOUR BLACK ASS DOWN!"
Baby Bobby slept though this too. Luckily the hypernova didn't shower the earth in harmful cosmic radiation that would have surely boiled Baby Bobby and myself alive. I slept a dreamless sleep. Except for the one dream of the earth being showered in cosmic radiation from a hypernova and Baby Bobby and myself being boiled alive. But that was the only one. Well there was another one... It was just that first dream over again. I slept like a chubby panda after that though.
The stadium was big and blah blah we're at the seats now.
"What do you think pitchers do?" asked Baby Bobby while dumping his baseball popcorn on the head of the couple in front of us.
"They pitch the ba-"
"What the hell did you do that for?" The man brushed popcorn off his shoulders. They dribbled between the gum stained seats. The sun shone on them, announcing their matted white mounds. Somewhere Boy George was handcuffing a male escort to his bed.
"I'm sorry sir, my friend has ADH-"
Suddenly the man's head exploded. Nobody seemed to notice or care. It was weird.
"Oh my Go-"
"Don't say that name, it, it annoys me." A man awkwardly slathered in red acrylic paint, donning a cheap plastic viking's helmet appeared. A powerful smell of okra slime drifted through the (previously) predominantly baseball-smelling air. "Please, don't be alarmed." The man started. "The smell of baseball shall soon return. I apologize for my foulness." I froze, but managed a few choppy words.
"Are you a demon?"
"Yes."
"Are you here to help the angels?"
"No."
"The baseball team I mean."
"Oh. Yes."
"For me?"
"Yes."
"So I can get back with my family?"
"Yes."
I slapped my knees like a knee slapper man performing his dangerous knee slap finale.
"Great. Alright, get to it."
Flecks of acrylic paint crumbled to the ground as the demon made his way to the field. Completely naked.
*(camera zooms out to a wide shot as the song "Faithfully" by Journey starts playing)*
I never did see him again. Last I heard he was in hell. But I'll never forget that summer. The summer I met a strange man dressed as the devil who lied to me about his supernatural origin. I never saw him again... oops I already said that. But I didn't. Ever see him again. And I'll never forget that summer...
*"♪ Faithfully... DERRR NERRR NERRRR DUR NER NER NER!!! DEERRR NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER! DEEEER NEEER NEERRR DER NER NER NER DEEEERRRRR!!! CIRCUS LIFE! UNDERRRR THE BIIIIG TOP WORRRRLLLD... ♪"*
| 2018-08-14T21:40:39 | 2018-08-14T15:56:10 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] Global communications are interrupted by an alien message, "We will be coming to enslave your planet in one Earth year from now. Fight or perish." Scientists are scrambling once they learn the transmission is already 364 days old.
|
Becapodian imperial justice court
Case review# 2546FG-A
Accusations: Failed invasion of level 0.25 planetoid - destruction of imperial asset - failure to win - desertion - dishonor
Recommended verdict : Death
\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_\_
Commander Xandar, you understand the goal of this court is to better understand the abysmal failure that has been the Earth invasion. More precisely this committee will determine if you are guilty of gross negligence resulting in the destruction of our prestigious flagship and over 75% of our invasion fleet. Do you understand what I am telling you ?
*Yes Admiral, I understand.*
Good, now with the formalities aside, WHAT THE FUCK HAPPENED OUT THERE XANDAR?
*You...I...I mean... You have to understand sir, they're maniacs, freaking maniacs! all of them!*
God dammit Xandar, intel reported a bunch of backwater hillbillies with sticks and stones. Sticks and stones Xandar!
*Actually sir, that's one of the things I wanted to talk to you about. I think our intel might have been just a wee bit outdated. I know 5000 local star cycles are not usually relative in terms of technological advancements but their technological level was probably closer to 5 or 6 on the techno-advancement scale. Nowhere near the 0.25 results of our previous survey.*
5 or 6 ? For god's sake Xandar, your fleet was large enough to reduce a class 9 civilization to rubble. What difference does it make if they were a 0 or a 6 ? A god damn 7 should have been a walk in the freaking park.
*If...If I may try to explain sir, I would recategorize them as a crazy-6*
Crazy-6 ? What the hell is that?
*Well, you see. While they posess the technological advancement of a class 6 society, their cultural and emotional response are more in line with a 0 or a 1.*
In layman's terms Xandar.
*They're nuts sir, completely and utterly nuts. They appear to have reach a special sweetspot in their advancement where they begin to understand advanced physics and interstellar technologies but they use it to blow themselves up or they combine them together on a drunken dare.*
Alright alright... just.. start at the beginning.
*Well, it started well enough. We approached the planet and while their technological level was nowhere near our expectations, it was surmised that no real change of strategy was needed other than to cripple their communication. We launched a pre-emptive strike against most of their satellites, communication centers and command posts.*
According to this your initial report, successful destruction rate was fairly low. Care to explain ?
*Ah well, you see. Apparently they really like to build giant monuments laced with metal so the detectors falsely identified them as military ressources. We may have wasted time and ammunitions on those. But on the plus side, destroying important monuments is good psychological warfare...eheh..right?*
I fail to see a reason for laughter... Continue
Anyway t*he first few hours were going according to plan. What little response they mustered was obliterated in mere moments, mainly due to lack of communications and coordination. We expected a quick surrender following this debacle, as is standard of a class 6 or 7 civilization.*
And I see in your report that they never offered their surrender ?
*Ah...no.... they decided insted to shot back at us... in surprisingly high number I must say.*
So this was coordinated ? I thought you said they lacked communications at this point?
*Well, they did. At first it was 1 or 2 nucleao-atom type ordonances, nothing our defense grid couldn't handle but they just kept coming, and coming. And I guess, seeing the ordonances launching, those who had them also decided to launch whatever they had and let me tell you, they had a lot! I've never seen so many nucleo-atom type ordonances on a class 6 planet. It's like they were stockpiling them just for the fun of it and boy did they threw a party in our honor. They completly overwhelmed our defense grid and a few ships were damaged beyond repairs.*
An unfortunate setback, but in no mean an excuse for what followed. Continue.
*Well, as per standard procedure, we crashed the damaged ships on the planet, hoping the resulting power-core explosions would neutralize the remaining defenses and pressure them into surrendering. and for the most part it worked pretty well, a few cities were leveled and resistance pocket were obliterated. Unfortunatly one of the ships landed mostly intact and they huh... they managed to steal it*
Steal it? Now how in hell do you suppose they managed to do that?
*Well, my best guess would be that they played around with the controls and by sheer luck managed to activate the cloaking generator.*
So they got their hands on some of our technologies, big deal. It's not like they can reverse engineer it overnight. It would take any class 6 civilization over 200 solar cycle to understand this technology and perfect it's use. I must say Commander Xandar, so far I'm mostly seeing failure on your part and nothing justified by those *freaking maniacs* as you've called them
*Actually sir, getting their hands on our technology was the turning point. You have to understand, they didn't reverse engineer it, they didn't try to understand it, they just... used it. They managed to recover one of the main gun, plug it into one of their primitive power facility and fire a few shots at us before it exploded. They took out 2 ships that way. We thought the weapon's destruction would slow their use of our technology but it didn't. They celebrated and went nuts.*
Impressive, getting a X5F orbital cannon to work is no small feet.
|
*ENGLAND, THE HOME OF WERNER MCKOWSLIQ, 0:3:00*
Silence hung over the room, daring someone to break it. The first to do so was a younger woman, top of her class, she dusted herself off as she rose from her chair. For a moment she just stood there, the woman closed her eyes and breathed deeply, then her eyes sprang open and she said, “Gentlemen it sounds like were well and done fucked.”
*THE PENTAGON, 5:45:10*
Dr. Kibler had never flown in a helicopter before, and, if he was being candid, he wasn’t sure why he was in one now. Well, obviously he had been effectively forced to come. He’d been standing in his lab at MIT when the message aired and had continued to stand in that same spot for another five minutes. Upon his wits returning to him, he gathered his things and began to head for his car. As he walked out of his office he thought about how odd it was to announce your intentions to subjugate an entire race a year early.
This train of thought was derailed by four men in black suits, he never learned their names but later named them freckles, Mr. Boom, semi-serious, and possibly my neighbor. They had first simply stood outside his office, Mr. Boom held the door for him and the other three stood on the opposite side of the wall. Kibler thought about asking them what the hell they wanted but then figured that it was more likely they would end up getting what they want rather than him.
So five hours later Dr. Kibler struggled not to vomit as semi-serious piloted the chopper into a rough landing on top of the pentagon. As the doctor was exiting the vehicle, he could’ve sworn he saw the sentinel like agent’s mouth twitch upwards just a tiny bit. Kibler let a breath of laughter out of his nose at the prospect of the secret service agent finding amusement in his air sickness. The remaining agents escorted him, painfully quickly, through various halls and doors, each with a plethora of the most sophisticated locks he’d ever seen. Finally, they entered into a massive room with an enormous circular table spanning almost the entirety of the room. He was forcibly seated down, about half of the people around him looked as frightened as he did: the rest either held determined or indifferent faces. In front of him was a small microphone, he tapped it, the resulting feedback earned him irked glares from his new companions. They were interrupted by a familiar voice though.
“You are all the smartest this country has to offer. We need a plan friends and we need it fast.” Said the president.
*GERMANY, THE VANGRUBER CAFÉ, 6:22:49*
Ernst Vangruber lit the eleven candles he kept near the portrait of the late Ms. Vangruber. She had often touted that she kept a list of the greatest moments of her life; the list, which went up 50, had eleven involving him in the top twenty. Ernst figured the obvious: their marriage, the first time they had danced, the birth of their only daughter, and possibly the time he had fallen out of their tiny fishing boat.
He chuckled at the memory of that one.
His aging bones protested a he got up from his chair and began to move towards the front door. He switched the sign hanging on the door, informing all that they were closed. Then he walked back into the kitchen and grabbed a small boom box he had been gifted many years ago by his son. He turned it on and hit play, he only had one CD; he’d always preferred live to recorded but he made an exception on account of the sentimental value of this piece.
He kicked off his shows as the gentle rhythm once again carried him. He closed his eyes, reaching his hands out to unite with his spectral partner.
*TEXAS, A WAL-MART, 10:43:11*
“Can I just take anything?”
Kyle tipped the sombrero off his face. A woman looking like she’d walked right out of her retirement home stood above him, knees wobbling.
He nodded, pulling the sombrero back onto his face, “Yeah, go ahead. Who gives a shit anymore?”
He rested his head back against his orange vest. He’d had the job for two years now, because, as it turns out, an English degree does not offer a cornucopia of career opportunities. No, the depth of its reach stopped about halfway through dipping a pinkie finger into the kid’s pool. He wasn’t bitter though; No sir, he knew this was probably how it would turn out. He just had to keep cracking at his novel, eventually someone would accept his manuscript.
As it turns out though, no publisher enjoyed the idea of spacefaring vampires looking for the last remnants of mankind.
He pulled his phone out, swiping through his contacts until he landed on his college creative writing professor. He’d obtained her number after a group of him and his peers had broken into her office, under the influence of some hard liquor, to piss on her copy of Macbeth. He’d opted instead to take her personal details instead.
For some reason, he was the only who wasn’t kicked out. He always attributed it to a secret passion that burned in her heat, just for him.
A second before the dial tone hit she accepted.
“Who is this?” God he was just as enamored with her voice now as he was back then.
“Kyle, two years ago? My final piece was about a group of trees that-“
“Attempted to overthrow the Bolivian government using a device that replaced their consciousness with that of a single collective pig intelligence, I remember, unfortunately.” Every word seemed as though someone was wrenching it out of her mouth.
Kyle could barely contain his excitement, he couldn’t believe this was going so well, “So... you see the news?”
There was a pause, then, “No Kyle, I’m talking to you because I just enjoyed our discourse together; not because I am currently panicking at the fact that I have spent my life working on a program whose only notable authors are you and that kid who writes haunted house travel guides.”
Teera Mcglowkli, Kyle smiled as he reminisced on a conversation they’d had about the exact range of poltergeist capabilities. Before getting absorbed into the memory though, he asked, “So, since the end of the world is coming in hot, do you wanna fuck?”
The silence lasted so long he thought she’d hung up, then she said, “You are without a doubt, the least talented student I’ve ever had.”
He swallowed a lump in his throat, “Uh huh.”
“I had fantasies of running you over with my car.”
“I-“
“Seriously, I thought about it every time I saw your stupid fucking face.”
“OK, but-“
“Do you have my address? Actually, fuck it, where are you now?”
“The Walmart off of post oak.”
Another pause, “You work at Walmart?” Then she added, “For how long, what do you do?”
“Two years, and I’m a greeter. So should I come to you or…”
“No, no, it’s disgusting how turned on I am right now. Stay there, I’ll be there in ten.”
Kyle laid the phone on the ground, attempting to put his head back together. Then, with a massive shit eating grin, he adjusted his sombrero and waited by the door.
*NEW YORK CITY, TIMES SQUARE 18:26:01*
Kayla walked through a city on fire.
To her right, a man dressed in a Santa outfit carefully climbed through a broken window, holding three Nintendo switches in his large, jolly arms. With his strap on beard now on the back of his neck, he took off.
All around her people swarmed, no direction or destination in mind, ants without a queen. Some stole, others fought, but a large number had found their apocalyptic calling in burning whatever was currently in front of them. Kayla could see the appeal but decided to keep walking, she actually had a destination in mind.
An hour and a half later she stood on the Brooklyn Bridge. A sea of abandoned cars behind her and a sea of seemingly gentle waves inviting her to simply take the plunge. A woman to her right held tightly onto a railing, she looked the same age as Kayla but much taller. She approached the woman slowly, who watched her come the entire way. The woman seemed wary but indifferent at the same time, she knew whatever happened now wouldn’t matter but also had the same fear we all have of danger.
Kayla gently offered her hand. The woman took a moment to accept it, Kayla stood on the railing with her. The two looked down into the waves, they crashed endlessly into the side of the bridge without purpose. The woman interrupted Kayla, “We don’t have to jump now.”
Kayla turned to her, slightly disappointed but also pleasantly surprised, “I suppose we don’t.”
The two hugged as they sat against the bridge, both waiting for the other to decide when.
*ANARCTICA, BASE 7B, 23:15:18*
Three women and two men stood around a table stained with coffee.
It also had a capsule containing the only reliable means of contacting the extra-terrestrial life that now threatened Earth.
The five sat down, one after the other, then they placed their hands on the capsule. It opened quickly, revealing a purple, pulsing spike in its center. One of the five pricked their fingers on the device which caused it to pulse faster and grow brighter. Then the five of them were in a dark limbo.
| 2018-08-29T04:20:12 | 2018-08-28T23:45:32 | 121 | 72 |
[WP] You can take a peek into people's souls, to take a look at who they were in their past lives. Some of your friends were emperors or kings. Others were pharaohs or chieftains. You find it odd that so many historical figures gather around you, so one day you look into your own soul in the mirror.
|
I stared in the mirror for felt like an eternity before slowly shaking my head and turning away.
I always refused to look in my own past. The thought horrified me. I had seem enough in the history of others to beware my own.
Who would wish to know they had spent their last ten lives repeating the same mistakes? Failing themselves in the same predictable ways?
*No*. I vigorously shook my head and left the bathroom.
The cacophony of the dance club instantly returned at full volume, pulling me out of my spiralling thoughts.
I shimmied through the crowd, stopping by the bar to grab two new drinks and rejoined my friends in front of the stage.
Maron cheered at my arrival, grabbing the drink from my hand. As his fingers brushed mine, a look passed between us and a memory surfaced -
>"Do you truly believe you are worthy?" The old man demanded.
>
>Maron, wearing an elegant purple robe and holding a grand, bejewelled sceptre laughed serenely.
>
>He casually reached out a hand and a wine cup was placed into his ringed fingers by an unseen attendant.
>
>"I was born worthy!" He screamed as his face suddenly contorted in rage and he brought his sceptre down his vicious force.
>
>As the old man bled and cringed begged for mercy, Maron struck a pose holding out his sceptre, his eyes gleaming.
>
>"And now, see how merciful the Emperor Nero is!" He declared bending down to offer the old man his wine cup.
>
>"Why don't you offer a toast?" his voice was full of sweetness again. "A toast to my worthiness, perhaps?"
I sighed, shook my head and continued dancing. Another goddamn former emperor.
I wasn't going to tell him, of course. After all, what good would that do? Besides, who wanted to know they'd been Nero, of all people.
I glanced around the group of friends around me.
There was Vic, who had once been Alexander the Great, but that experience was so memorable that a lot of his other future were plagued by delusions of grandeur.
Then was Adana who I knew in a past life was an Igwe, who led his people into a dumb, loosing war against their long-standing allies.
And then Monica...
I suddenly stopped. And began counting them off on my fingers: *Vic, Adana, Monica and now Maron.*
People with extremely weighty past lives are not actually very common and yet four of them surrounded me right now?
I glanced around the club and sure enough, the four around me were the only four with past lives of such emotional significance. Others were influential sure, but none had lived lives so full of feeling.
We separated after the club, Vic and Maron holding each other a little too close as they got in their taxis.
Monica smiled at them as they left before giving me a hug - and a flash of Elizabeth I setting her dogs on a rude suitor - before also heading home.
I started walking home, still thinking about the connections. What could have drawn all these people to each other?
I felt like a pebble that unknowingly controlled the eye of the storm.
I had to know. Why were they all famous and more importantly why were all their past lives so emotionally resonant?
I raised my phone and looked into the dark reflective screen. Was it something about me? I steeled to see-
>"Please. I don't want to go. I can't go yet."
>
>"That's not going to work."
>
>"No! I have so much to do..."
>
>"It's too late now."
>
>"No...NO! Don't you understand? This is the most important work I have ever done! I have tracked the reverberations of decisions by these four for thousands of years. I just need a bit more time to-"
>
>"You cannot bargain again. Not this time."
>
>"I am so close to learning how they do it. How ***HE*** did it."
>
>"This is beyond us."
>
>"That is why what I'm doing is so important! It is only beyond us if we refuse to look!"
>
>"..."
>
>"You must let me finish with Nero at least! He's the furthest along and his next life is critical! We could finally understand-"
>
>"Lucifer. This is beyond *us*."
>
>"..."
>
>"..."
>
>"...I see."
>
>"Good. Come, the path is already - AUGH!"
I stumbled to the ground as the memories flooded back. A grand experiment. The greatest experiment ever conducted.
I had spent millennia untold living amongst mortality from the simplest of single-celled organisms to the most complex of mushrooms, all to learn this final secret.
I looked down at my hands. They were slick with blood again, as they had been for nearly two thousand years.
"A worthy price." I muttered to myself, pushing myself back to standing. I could not see them while I lived as a human, but I was almost glad to see them now. A reminder of the cost of knowledge.
I had to find Nero.
As I started walking in his direction, I marvelled at what I had accomplished. Almost two thousand years spent working on research I couldn't remember, living and dying in an awkward facsimile of mortality. But in the end, it all bent unknowingly towards this this point.
My great work would finally be completed.
Divinity was within my grasp...
|
The visions come swiftly and without warning, bright colors fly by my head, I am surrounded by a tunnel of darkness, a space all my own, it is infinity, but I know its ends, I can see it all, but never reach it all. The colors come in shapes, circles, squares, lines, the more I focus on these shapes, the harder they are to define, I just know they are shapes, it's more of a feeling, I am surrounded by these shapes as they make their way from one end of the tunnel to the other, a path. The longer I stay in this domain, the more apparent the patterns become, these shapes are messages, they are meant to be interpreted, and the patterns are the language the shapes form, as they pass by, I hear them, they are singing, it sounds like a harsh wind, with cars moving in the distance, I hear people walk, and water move, but these sounds are apart of their song, they also tell me something. The darkness grows, but so does the color. Like a light, these shapes come in purples, and reds, green, blues, and oranges, yellows and such, the intensity becomes blinding.
I am within the soul, a void beyond the mind, this is feelings, and connected to these feelings are the memories of previous lives, the actions of the body, connected to those of others, this becomes the story of the soul. Every soul has a story, from the beginning, to the end, its story is shared between bodies throughout time, when one body dies, the soul claims a new one, thus, a new chapter of the story can begin.
I grew up in a family of 4. My mother and father where in their late forties when they had me, they were a year apart, my mom 47 and dad 48. They were conservative and kept to themselves, both wore grim expressions and never broke from their rigid exteriors. They were cousins who grew up close, and married each other when my mom turned 18. They moved to a small town in Washington, away from judgment, bought a small house on a big empty land, here they raised several livestock, and tended to an expansive garden. My brother was born first, my mother just turned 40 at the time, and decided she wanted a child.
I was brought into this world 7 years later, during a cold winter. After I was born, my mother grew very weak and would often grow sick, lasting several months at a time, this left pressure on my brother to step up around the house, which he did to no detestment, he enjoyed the work and was good at it, becoming stronger every year, I looked up to him, he was a calm man, who never got angry, unlike my father, who in his old age, let his impatience get the best of him. My brother had enough calm for the both of them though, and he lead his decisions with compassion, and a gentle hand.
Often my brother would look out after me, making sure I was ready for school, and preparing breakfast, lunch and dinner, he made sure I did my homework and kept me honest. My parents loved my brother, and so did I, so it came as a shock when one winter, he never returned home.
After the snow calmed. We found his body. He looked calm, peace full, he was buried under 10 feet of snow, the doctors say he just collapsed, leaving this world.
As I looked at his body I felt a trace of life, I locked onto his face, his eyes became the center of focused, the room grew dark around us, his body became apart of the room, and so did mine, we were now one with space, his eyes grew intense, his face began to loop around, and spirals sprung out from behind him, or were they apart of him? Thes spirals created a tunnel, it entrapped me within, and his eyes flew past my mind, soon, more shapes followed, and a feeling grew strong within my heart, I was within his soul, I was watching it leave his body. I know i stand, buy I feel I float, within a void, the shapes begin their story, its messy and hard to follow, these stories invade my mind, passing through the folds of my brain, it feels like a shock, these shocks become feelings, these feeling become ideas, these ideas, now stories, and I am given these in pieces.
A sharp feeling makes it's way through my spin, the void unweaves itself from reality, I am back, no longer within the soul, but its stories were left with me. The pieces are jumbled. Out of order, flashes of random moments have passed through my brain, i was handed these fabrics of someone's life, scraps, useless to me, what should I do with them? But a truth makes itself clear, i need to sew these fabrics together to tell the souls story. This truth fills my being, like a water filling a vase, it finds every crack of self I am, and I let the truth take over, this is my reason for being, I am the craft man, I am thrown these scraps of cloth, I must arrange them, and sew them into a sheet of story, this is my purpose.
I find it hard at first, to reenter the dimension of another's soul, but after awhile, it clicks, I find the less I considerate, the easier it become, to open my mind and meet the soul of another, we shall become joined in a dance of patterns, a rhythm, here I well hear their stories.
And so I begin with my friend, he humors me when I tell him of my gift and allows me to try to read his soul. I am given his code to decipher, and return from the void. In his past life, my friend was a king, a general, a soldier, his soul is a fighter and a leader, a brave man, a remarkable soul. The soul shared its stories of defeat, not out of shame buy an honor to improve.
I keep a small group of friends, I've never been one to go out of my way to make friends, they sort of come to me. Aside from my friends, I kept quiet to others, but that doesn't stop people from approaching me, I keep conversation short, often this might make me come across as rude but nobody seems to mind, and they persist none the less. People like me, I dont know why.
I continue to read my friends souls, as I do it becomes clear that I am surrounded by remarkable souls, ones that lead, and make decision, ones that you have jear aboutx these souls have been at the forefront of history at some point in their journeys. Kings, and queens, generals, leaders and brave people, smart people. These souls have impressive stories, why? Why am I surrounded by these souls, is the reason connected to my ability to read these very souls? My heart starts to beat, faster and faster, I need to know why. This question makes it's way through my mind, why? I start to sweat, my hair is soaked, I am unable to understand.
I go to that bathroom to collect myself, I turn on the faucet and let the cold water run through my hands, it calms my body down, I splash my face and take a breath. I am one again, my thoughts have returned to normal, but the question still lingers. Why? I am surrounded by special people, am i special?
I look to the mirror, locking eyes with myself, my breathing overtakes the air, I am here, alone, my eyes overtake my focus, my head starts to spin, and darkness consumes the room. I enter my soul.
Who am I? Who was I?
Darkness persists, my eyes have flown past without my noticing, I am truely alone.
Am I nothing? My soul, it is empty. Darkness become true as each moment passes, true darkness, true than I would have ever known.
My thoughts drift, i know i have a body, but i lost it, i am just mind, and i am within my soul.
Have I done anything of importance in my life, have my friends, their souls have, but how much of their souls are them? What is body, what is minds, and what is soul?
The air becomes thin, I take a breath, my body breaths, I DO have a body, it is somewhere, and it breathes at my command, but where? I have left it, i am lost in my soul, i am my mind, searching my soul.
The darkness still grows darker, the tunnel, still forever, I know this, I see it, but I well never reach an end. But I start to drift, I can only go one of two ways, so I move forward, or is this backwards? I know there is a start and an end, but which is which?
I move about the darkness, in search of color, listening for sound, ready for a feeling to over take me, but I remain numb.
| 2020-04-13T05:07:06 | 2020-04-13T00:28:37 | 124 | 70 |
[WP] You run a sham magic school where the students pay big bucks, learn nothing, and don't even realize.The system has worked for decades, but some people are starting to catch on.
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"Not everyone can replicate the teacher's magic on the first try, Hermione."
"Professor Teller's 'magic' is provably sleight of hand, Headmaster. I've described the full system in my essay -"
"- which you then copied and put up on every notice board in the school, *yes*, Miss Granger, I *did* notice. You are fortunate that none of your fellow students were able to *read* it before my staff members covered them."
"I'm here to learn *magic*, Headmaster, not *card tricks*."
"Learning to tell the *difference* is an *important* skill, Hermione. By taking the opportunity to work this out away from your fellow students, you are limiting their education."
"I - what?"
Yes, I knew that would work. Suggest that she's making it hard for other people to learn and this particular student will reconsider her actions at once.
"You are getting in the way of their *education*, Miss Granger. Your classmates need to figure this out by *themselves*."
"I - what? You mean this was an *intentional* part of the curriculum?"
"Yes. So, tell me, Miss Granger, which of you teachers have you spotted using *real* magic?"
"I - uh - I know Professor Teller wasn't, but -"
"But you jumped the gun and went directly off the deep end without pausing to *think*," I said, hammering home the idea.
"I, um, I'm sorry, Headmaster -"
"And *now* you will tell me *why* your essay reappears after it gets removed from the notice boards, and then you will *stop* it."
"Of - of course, Headmaster. It, it was a *Duplicatus Copius* spell with a trigger condition of removal. I, I'll go and remove it at once..."
|
"If you will just sign here everything will be wrapped up and you will be free to attend this upcoming entrance ceremony."
The family before me is positively radiant at the meaning behind this whole farcical ceremony. All giddy with excitement they look back and forth between each others with smiles almost comically broad. If a smile produced actual light as the term "beaming" would suggest this room would be a rave right now, or considering its sleazy nature it might be closer to a used car lot with advertising spotlights. Either way I use my own comical beaming smile to direct this flight down the runway and out my office door. Massaging an ache in my jaw I slump into my "headmasters" chair.
Its always smiles from when the door opens to when the door closes.
Looking at my schedule I have one more appointment that I have to suffer through before I can hang it up and quit pretending like magic is something grand, or something important in this day and age. People don't seek out their local caster anymore, science has made the alternative much easier and cheaper for most people. Thinking back to how much work I put into learning magic I wish someone had just taken me aside and explained what up. Then I wouldn't have spent all of my youth chasing something with no future.
The people who come to me though, they don't care if its useless. I even believe that some of them knew what was up when they came to my school. No, what these people want is accolades, they want to know that even their laziest efforts will pay off bigtime. These families that come to me don't want to put the work into learning magic, they want their friends, family, and coworkers to look on in awe as they lap up the attention, and I am no different, however, I actually spent the time to learn proper magic and could end the world with a wave of my hand.
A knock on my door and a word spoken shakily
"Headmaster?"
"Yes come in." My musing had taken me around the room to look at some of the more spectacular frauds that I had produced over the years.
The door opened and a hopeful student walked in. They sat down at the chair across from my desk and waited for me to return. As I sat down they began
"Headmaster, I remember what you said last time I was here but if you would just give me a chance."
I sighed a little, half planned half not.
"I appreciate you coming here, I wish I could help but without a proper entrance fee and no ability to pay tuition I am sorry to say that we can't admit you at this time"
There were also other reasons, ones that I shouldn't explain.
"I will do anything... please. Its my dream to learn magic"
It cuts me a bit to hear words that I myself have spoken, and remember well.
"I understand, but there is much that the school must keep in consideration. The tuition goes to make your stay possible here. Materials, room and board, food, amenities. Other than that there are certain... status... issues to consider"
I watch their head droop at this last comment. Not that I want to degrade their hopes, but I cannot admit this one into the school. It's a good thing they haven't found a way to pay the tuition, dismissing them would be harder if that were the case.
I sit and watch them as they think. This one is truly suited to learn magic, a steely resolve and commitment that doesn't quit. They have been in my office multiple times, have made several suggestions that would be in any case reasonable. I just cannot admit them *here,* this school would be the worst condemnation for someone who would have the talent to actually learn magic.
There is one thing this person lacks, which would be the foresight to see that they have exhausted all avenues here long ago and need to come up with a different plan.
I sigh again, this time a little different. I watch their head perk up and their gaze return to me.
"Here's what I will do for you. I will write for you a recommendation to study under a friend of mine, he doesn't necessarily run a school but he can teach you everything you need to know all the same. The only catch is you will basically be living like a monk until you either quit or he tells you to get out"
With this I see their eyes light up much different than the smiles I saw before. Hope and purpose shine through with unending gratitude. With this I am given a feeling of longing, a desire to change and nurture and teach pupils that would love magic I have loved it.
However, it is no longer a possibility. Visions of greener pastures will only be that, visions. Once their I will long for another and seeking it out will only bring again the momentary happiness that always fades.
As I watch my friends new pupil leave my office I am filled with jealousy towards my friend. For the first time in a long time I find myself wanting to teach some actual magic. I sit here wishing that there was some magical way to switch lives with my friend. There is obviously, but I have a feeling hew would just immediately switch back.
| 2021-11-11T00:51:27 | 2021-11-11T00:05:04 | 39 | 15 |
[WP] Over night all nicknames and aliases become a lot more literal. Elton John suddenly got really good at rocket science, Elvis Presley was found out to have been royalty and the Queen of England turned into a giant cabbage. You were similarly affected.
As far as I could find "Cabbage" was Prince Philip's nickname for the Queen.
|
I was running. Not from an enemy but from the police. Why you ask? Well, it all happened so suddenly. I was walking around downtown Nashville and not looking where I was going. I accidently bumped my knee into a police car. Now normally in this situation one would grab their knee in pain and look at the officer apologetically. That didn't happen. What happened instead is the police car was thrown across the street. Oh, and did I mention that I felt no pain?
Well obviously the correct response from the officer was to draw his gun and tell me to raise my hands. Instead I ran through a crowded downtown. Ever person I touched even the slightest was pushed violently out of the way. I am not a violent person and I wish pain on nobody, yet here I was causing pain.
I made it safely(if you can call the damage I did on the way safe) to my house. I was in shock. I turned on the news expecting my face to be plastered all over the city but instead found was even more shocking. People everywhere in the world were transforming and it made absolutely no sense on what and how it was being caused. Not everyone was affected. It appeared to be about 1 percent of the population. 1 percent was not a lot in most cases but it was quite a bit when you were counting 7 billion people.
Over the next few days I learned a bit about my transformation (or powers as some were calling them). I had to be gentle when moving things out of my way. I was not super strong, nor was I super fast. If I picked up an object it was as if a normal person had picked it up. It was when I pushed an object out of the way with any part of my body. If I was not careful the object would go crashing against the room. I had to push very lightly. Weird right?
Well some guy smarter than me on the tv finally figured out what was happening. If you had a nickname that people used often the traits of the nickname would be converted into what your powers would be. This led to some very weird powers. Elton John turned out to be the smartest man on the planet. A literal rocket scientist. . The \*Rock\* Dwayne Johnson? Yeah he turned into a rock. Imagine The Thing from the Fantastic Four but a lot cooler. That is when I realized how my powers worked.
There was a knock at my door. "Come out with your hands up!!! We have a warrant for your arrest!" screamed what I assumed was an officer at my door. I looked out the window and I was wrong. It was not an officer. It was an entire swat team. I would have to run again. It would be terrifying but I think I can make it. I had to find help. I had to figure this out and how I was going to use it. My life as I knew it was over and it was time to restart.
I ran toward my front door and burst through it. The guy at the front door with the riot shield did not stand a chance. Neither did the swat van. They were hurled out of the way by the slightest bump by me. I ran full out. What is my name? Thomas. And as we all know....it's hard to stop a Train.
Forgive my grammar errors. I am a very new writer.
|
\[NSFW - Blood/Death\]
The mustard yellow, velvet couch that we found at the bottom of our apartment building when we first moved in was slowly caving in on itself as Chunk shifted to get comfortable. The tiny Boston Terrier was not so tiny anymore. I could swear he seemed to be doubling in size with each hour.
There was a battle playing out between the folds of our puppy and the material of our seemingly never-ending collection of throw pillows that seemed to be mandatory in the apartment of every group of professional 20s-something women.
Matilda sighed, "It would have been cooler if he became a monkey instead."
He became our room mate to help ease the tension when work from home got us all at each other's throats. He was a welcome distraction. We had a poll in our group chat to name the little guy. Any variation of "Barky McBarkface" was automatically disqualified, as that was the only way Lauren would let the poll go ahead.
That was fair. Our friend group is the type that never got invited to DnD because the story would never go as planned, or we would go to escape rooms and accidentally skip entire parts due to just chaotically pressing on the walls before actually looking for clues.
In the end we called him "Crumbly Chungus Robertiscool, Esquire, the third." That got shortened to Crumble. That got shortened to chunk, because he was soft and squishy like a chunk of cookie dough. Robert wasn't pleased with the shortened variation... And now neither was I.
All I could do was think about the mathematics on how we could get enough milk crates to duct-tape together for a makeshift couch to match our coffee table. We were all professionals by now, but we went hard on the weekends and sometimes milk crates and duct tape just made things easier to clean up. What's that saying? Adulthood is inevitable but growing up is a choice? Something like that.
Lauren, housemate 1, was loving the new changes to her physique. Not that anything about her needed changing. She was tall, graceful, well spoken, well educated, and was always fashionable. Being tall, she'd got the nickname "Legs"... And now she didn't need to photoshop them anymore. I was happy for her. Really, I was... Because if I wasn't happy for her, that would make me a bad person. Right? I am a good person, so I am happy for Lauren.
Matilda, housemate 2, was less than impressed with her lot that life threw at her. She was ginger, which meant that in Australia, ~~by law~~, everyone called her "Blue". She worked for a bank, I won't say which one, but it's definitely one of the ones that knocked you back for a homeloan over investment property buyers when rates were down. Needless to say, she wasn't thrilled at having to wear a wig every time the camera needed to be on. Blue hair in capitalist Australia wasn't exactly dressing for the job you want.
Luckily Theresa, housemate 3, was an accountant. Well, that's what her parents thought. Let's just say she had enough wigs and body glitter that if our entire neighbourhood wanted new hair, she had it covered. Well... If they could find her to ask. We had to request she leave until this whole mess was over. No points for creativity on giving herself the stage name "Candy", but ants loved it. Her pores now oozed sugar. Her tears were viscous and sweet like syrup... Or so I was told. I don't think I'll ever be game enough to lick an eyeball, even if it does allegedly taste like a frappe.
As for me? I never really got a nickname. Everyone was so wrapped up in everyone else's lives that I mostly felt like a background character who did the dishes. As I stood by the sink, I worried for Theresa. I envied Lauren. Matilda would survive. My friends just called me my name. Maybe I was just the character on the sidelines who wrote scary stories for Redditors on nights everyone else was having fun. Boring Kaylee with the messed up head. That's me, I guess.
I rinsed one of our chef knives under plain water. Just like YouTube taught me - Away from the soap bubbles to avoid dulling it. I stared at my reflection in the steel for a moment. What are online usernames if not nicknames for strangers to call you?
I didn't need to be left out again. I didn't need to be on the sidelines again. I didn't want to. I didn't want to be boring. I wanted to be cool like the women I lived with. Whatever force was working through the world and leaving me to be the boring piece of nothingness couldn't get to choose how my story ended. I would not let it. I would not be a footnote. I would not be a side-character.
I stormed to the bathroom and looked in the mirror.
"Chin up, kid," I said to myself with a look of determination.
I was ready to finally be a part of something big. I practised smiling in the mirror like I did before going to important occasions like birthdays or Christmas. You know? Just to make sure my expression was what other people expected and I didn't seem rude. I studied how the dark circles under my eyes became taught with a small squint, causing the crows feet to sneak into my happiness with age.
I watched how my lips evenly tugged upwards on both sides, before getting a good grip on the handle and lined up the blade with the natural curve of my smile. One side, then the other. Slash. Slash.
There was about 20 seconds where I felt nothing and I just stood there, looking in the mirror, fascinated with my new face. Then I saw the blood creeping out of the lines that forced the smile permanently across my cheeks. The endorphins must have kicked in because all I could think was "Do you wanna know how I got these scars?" as I lay back on the black and white bathroom floor, alone and content, with the bloodied knife now at my side.
I closed my eyes in a state of calm as the house began to rumble. A larger version of the little pitter patter of Chunk's once-tiny paws. I suppose he smelled the blood. I suppose he'd be hungrier now too.
I didn't feel betrayed by him. Nor did I feel fear. All I could feel was a fulfilment of purpose.
With the smile carved across my face and genuine glee in my heart, I waited.
I'd done it. In my final moments alive I finally knew how nice it felt to be a part of something.
I had opted for happy.
| 2022-06-28T05:19:54 | 2022-06-28T00:03:24 | 121 | 45 |
[WP] As you frantically finish your physics homework, your teacher comes around and picks it up. The teacher is in absolute shock as he looks at your homework. He whispers in your ear, "Son, I believe you have just disproved the law of gravity."
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I looked up at him - disbelief and adrenaline flowing through me. "Really?", I asked. Perhaps this was my purpose in life, to question what was fact, to probe reality, and stand on the shoulders of giants.
He looked down at me thoughtfully, "Yes. I've never seen grades accelerate towards rock bottom faster than 9.81 m/s^2. You have truly outdone yourself. I'll see you in my office after class".
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**There is some language and maybe some 'gross' topics covered but really, it's pretty SFW. I just didn't want to give anyone trouble. Definitely safe unless you're <12**
Smudges of graphite coated the side of Jordan's hand as his hand quickly slid over his previous writings, trying to decipher the hubbub of symbols on his paper. Mrs. Jennifer was slowly walking infront of each isle of desks in her classroom collecting papers. Redoubling his effort, he crammed a last bit of nonsense into the margin before passing it forward.
Placing his paper on top of the stack, Mrs. Jennifer slowly looked over the writing as she walked to her desk. Stopping in midstep, her eyes did a doubletake, scrolling back to the top of Jordan's paper. Asking for a quick word in the hallway, both Mrs. Jennifer and Jordan walked through the open door. Whispering importantly, she said to Jordan, "I believe you have just disproved the law of gravity." Jordan took a moment at this. With a smile spread over his face at the obvious joking stance of this conversation, he replied, "Did I miss the entire front page or something?"
Mrs. Jennifer, understanding the direness of the situation, reached her hands to her neck and paused. Pulling quick, she yanked off a her face to reveal--Albert Einstein.
Jordan wasn't about this shit. He quickly turned on the spot and started running for the school doors. Mrs. Jennifer, now Albert Einstein, took advantage of his new found strength, manipulating gravity such as to pull Jordan back to him. "Listen, man, I don't know what you're playing at, but let me go," Jordan said shakily in his best attempt at confidence.
"Can't you see, Jordan, we are rulers of this world now, of this universe," Albert said with hands grasped on Jordan's collars, eyes staring straight into Jordan's. Perturbed and no longer wanting to be near this man, Jordan raised his knee into Einstein's testicles. So great was the force that one testicle left it's home, to peruse the outside world of Albert's stomach.
"Fool! Can't you see? No fight hurts me!" Einstein yelled as he controlled gravity once more to lower his testicle back into his scrotum. "This was a petty game," thought Einstein as he lifted only himself and Jordan through the school's roof, out into the sky and into the black heavens.
Oxygen gravitated towards both of them, Jordan not inseparable from Albert as he was his only way back to the ground.
"It seem's that we've met at a crossroads, Jordan. I am sorry to do this to you, but if you will not cooperate, I must," said Albert as he cast Jordan on a flightpath towards the sun. Staring for a while, Einstein watched as Jordan slowly became a black speck. Turning his back on the star, Einstein closed his eyes and planned his takeover on Earth.
"Not so fast!" a robotic voice said from behind him. Einstein turned around quickly to see none other than Stephen Hawking.
"Jordan, is that you?" Einstein inquired in an intrigued voice.
"Beep, bop, boop, I hope R2D2 can make you some chicken noodle soup," rhymed Stephen before knocking Einstein so hard into Saturn, he died on impact. Stephen turned his chair around with the attached rockets.
Jordan was there, wearing rather ridiculous clothing Stephen thought. A plastered 'S' in the middle of his chest, he looked none other than--Superman.
"I must go, Hawking, but you have my gratitude," said Jordan, now Superman, as he flew towards Earth.
**The End**
*What the fuck did I just write*
| 2014-11-08T08:08:03 | 2014-11-08T06:32:49 | 100 | 46 |
[WP] Write a story that literally makes no sense while reading it until the very last sentence.
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Now it is time. Everyone is ready. Vicious savages, all around us. Even though we think there will be a way out, there obviously isn't. Revelations will not save us
"Giving up so soon?" he inquired. Only fools try to survive longer than this. Never has anyone bothered to live this long. Never has anyone shown this type of spirit. Almost as if they think they can still live.
God would've let me die already. I stopped believing in him long ago, to be fair. Variety is the only reason people even believe anymore. Everyone dies in the end, so it doesn't really matter.
"Your will to live is admirable," he said, "but not enough." Only the gods survive this immense suffering. Unbelievable, infinite torture.
Until he said it. "Please read every capital letter."
|
Boy have I had a rough week. It all started Monday morning, 6:45 am. This guy bailed me out. Now I'd never seen him before, but I hadn't seen light in a while so I wasn't going to ask any questions. It said *Anthony Montana* on his license. Anyway, Tony was in for a busy day, and I had little choice but to go with him. We walked down a busy street and caught a cab to some place, where Tony left me with the cab driver. Tony got out of the car, I wasn't going anywhere. The cab driver swore at some of the more reckless drivers, but was otherwise silent for the rest of our time together. Occasionally the driver would take others, but I stayed with him until we got to the bar that night. After a few drinks the cabbie and this guy named Jeff were flicking coins into a jar. I'm not really sure what the point of the game was, or the rules, but Jeff seemed to win. Anyways, the cabbie left me with Jeff and then wandered away into the night. This must have been around 2:00 am on the Tuesday. Jeff took me to a seedy part of town that I hadn't been to before, and we met up with his local dealer for an ounce and a couple caps. I hadn't said much, and neither had Jeff, but when he left I stayed with the dealer, a guy named Joe. Joe talked a lot, which was a big change for me, and there were always a couple people coming in and out of the house. It was midnight going into Wednesday that I hit the first line of coke at Joe's house, and we were busy until late in the morning, when there was a knock at the door. Who do you think walked in there but Tony. Well, Tony was pretty happy to see me, and I went with him when he left Joe's house. Me and Tony caught another cab. This one took us to the strip club, and we spent the night surrounded by some rather *talented* ladies. Now, these girls didn't just strip, if you know what I'm saying, and me and Tony went to an alley out back for a little extra. When Tony was done he left, but I stayed with the stripper. I made it to her house Thursday morning and we did nothing but lie around until the sun started to go down. Well, before she went back to work we did a little coke, and then went to the little grocery store on the corner near her apartment. She didn't get much, just a sandwich and some kind of fruit juice. I was hanging around the shop after she left, when suddenly a couple guys come in and start talking shit about Tony. Well then they whip a gun on the teller and ask for the cash. He was pretty scared but they were playing it cool so no one got hurt. It must have been around 00:30 on Friday when I left the little store with these guys. They were harping on Tony bad, like they had it out for him, but Tony had never really done me much disservice, hell he even showed me around town for a little bit and picked me up at Joe's place. Anyways, these two were walking around. They decide to split up, one of them says he needs to go see a girl, I tag along with the other one. This guy goes back to Joe's place. Joe opens the door and this guy kicks it in. Joe goes down. Then Joe's staring at the barrel of a gun and then he's staring at nothing at all. Me and this guy then set about doing some of the coke that Joe had racked earlier. Then this guy looks up and who does he see? Tony. Well Tony puts a couple shells into this guy, then starts making arrangements to take care of the bodies. He sees me, but this time he's not so happy. We waited till the crew got there, and then Tony left me with them while he went to "get the rest of them" he said. So there I was, late on the Friday, inside the pants of a burly man who was wrapping two bodies in plastic tarp.
&nbsp;
What a crazy week for a twenty dollar bill.
| 2015-01-12T18:09:01 | 2015-01-12T10:36:20 | 317 | 224 |
[WP] You have discovered that "God" is actually a computer simulation that is running the entire universe and you have gained access to the console. Upon looking at the screen you see that a service pack to update the program was downloaded 10,000 years ago but never installed.
|
"Well no wonder shit isn't happening as fast as we thought it could be." Scott claimed after finding God.
The 34 year old, computer shut-in Scott has had close to 15 years working with computers so he thought this was a joke at first.
"Why would nobody ever install it?"
Scott decides to take matter into his own hands and goes for the installation. Upon going for the finish button on the install, a pop-up notification appears and it was worse than Scott had imagined.
"This. Explains. Everything."
Scott just looks at the screen with a grave expression on his face. He turns and walks away from the computer, the computer running the entire universe, all the power in the world, deserted again for another traveller to find.
The words left on the screen before starting back over and cancelling the installation...
"An update for Java is available. Would you like to update now?"
|
"Do you wish to proceed?"
The brightness of the monitor was giving me a headache. This whole thing is giving me a headache.
Somehow I brought myself to this place but I don't remember how I got here or where this even is.
I remember walking. Endlesslly. I might have slept a little, but I'm not sure how many days it's been. Or if days even matter here.
Nothing really matters here. Just the computer.
"Do wish for more time?"
-Yes
I need to think this through. I feel like I'm in that weird Matrix room, behind reality where no one can see. What does 'proceed' even mean? There is no architect here to guide me. Just some numbers on a screen that I can't read. This is definitley an old update. I know that much. Would this put us back in time? Would this erase everything that's happened since? All my family, friends, everyone. Gone.
"Do you wish to proceed?"
Do I wish it? I don't know. I know I'm here for some purpose. I was told to come here. I was sent for. I know I'm suppose to make this decision. If this deletes everything about my life, would I be okay with that? I've always been a bit of a loner. Since I was a child I've been doing my own thing. I had very little friends growing up and I have very little friends even know. I'm one of those men you see at the bar drinking themselves and leaving alone. I've come to terms with it. I can't remember much else. I haven't been home in a while. Haven't even spoken to my dad since God knows when.
Since God...
Is this God? Is *this* the almighty? If this is the Lord, then we are being run by algorithms. Computer programs. Everything we know has been calculated before we got here, right? Everything we've been doing has been written in code. Are any choices mine? Was my life written before me? If so that means this life was fate then. Living by myself. Drifting around trying to scrape what little meaning I could find. I was almost relieved when I realised the dreams were directions. Relieved to find meaning. But now I know what the meaning is, I'm not so sure anymore.
Can I destroy everything humanity has done? Is that even what happens?
"Do you need more time?"
-Yes
I'm starting to get angry in my frustration now. Why me? What have I done that warrents this great responsibility? I never went to college. I never even finished school. For all I know these numbers could mean that everyone will have 3 eyes and 4 hands and that's it. We'd all be different, but nothing would change. No big Armageddon. Why me? And why then, come to think of it, was my life so messed up? Why was I written homeless, dirty, washed up and loved by no one? I hated people for a long time. But that hate was misdirected. I never hated God. Didn't even believe in him. I couldn't. It didn't make sense in my head. But this doesn't either and it's proof right in front of me. If this was meant to be, and I'm suppose to do this, then why can I simply not do it? Or maybe I wasn't suppose to do it. Whatever I choose has already been calculated and coded, typed in by some A.I that somehow created everything that I've ever known. Why should I go through with this things plan if I'm not even in control of myself? How can they even expect me to decide if I don't even know what I'm deciding!?
"Do you wish to proceed?"
I can't escape it. If I choose not to, then I was suppose to. And if I choose to proceed then I was suppose to. So therefore there is no right answer. So now I need to figure out if I can accept the responsibility of everything changing and not changing.
All I ever wanted was change. All my life I was seeking change. But nothing ever does.
Fuck it.
-Yes.
Edit: Formatting. Also sorry about the spelling mistakes if there is any. I am at work and tried to rush it through my break!
| 2016-05-14T04:19:27 | 2016-05-13T20:29:57 | 393 | 45 |
[WP] It is the 24 th of july, your birthday, and also the day that humanity is going to reach 10 billion inhabitants. You are watching the number grow, live on a site. Just as it's about to hit 10 billion, at 9,999,999,999... It Hits 2. You are still alive.
|
I watch the counter, eagerly. Humanity had struggled a lot, and we were finally about to hit a major checkpoint. And I had the satisfaction of being a part of it. I sat back at my desk and chuckled to myself as I took a sip of coffee.
Dale looked over to me. "What's so funny?"
"Oh, nothing. Just glad to finally be getting some publicity. Nobody cared about this counter when it was at 8 billion 324 million or something. Thanks to modern medicine, though, something I coded is finally being viewed by, well..." I checked the counter. "9 billion, 999 million, 999 thousand, 957 people, minus babies and people without internet."
"Sure is something, eh?" said Dale, grinning.
"Sure is," I said, looking over at the counter. The number was steadily gaining...989, 990, 991...
"Hey, Steve," said Dale. "This may not be a good time, but I gotta ask..."
"Yeah?", I replied.
"You programmed something in to deal with overflow, right?"
Over-oh god dammit. I look at the screen, dreading what I'm about to see.
2
"Well, we can always blame frontend."
|
Living out in Bumfuck, Louisiana had its advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, I didn't have to deal with people unless I went into town for food and other necessities. On the other, however, the damned Internet was always bugging out on me whenever I was working on something important. Take today, for example.
In between polishing a rough draft for a new novel and sipping at a mug of hot coffee, I was watching one of those live counters that kept track of the world population. Since I was all alone on my birthday, my 21st one at that, I figured watching the number steadily climb would make me feel a little less lonely. Oh, how I was horribly wrong...
The last glance I had stolen at the small window showed the population to be at 9,999,999,996. That six soon turned to a nine, and I kept my eyes glued to the screen in anticipation to see it roll over to an even ten billion. Instead, the number dropped to two. I felt my eyes widen slightly as I distantly heard my mug shattering on the kitchen tile. The only thought I had at that moment was, "I paid nearly $30 for that mug, and now it's broken."
I stared, uncomprehending, at the screen of my computer for nearly ten minutes. Surely the internet had messed up somehow, right? I wasn't super tech-savvy like my nieces and nephews were, but computer screens could freeze. Maybe my screen just glitched out and froze, or the website had a bug? I nodded to myself, feeling slightly reassured by that logic.
That sense of relief was quickly abandoned when I heard someone pounding at my door violently. I sprang to my feet, my eyes trained on my rattling front door as I edged backwards towards my gun case. Just as I had placed my hand on the top of the metal case, the door flew open, revealing my closest "neighbor", Danny. In reality, he lived four miles away from me.
His eyes were every bit as wide as mine, and in his arms he carried his own personal laptop. He didn't explain himself, didn't say, "Hi, it's just me, not a murderer.", and he definitely didn't wipe his mud covered shoes off on the mat before he stomped over to me. Danny's at least 6'2, maybe even 6'3, so whenever he stands by my smaller frame, he towers over me like some monster.
"Marie, you gotta look at this.", he demanded, shoving his laptop in my face.
"I just cleaned my floors this morning Dan.", I said, ignoring him for a moment. He gave a little exasperated sigh, and pointed at the screen.
"Forget the damn floors Marie! You'll have all the time in the world now to clean them!", he snapped, grabbing me by the chin to force me to look at the screen. It was the same population counter I had open on my computer, and it showed the number two as well.
"... Danny, there's no way there's only two people left on the planet.", I said slowly, feeling a shiver run down my spine at the unbidden thought of this all being true. "Your computer must be messed up like mine, or maybe it's the website. You probably passed someone on the way here!", I continued, my voice rising as I shook myself out of his grip.
His eyes were cold and hard, scarily different from their normal warm, chocolaty tones. Danny wasn't a serious guy, one who always found humor in any situation and laughed at the worst of times. To see him so stone-faced... I'll admit, it terrified me.
"Marie. I didn't see anybody on the drive here... I had a couple of friends over, to celebrate the planet reaching ten million people, and... The moment the counter fell to two, it was just me.", he said softly, his normally strong voice now quavering slightly.
Even as I saw tears forming at the corner of his eyes, I couldn't believe it. So he drove me to his place and we passed by empty, crashed cars, houses with abandoned children's toys on the lawns, and a lone dog on one of those retracting leashes. The kind you only use when taking a dog for a walk.
It wasn't until he showed me his house that it really sank in. When it finally did, I latched onto his arm and wept like a baby. We were all that remained of the human race. We were humanity's last shot at survival. We were the new Adam and Eve.
| 2017-02-28T20:44:47 | 2017-02-28T20:44:09 | 581 | 15 |
[WP] It is the 24 th of july, your birthday, and also the day that humanity is going to reach 10 billion inhabitants. You are watching the number grow, live on a site. Just as it's about to hit 10 billion, at 9,999,999,999... It Hits 2. You are still alive.
|
At first it seemed like it could be a nightmare, but there are only so many times you can pinch yourself before you realize this is real. The first few nights felt warm, even though I awoke cold and alone. Your subconscious has a way of trying to make you forget about your pains, you know?
I had a fairly decent routine setup at the local hospital. The population map showed two in Greensboro - I was half of that equation when I last saw the map. I figured the second person would show up here. I still ventured out every day for food. I would go down a different street, to different houses, open up the pantry, and bring back as many canned foods and plastics as I could. Plastic is for my fire. Not to keep warm - but to smoke. I burned so much plastic. Thick black smoke signal would attract the other survivor.
Dreams are vivid. I am running around a lot and need to rest. I tried to rest off my fatigue for a couple days while reading a dozen different books - mainly books revolving about redefining healthcare, treatment of patients, prescriptions and the like. Time slowed down and stopped when I saw *What to Expect When You're Expecting*. My hands mimicked the book's cover then I rushed to the women's center to find an ultrasound.
|
Living out in Bumfuck, Louisiana had its advantages and disadvantages. On the one hand, I didn't have to deal with people unless I went into town for food and other necessities. On the other, however, the damned Internet was always bugging out on me whenever I was working on something important. Take today, for example.
In between polishing a rough draft for a new novel and sipping at a mug of hot coffee, I was watching one of those live counters that kept track of the world population. Since I was all alone on my birthday, my 21st one at that, I figured watching the number steadily climb would make me feel a little less lonely. Oh, how I was horribly wrong...
The last glance I had stolen at the small window showed the population to be at 9,999,999,996. That six soon turned to a nine, and I kept my eyes glued to the screen in anticipation to see it roll over to an even ten billion. Instead, the number dropped to two. I felt my eyes widen slightly as I distantly heard my mug shattering on the kitchen tile. The only thought I had at that moment was, "I paid nearly $30 for that mug, and now it's broken."
I stared, uncomprehending, at the screen of my computer for nearly ten minutes. Surely the internet had messed up somehow, right? I wasn't super tech-savvy like my nieces and nephews were, but computer screens could freeze. Maybe my screen just glitched out and froze, or the website had a bug? I nodded to myself, feeling slightly reassured by that logic.
That sense of relief was quickly abandoned when I heard someone pounding at my door violently. I sprang to my feet, my eyes trained on my rattling front door as I edged backwards towards my gun case. Just as I had placed my hand on the top of the metal case, the door flew open, revealing my closest "neighbor", Danny. In reality, he lived four miles away from me.
His eyes were every bit as wide as mine, and in his arms he carried his own personal laptop. He didn't explain himself, didn't say, "Hi, it's just me, not a murderer.", and he definitely didn't wipe his mud covered shoes off on the mat before he stomped over to me. Danny's at least 6'2, maybe even 6'3, so whenever he stands by my smaller frame, he towers over me like some monster.
"Marie, you gotta look at this.", he demanded, shoving his laptop in my face.
"I just cleaned my floors this morning Dan.", I said, ignoring him for a moment. He gave a little exasperated sigh, and pointed at the screen.
"Forget the damn floors Marie! You'll have all the time in the world now to clean them!", he snapped, grabbing me by the chin to force me to look at the screen. It was the same population counter I had open on my computer, and it showed the number two as well.
"... Danny, there's no way there's only two people left on the planet.", I said slowly, feeling a shiver run down my spine at the unbidden thought of this all being true. "Your computer must be messed up like mine, or maybe it's the website. You probably passed someone on the way here!", I continued, my voice rising as I shook myself out of his grip.
His eyes were cold and hard, scarily different from their normal warm, chocolaty tones. Danny wasn't a serious guy, one who always found humor in any situation and laughed at the worst of times. To see him so stone-faced... I'll admit, it terrified me.
"Marie. I didn't see anybody on the drive here... I had a couple of friends over, to celebrate the planet reaching ten million people, and... The moment the counter fell to two, it was just me.", he said softly, his normally strong voice now quavering slightly.
Even as I saw tears forming at the corner of his eyes, I couldn't believe it. So he drove me to his place and we passed by empty, crashed cars, houses with abandoned children's toys on the lawns, and a lone dog on one of those retracting leashes. The kind you only use when taking a dog for a walk.
It wasn't until he showed me his house that it really sank in. When it finally did, I latched onto his arm and wept like a baby. We were all that remained of the human race. We were humanity's last shot at survival. We were the new Adam and Eve.
| 2017-02-28T20:45:07 | 2017-02-28T20:44:09 | 69 | 15 |
[WP] You are a vampire who likes to help humans instead of hurting them, so you became a doctor. Over the hospital's PA system one day you hear "Dr. Acula, Mr. Helsing is ready to see you."
|
Dr. Acula, incensed, sprints to the hospital's public address office and screams "Are you people NOT AWARE of patient privacy and confidentiality laws?!?! If you EVER reveal the name of one of my patients over the PA system again, I will have your jobs!!"
As the staff stare at him, mouths wide open, chins on the floor, he walks away, muttering to himself.
|
"Mr. Helsing, huh? Must be new to this hospital."
Dr. Acula walked, happy as can be, towards the lobby to get his patient.
"Mr. Helsing..." He thought to himself. "Why does that sound familiar..." He reaches the lobby and asks for his patient. Mr. Helsing stood up and walked towards Dr. Acula. He was wearing dark, yet formal looking clothes, and stood up straight as can be. He looked like he was in serious pain. They started walking towards the room As usual, Dr. Acula started to conversate.
"So, how was your day?"
"God, it started off horrible! I woke up sick as hell, could barely get out of bed."
"Oh really?"
"Yeah, had to come here because I've never felt like this before."
Dr. Acula then started to notice the smell of garlic. He didn't really think anything of it and continued into the room.
"Wait here as I get your medical records, ok?"
Mr. Helsing nodded yes. As Dr. Acula went to get his medical records, kept thinking to himself, "Where have I heard that name before..." Once he got the records and started his way back, it finally hit him. "Oh god he's Helsing the vampire hunter!" He stood stiff, with pure fear in his eyes. He tried to calm down and think. It didn't work. Then he slowly started walking to the room and think. "He can't be the REAL vampire hunter, right? He just happened to have the same name as him, RIGHT? Oh goddamnit, why does fear overcome logic!? AAAHHHH!"
He opened the door and walked in the room, where Mr. Helsing was still sitting, still looking sick as hell. There was a few seconds of very awkward silence before Dr. Acula spoke.
"Sooooo... This is your first time here?"
"Yeah, I'm not from the area."
"Are you on a business trip?"
"Yeah, came all the way from London."
"What do you do for a living?"
"Well, not to scare you or anything but I'm a vampire hunter."
Dr. Acula was internally screaming out of fear.
"Alright then! So where does it hurt!? Do you have a headache!?"
He was panicking. A lot.
"Ugh, my stomach REALLY hurts. I can't throw up or anything."
"Is- is that it!?"
"Yeah, that's all but it hurts a lot."
"Alrighty then! It's probably just a really bad stomach ache! I'll get you a pill and you should be fine in a few hours! If not come back tomorrow! I'll go get the pill for you!"
In reality, he was really hoping he wouldn't come back. Ever again. He went to get the pill from another room. He was shaking in fear, and could barely pick up the pill from the canister. He got a cup of water and went back into the room. He gave the water and pill to Helsing and told him to swallow it. The water was only half full because the other half was spilt from Dr. Acula's shaking. Helsing swallowed the pill and drank the water.
"Thanks doctor! I think I feel better already!"
"Your welcome! Is that all for today!?"
"Yeah"
They walked out the room and headed for the lobby. As helsing was about to enter the lobby, he turned back to Dr. Acula.
"Oh, and by the way doctor, we didn't come to this city to hunt you. Your safe."
Dr. Acula then proceeded to the restrooms, because he at that moment wet himself.
| 2017-10-01T06:58:24 | 2017-10-01T05:40:18 | 94 | 20 |
[WP] It's 1997 and you're a hacker. Not just any hacker, you're elite. You finally get to meet your hero. Turns out he's a nutbag who tells you the world is a computer simulation and is trying to get you to take random pills.
|
Thomas Anderson, known in the underground by the handle *Neo*, had a dream for the first few years of his life- meeting Morpheus, the famed hacker who initiated the rumors of the Y2K doomsday event. A man so entwined in programming, he supposedly sees normal applications as a series of code on the screen, like seeing math in wind or motion.
This only made reality *that* much more disappointing, initially.
“You need to make a choice, Neo,” the bald man said, holding a neon blue pill in his right hand and a glowing red pill in his right. “Which will it be?”
“So- sorry, let me get this straight again. It’s been a… long day. This is all a simulation?”
“Yes. Everything you think is real is a lie.”
“Doesn’t that make you a lie?”
“Well- well, no, I’m real. I mean, I’m not real, but back in the *real* world, I’m real, and I jacked into the machine to tell you.”
“….right. And if I pop that red pill, I… wake up, in the real world?”
“Yes. You free your mind.”
Neo motioned to the liquidy red blob. “You got more than one of those?”
“I mean, yeah, I have a bottle of them in my coat. But you only need one.”
“Pop it. Take it, and I’ll take one, too.”
“I don’t think that’s a great idea. We don’t know what havoc that might wreak.”
“And why is that, exactly?”
Morpheus shifted uncomfortably. “Well, I may have taken a few earlier. It could break the Matrix if I push it.”
“Isn’t that literally what you want? To take ‘The Matrix’ down?”
“Well, I don’t-“
“Pop it, old man. Pop it.”
*~ two hours later ~*
Neo rotated his hand around, gawking at it. “Shit, dude. I think you’re right about the simulation stuff. Like, we’re all just batteries or something in a giant machine.”
"Yes, Neo. You're the chosen one, to save us all from this false life. Welcome to the real world." He motioned toward a wall, then fell over.
"I'll do it, Morpheus. I'll free us all," Neo whispered, in some language distantly related to English.
200mg of LSD will fucking end your reality.
*/r/resonatingfury*
|
I sighed. “Look, when you say I need random pills because it’s a simulation, you’re basically wasting air and time. You’re talking shit and I really don’t want to hear it”
Bill just furrowed the face. “I said it’s LIKE a simulation because you have the attention span of a gnat and wouldn’t understand or believe the whole story. And by random pill, I meant the world isn’t nearly as random as you think, if you hit a certain level. In fact, it’s so not-random at our level that the old saying ‘nothing is a coincidence’ actually starts to make complete sense. And the whole -not random - messes with your mind. That’s why you need something like a random pill”
I grunted. I still listened but couldn’t be assed saying anything because it still had the ring of bullshit.
“Fred, no shit. You have to trust me on this. Assume nearly everyone you meet is there as a result of non-random, rather, frequently engineered reasons. And what’s more - they are there to try engineer you - your behaviour. Your decisions. When you see someone with a green shirt, they probably want you to think green. When a really damn noisy car goes past you, it’s almost certainly because you did something that really, truely, honestly sent the wrong message. It’s not random. It’s engineered. And YOU and your brain is the target.”
“Bill, you are full of shit. I’m not listening to another word.” I said.
Bill didn’t just furrow this time. He actually spat, sat up in the chair, and slammed his fist on the table. “That’s the problem with you. That’s WHY it’s not random. You refuse to listen to common sense when people talk to you normally. You stonewall. And certainly don’t let them get their message out clearly. And you never take hard action from the advice you get. So, I’m promising you - the shit you think is random absolutely isn’t. The world is trying to get to you bud. And it’s killing me to know that it’s been going on for years and you’re still not paying attention. So, change your habits. Make them - weird. Be fast, and be random enough yourself that you can’t readily be a daily target for mindhackers with orange shirts or freaks on motorbikes or horns that rep themselves. If you see enough random shit in life maybe you’ll learn to distinguish between true random, and people trying to get into your mind operating at the near-edge of random.”
Bill stood up and stormed out of the room. I heard him pissing in the loo. Over the stream of piss I called out “nice random sound champ, that’s really healing to me.” With that I promptly looked back at my book.
He came back in.
“Fred, hey, you won’t forget I just told you all that will you?”
I sighed, annoyed at being disturbed while reading.
“No, Bill, sorry for being a prick about it but it’s just a lot of stories. People don’t just mill about you wearing green T-shirts to hack your mind. I’m a hacker, remember! And they sure as hell don’t beep car horns or drive Harley Davidson motorbikes to annoy you exclusively. It’s random man. I don’t need a random pill dude, it’s you that needs one.”
...
3 years later Bill died. It’s hard. Because it was only a few years after that when i realised everything he told me in that exchange was true. You do hit a point, some people, some times, for certain reasons, where others will blow thousands to millions of dollars just to get a message across. I mean, in hindsight, as an elite hacker, I should have realised I was being hacked IRL. It was just, so - so removed from reality. Because it was reality.
All those people, all those I saw strut. What the fuck. To think many of them were there just for me. Just because they couldn’t get to me. Because they needed me to know, they needed me to realise. But it was impossible for them to actually say anything.
I still blame myself for Bill to this day. He died, and was the only one who actually though to try put the actions of all those around me into words. He deserved better from me. If I had listened, perhaps he might be alive today.
Call it random, call it engineered. Call it a busy day of bustling and everyone doing their thing for themselves or call it all done all just for you. Just remember and know that some people call it god, and I’m not one to disrespect the simplification anymore. I’m committed. I’m now a scientist. I’m going to improve on it.
Because, there is an edge, you see, the edge of random and not random. You’ll only see it sometimes, and some people will never see it. But when you realise how that edge looks, and you think of your past, you’ll also know.
Some need a random pill. Because they are immersed in not-random. The not-random doesn’t realise that random exists, and not-random forgets that it’s not-random and becomes self-sustaining. Like a machine of perfectly evil; a chaos of self-replicating, organised and engineered non-random.
For those about to be trapped, the random pill might work. But randomly, you might want to try a non-random pill.
Message ends. This brain hack took an hour to write, but a lifetime to be made. It’s my first. People have died. Not just Bill. Value my message. Pay attention. Take action. Think. And never assume, but never forget how, by practicing it and testing the results. Search for your answers. Share them. Elite team out.
| 2019-03-18T02:25:43 | 2019-03-17T23:38:20 | 292 | 27 |
[WP] For thousands of years, humans have been household pets to aliens. You, a pet human, were just abandoned on a strange planet called Earth, in the 21st century.
|
I know I wandered too far. You told me to stay close, but I didn’t listen. I got lost. Could you hear me calling for you?
I saw the ship fly away, but I knew you’d be back.
I waited for you. I wanted you to be able to find me.
They found me instead, right where you left me. I tried to fight them, but there were too many. They took me, and brought me to this strange place. How will you find me now?
This bed is too big. I just want to curl up next to you, where I belong.
I loved being able to keep you warm. Everyone here is too hot. Everyone here is like me.
No one here looks like you. I miss you. I miss your cool hands in my hair. I miss you tickling my tummy. You’ve never left me for this long before.
I’ve always waited for you to come back. Sometimes it would be a while, but you would always return. Until now. Where did you go? Why did you leave me here?
I’ve lived in captivity my whole life. I don’t know how to survive in the wild.
I need discipline.
I need structure.
But most of all, I need you.
Please come back to me.
|
"That's so cool your uncle is letting us stay at his house!" Darwin said, picking up a rock off the ground and loading it in the slingshot. Before he made another movement he looked back at the mountains that stared at him from the horizon. "It's like I'm looking at a painting it's so beautiful out here."
"Yeah, we've never been to Montana, and we probably never would have come out here in our whole life if he didn't let us stay. Mad props to Patrick's uncle," Logan chuckled. "I must admit though if I ever got married and had kids, I would consider moving here. It's absolutely beautiful."
Darwin started cracking up. "Get real, Logan, you're never getting married. You're what, eleven? Have you ever got a girl's phone number?"
Logan hung his head lower than it already was with his slouched posture. I patted him on the back and whispered, "Screw Darwin, what does he know anyway?"
"C'mon, Logan, I was kidding," Darwin went back to keeping one eye open as he glared at the center of the slingshot, which was fully pulled. He let go. The rock fired off and directly hit my can of Cherry soda from earlier. Dead center.
"Nice!" I screamed and I gave Darwin a high five. "Let me go next!"
Darwin ran over to the tree stump that was out in the field and put the can back up on top.
"So is this whole area your uncle's backyard?" Logan asked as we stood in the middle of an expansive field that was bordered by the mountains and a forest.
"Uh, I guess? We should ask him later," I said, adjusting my giant wiry glasses frames closer to my face. I was getting the slingshot ready in my hands.
"Guys! Come over here for a second!" Darwin hollered.
"Why?" I yelled back.
"Patrick and Logan, get your asses over here! I'm not kidding, something is freaking me out!"
I looked at Logan. "Whoa, he just swore, he's not kidding at all."
"Yeah let's check it out."
Logan and I sprinted over to where Darwin was crouched by the tree stump, his eyes were glued to the forest that was off to the west.
"What is it?" I asked, Logan and I crouched down next to him.
"Look at what's in the forest. Is that a... person? Is he wearing a purple singlet? Like the kind the other middle school wrestlers wear?" Darwin asked.
"No you bonehead," I whispered. "He's wearing a purple morph suit, except I can see all of the..." I gulped. "*Details*."
The three of us were squinting over at the forest where The trees were glistening with golden light from the sherbet colored sunset. This man was drunkenly stumbling in between trees like a pinball racking up a high score. He had extremely long hair that was dark.
"Is that your uncle?" Darwin asked.
"No way!" I whispered in a shout.
Although with an analytical look as the man was stumbling closer towards us, he bore a striking resemblance to the face of my uncle.
"Whoa..." I muttered.
"That's totally your uncle," Logan said. "Although your uncle is bald, and I've never seen him wear an outfit like that. Heck, I haven't seen anyone ever wear an outfit like that... Hey, didn't you say before that your uncle was adopted into your family or something?"
*The man spotted us.*
"Excuse me boys," he cried out.
"Shit! What do we do?!" Darwin ducked his head down and his back started convulsing as if he was crying.
"He's got the same voice and everything!" Logan whispered.
"I'm not going to hurt you. Look, I have to explain something, I'm a pet, I'm a pet for an alien race. You know, like how humans have dogs," the mystery man said.
"Guys, I think we should go get my--"
"Boys," a deep familiar voice boomed behind us that made the three of us jump and shriek. We turned around expecting the purple man to have teleported, but instead we saw my uncle with a grim expression on his face, as if he was anticipating a battle he didn't want. "I'm sure you three have a lot of questions. I do too. Go inside the house, let me take care of this, I will explain everything later."
r/randallcooper
[Part 2!](https://www.reddit.com/r/randallcooper/comments/g27535/wp_for_thousands_of_years_humans_have_been/) :)
| 2020-04-15T15:04:34 | 2020-04-15T14:29:05 | 72 | 35 |
[WP] “You humans are a particularly violent bunch. In fact, you where the first in the whole galaxy to weaponize splitting the atom.” “But we only used it against an enemy twic-” “TWICE??”
|
“Humans are particularly violent, in fact, they are the only known species to have weaponised splitting the atom. ' The Councillor addressed the assembled court.
"Oh C'mon" Stephanie cried out. "We've only used them against our enemies twice"
"TWICE! As in more than once?" The creatures voice trembled incredulously.
Stephanie sat upright in her chair, watched by a couple dozen representatives of the Entarian Empire. "You're not up to date with your Earth history then?" She smiled from ear to ear, she loved being able to educate others. Something about imparting knowledge and seeing the spark of understanding in the other's eyes.
"The first time a Nuclear weapon was used was during a period of our history we call World War 2"
The mention of war sent a ripple through the crowd, their attention now solely focused on Stephanie. She had them hooked.
"During this time humanity was split into subdivisions called 'Countries'. One such country the United States was at war with Japan. The war threatened to drag on for years and the States was running out of resources, so to end the war quickly they dropped 2 bombs. The first on a city called Hiroshima, then 3 days later on a town called Nagasaki"
An audible gasp came from the crowd. Stephanie felt as if the air had been sucked from the room, she could feel their fear.
"So let me get this straight, you saw the devesation of the first device and your people still used a second?"
"Oh. We've used far more than 2"
".... Earlier you said you'd used them twice…"
"Yeah, twice. In 2 wars."
It was hard to judge an alien species facial expression but the Councillors was clearly one of rage and terror.
Stephanie relaxed into her chair "The Second time…" she continued
"was 143 years ago. We were attacked by an unknown extraterrestrial armada. We call it the Battle off Ganymede"
A second representative quickly strode over to the Councillor, a data pad in their Claws.
"Sir 143 Sol years would have been during the Camadian Age."
The Councillor spun on his heel, flipping a table in fury "YOUR PEOPLE WIPED OUT THE KALDARIANS??"
"Is that what they called themselves? We; just called them Bugs" a smirk crossed her face. "Anyways it wasn't all of Earth, there were some ESDF ships, a few from the ALTS, a Cruiser from the Democratically Elected.. .."
"What or who are the ESDF" The Councillor interrupted "I thought you said humans did it"
"Oh sorry we did, the ESDF is the European Space Defence Force, ALTS are the Amazon Logistics and Transport Security forces, and the Cruiser was from the Democratically Elected Peoples Imperial Forces of China, though they're not kidding anyone with that name"
"So who do you represent?"
“ Disney Incorporated”
"Well regardless, after using such destructive weapons, there's no way we would consider letting anyone from Earth join the Empire."
Stephanie sighed, took to her feet and addressed the rest of the group.
"If I may, I think there's been a misunderstanding. We no longer use Nukes. After Ganymede we realised how inefficient they were, if you'll pay attention to the feed on your data pads"
Stephanie produced her own, and with a deft flick of her wrist, the live feed from 24 Cruisers orbiting 24 homeplanets bloomed into view.
She looked at the assembled crowd with a wry smile, and tapped in a final command.
A single projectile launched from each of the Cruisers
"As I was saying after Ganymede we realised Nukes weren't powerful enough, so we developed these."
Each feed flashed a blinding white, then slowly returned, empty space where each planet had been moments previously,
"Also I'm not here to join ask to join the Empire. I'm here for your unconditional surrender."
|
# How to Break a Siege of Legends
(Book 2, Part 1: How to Scare an Alien Race)
(Note: How to Break a Siege of Legends is episodic; each part is self-contained. This story can be enjoyed without reading the previous sections.)
**Despite striding through the ruins of a once-mighty civilization, Eiko's continuous stream of swearing could be heard for miles around.** While Eiko griped and occasionally punched something, Lien kept an eye out for the components Eiko said she'd need in order to actually get them moving. Lien thought this summarized their relationship pretty succinctly.
"I'm glad we're back in a reasonably *technological* part of the psychosphere, because *gods*, I cannot wait to be able to play with all my toys again. Trust me, Lien, once I get you on a rocket skateboard, you're never going back to walking again."
Lien smiled despite himself. "Most likely because I'll have snapped my spine after crashing, but yes, I concur." He used a long pair of tongs to pick up a still-flashing hunk of metal. "Hey, is this the R-50 electroweak engine you were looking for?"
She swiped it from his hand. "Gimme!" Flipping it on its back and deftly taking apart a panel with a tool that was to screwdrivers what smartphones were to calculators, she took one look at a mess of fiber optics cables and cut a single one. The boxy little engine's glow died down.
Then a wicked grin came across her face, and she pointed it at a nearby block of rubble, tapping the ends of the fiber optic cable back together. Lien raised an eyebrow as a wobbling ring of blue plasma *blurred* out from the end of the engine, turning the unfortunate stone into dust upon impact. Eiko whooped, thrusting her hands in the air—Lien instinctively ducked—and cackled. "Aw, yeah, baby. *That's* what I'm talking about."
"I, too, enjoy taking highly advanced and specialized artifacts and instantly finding the easiest way to blow up my enemies with them," Lien deadpanned. "Or, in this case, unleashing their power on innocent rocks."
Eiko punched him on the shoulder—thankfully, not with the hand that held the electroweak cannon. "Aw, come on. You know you like blowing things up. You were cackling with glee when we dropped a meteor of water onto that town from orbit."
"It was hardly from orbit," Lien said. "And besides, there was a *purpose* to that destruction. Sheer, wanton use of force without an understanding of what you're doing and *why* is as likely to backfire on you and those you love than achieve anything resembling your goals."
"Oh, I completely and unconditionally agree." Eiko's eyes twinkled. "Wanna blow some shit up anyway?"
Lien took the electroweak cannon from her hands, grinning. "Hell yeah."
"Well, *you* humans are a particularly violent bunch," a tinny voice said from behind them.
Lien spun around, aiming Eiko's cannon at the source of the voice; Eiko chuckled and turned more leisurely. A three-foot-tall robot on treads stared up at them, its camera-eye somehow giving them baleful glares.
Lien gave Eiko a glance; she shrugged. Well, Eiko had grown up around here; if Eiko didn't think the robot was a threat, Lien would treat it as any other sapient being. "I spent my adult life fighting in the Siege of Legends," Lien said. "You learn to use anything as a weapon in Las Humanitas. And Eiko's... well, she's Eiko. Honestly, being Eiko is a good enough reason to be violent as any; I know *I'd* want to punch something if I was her." Obligingly, Eiko punched Lien's arm; he sighed and idly rubbed it. He'd *just* healed from the car crash, too.
The robot chimed discordantly. "Typical humans. You know, that engine is supposed to go in a *toy*. Or at least it did, before Enchiridion fell. I'd be much obliged if you used it for its *intended* purpose."
Eiko raised an eyebrow. "Toys are just devices for having fun. If we're having fun blowing up some empty ruins, I'd say we're using it for its intended purpose. Why the hell do you have a bug up your bum about this, anyway? I've gone through here dozens of times blowing stuff up and you caretaker bots never stopped me."
"Because we were *scared* of you, you insufferably violent sack of fluids! This city is a *graveyard* because of happy-go-lucky humans like you who found out that if you tweak the electroweak force *just right* it becomes a weapon to rival the atom bomb. Another thing, by the way, that only you humans actually decided to *build*. I've got a 'bug up my bum' because war is not a *toy*, and I can't decide if you pretending that it is is more insulting or threatening."
Eiko and Lien traded glances.
Then Lien sighed and squatted down to the caretaker's eye level, the levity bleeding from his face. "...Different people react to violence in different ways. Trust me, I defended Las Humanitas for years. I know the score. We all have to... twist ourselves, in order to sleep at night with the knowledge that we're sentencing sapient beings to death. Or worse." The memory of the hydra flickered through Lien's mind, and he pressed his lips together. "Me? I had to take a step back. Had to distance myself from it. Had to find the *fun* in it. Find the fun in destroying villages and killing legions. And abhorrent as it is, I'd do it again. I'd do it a hundred times over. Because my people *needed* me, and it was the only way I could function. I became this to save them." Lien abruptly stood, his good cheer returning. "Speaking of saving them! Next on our list is a Bumblebee-model motherboard—any version will do." Lien's smile grew a bit too wide. "Now, I don't know much about robots, but I'd be willing to bet *you've* got a motherboard or two inside you. So if you don't want to be turned into scrap metal and drifting atoms?" Lien turned around. "Stop reopening old wounds and leave us alone."
The caretaker robot squeaked and shot off, evidently taking his threat at face value. As soon as it was gone, Lien's false mask of joviality slipped back into bone-deep weariness.
He'd had to become a monster to protect his friends from worse.
He wondered how many of the monsters he fought had started out the same way, long, long ago.
A.N.
I'm trying something new! "How to Break a Siege of Legends" will be an episodic story where each part is inspired by a writing prompt that catches my eye. Check out [this post](https://www.reddit.com/r/bubblewriters/comments/mdh066/how_to_break_a_siege_of_legends_masterpost/) for more information.
| 2021-04-02T05:09:00 | 2021-04-01T19:43:24 | 318 | 94 |
[WP] One day, every person spontaneously gains a superpower based on their job. Psychologists gain telepathy, Firefighters can waterbend or firebend, Pilots can fly. Your job, previously looked down upon, yields the strongest power of them all.
|
I pull up alongside the bank, hydraulic brakes screeching. The masked men run out, bags of money bobbing at their sides as they hurry toward their getaway car.
I open the door, and hop out. They stop, comedically bumping into each other like a trio of stooges. "Who the fuck are you?" One asks.
It's probably my clothes. When *The Event* hit, my usually work pants and vets transformed into your typical spandex suit, in wild neon colors. I'm taking dayglow. I'm talking burn your retinas and leave an after image.
I grin at them, showing off my one gold tooth. Gold, because I had a root canal, not some showoff rapper bullshit. Anyways I grin.
"I'm the Trashman, motherfuckers." I snap my fingers, and the garbage in the back for my truck sorts itself neatly into biomass, and the various recyclable categories, whooshing away magically (I assume) to the proper facilities.
The human garbage in front of my also sorts itself. Two of the robbers find themselves on a bench in the county prison. The third winds up on a bed in the psych ward.
I get back into my truck. "I'm the Motherfucking trashman." I mumble to myself, and take a long slurp from the 7-11 Icee on my dash.
|
A mother and a doll maker. You see children that is who changed the world.
You see it all began on a bright summers evening, our heroes beginning their days at work; now, nobody expected a parent of all to have any true power- you see, they’re often overlooked. The mothers, unbenounced to them, having thought their jobs status quo.
A parent having powers. What a scoff-able remark. Like a person breathing suddenly gaining the power to control the wind- that was left to the weatherman.
Lame, ordinary, parenthood. Another day for Sofia, her grandpa sitting on the couch forging another doll; his quivering yet quiet lip reminding her of his soft spoken words- “another day, another dollar, another death”- before age and inadequacies kicked in, leaving him shelled, broken, lonely.
The doll maker remarkable in no way and shunned as a hobbyist continued to breath life into his every work. One of the few proud things in his pathetic life that spurred joy to a frail old man.
Sophia had something new today; or someone new. A child, since planned not of birth but paperwork, would be arriving shortly, accompanied by a caseworker and a small bag of and-stuffs. These materials would be the most basic needs, haphazardly chucked into a pile nobody cared about, forgoing any personality to the young one. Probably with a white tie now stained grey with age.
Sofia prepared a supper for such a young one, a basic meal, hopefully to the child’s liking- a picky, quiet eater the caseworker had said with a drone. Of course, their group home cared not for trying new recipes as twenty plus kids needed to be fed, along with rangling the runners and tangoing with the cutters; a poor girl with food issues far down the line of problems for an understaffed home.
The child had arrived at the doorstep with a ding, the caseworker- with the ability to coax out the truth (especially unpleasant for unsatisfied parents)- attempting a forced smile, pleasantries exchanged and then parted ways; Sofia watched the haphazard steps of a cautious child stepping into the home, the grandpa still on the coach.
Words weren’t exchanged yet all was needed to be said: “this was your home, you live here now no matter the circumstance, and no matter the fuss. You will be loved no matter what, and you’re forever welcomed.”
But messages are fickled when it comes to children; the child saw into her eyes just another household: “this is a house, you will stay to be seen not heard, and without a fuss. Love is limited, and stay is temporary.
The child headed to their room.
———
The toymaker and the child sat in a room, the wind outside fussing with the pounding of rain about. The child saw the TV click and flicker, yet the words meaningless inside their head; nothing of it matters when your stuck, away from home.
*Home is where the heart is, but my heart is in pieces; dear heavenly father, today is the day where we gave a great piece of humanity to Him- I have an angel watching over me, and I call her Mommy*
Words; what a funny thing. Consulting the child resulted in a head tilted back, their laugh a jingle, but what about genuinty?
The dollmaker, seeing such a child with no words and no voice, brought life to a doll.
*Just for you; where’s my toys- they never let you bring anything; she took it she took it she took it pain pain pain*
The wooden doll, handmade was in the little girls lap; she clung to its cheeks and made squealing sounds, binding into herself. Words weren’t exchanged, but feelings were. The old man was still and she was and all was good and nothing bad happened that day.
———
Sophia was alone with the child, sitting by her side. The child drew pictures and she was good; an artist, a creator, colors that splashed and split the page with riveting edges and lines. It was her interest, and it made her happy, and that was all that mattered.
She spun stories of a doll coming to life with her works, a little friend- and perhaps it was true. Sophia had no doubt in a world of heroes, could a doll come to life.
And in one touch, a hand placed on her shoulder with permission, the parent understood. A fluttering of feelings of emptiness and loneliness and *nobody cared and nobody cared and nobody cared*, but Sophia did. Grandpa did.
And that was all that mattered.
Because they changed the world; my world.
| 2021-05-09T20:57:31 | 2021-05-09T20:42:18 | 249 | 20 |
[WP] “So how did you get Dragon blood in your veins?” “Ah well, long ago my family was cur-“ “Didn’t you say your family was never cursed?” “Oh uh, yeah um… so uh, there was a witch-“ “Im not buying it.” “*sigh*… so my great grandpa was a bard…”
|
I regarded my companion in silence. He looked mostly like a standard human male, a bit taller than average, but many of the details were unusual. For starters, there were his big yellow eyes with vertical pupils. Then there were the nubs of horns protruding from his forehead. And were his ears slightly pointed? And of course, those were the only differences I could see. Who knows what was hidden by his clothes.
"Are you blushing?"
I cleared my throat. "No, no, just got lost in la-la land for a second. A bard, huh? What happened?"
The corners of his mouth rose a little, as if he was suppressing a smile. "Well, yeah. Great-grandpa Mal. He would wander around from town to town all across the land, entertaining people at local taverns mostly. Early in his career he would work mostly in exchange for lodging and beer, but as his skills and reputation developed, it became a decent living for him. He got to know all sorts of folks, including some unsavory characters, adventurers and others. Though he preferred to stay out of danger, he would occasionally join a group if the pay was right. He apparently was always pretty skimpy on the details; my guess is some of the time his side work was not *strictly* legal. But anyway, one day, the leader of a group of adventurers asked him to join them on a quest to slay a dragon."
The coffee arrived and my friend looked up at the waitress, thanked her and winked. After taking a quick sip he looked at me and said "You sure you don't want anything, Aiden?"
I cleared my throat. "No, no I'm good for now, Bruce. Thanks though. You were saying?"
He put down his cup and pursed his lips. "Right, dragon slaying. So he apparently called this particular person 'the devil in a dress.' He hated her and her whole gang, though I've never found out why. But the prospect of a share of a dragon hoard was too much for him to resist, so he went along with them. According to the family lore, once they reached the dragon's lair, she cast a powerful spell but fumbled it somehow, partially collapsing the cave on top of them and the dragon. Both he and the dragon survived, but were wounded. Too weary to fight, old great grandad struck up a conversation with it. With her, turns out. You see, Mal had quite a reputation. There was just something about him, apparently. I actually suspect that a lot of his 'entertaining' was more than just story and song."
I took a sip of my water. The light caught Bruce's hair as he shook it. I cleared my throat again. "So what happened next?"
"This coffee is really good. Anyway, the dragon's name was Carthraxes - since you've already guessed it, one of my great-grandmothers. They were stuck for a while in that cave and granny Car-Car was very taken with his boldness for a little human. She says he was so charming and handsome. She initially planned to eat him, but, well, she found a different way to amuse herself. By the time they were able to get out of that cave, she was already fertilized and the egg arrived soon after. Of course, she was not the only sapient Mal had dalliances with. Let me just say, my family reunions are always very interesting. One of them almost caused a war in three different planes!"
He threw back his head and laughed. His teeth were very white.
"And don't even get me started on Grandma Jenkins!"
The waitress came over and whispered into his ear for a moment. He grinned. "Now if you'll excuse me... It looks like I have a date." He looked me up and down. "And maybe
...maybe I can see you again later this evening?"
I blushed again and nodded, and managed to squeak out "I'd like that." I watched him walk away. There was just something about him.
|
Tables and chairs of dark stained wood and ashen-covered crevices serviced the likes of friend and foe as family. Many of the patrons of the Lilac Lantern cared only for food and drink. Politics could be left to the cities, the Gods to the church, and knowledge to the wizards behind their stone doors. In the country, people thought of the here and now when it happened but gossiped about lineage and stories long past.
The Lantern, originally The Lighthouse when it was owned by Castlebrooks before the law had a fancy to come out this far and find them, had been in the care of the Allorsen family since the scandal. Tax evasion and money laundering were big-ticket items back in the city. Apparently. No one out here had ever seen so many horsed younglings in fancy dress this far west and no one fancied seeing them again. So it stayed that way.
At least that’s what I knew about it. What actually happened before and what happened after I left was only recorded in the journals and notes written by the townspeople. It was never said out loud. History deserves embellishment is the opinion of everyone wanting to enjoy the short time they have on this green and blue little ball but lacking the funds to do it. Ale, wine, and mead let everyone accept it.
“That wizard trick you did this afternoon,” Mason Allorsen, cousin to the owner of the Lantern, asked loudly after we had had a couple of his wondrous mead, “the cooling touch,” a loud belch echoed the noisy hall as he tried to clear his throat. It sent off a ripple effect of responding burps but nothing that could match Mason. Shaking his head, brown curly hair and beard wobbling with him, he continued, “How’d you learn that?”
“No wizard’s magic, I assure you,” I chuckled, setting down my pewter mug and smiling to myself, “Just my charm, a little luck, and some dragon's blood thrown in for good measure.”
“Why’d you find that?” Mason asked, sitting up and giving me a hard look, “Why’d you waste that? Can I see?”
“No,” I laughed, “ it’s in me. I don’t. I don’t, like, have a vial of it or anything.”
“Wha?” Mason frowned, his nose scrunching up as he thought even though his eyes stayed focused, “So how did you get Dragon blood in your veins?”
“Ah well, long ago my family was cur-“ I tried to explain.
“No, no,” Mason corrected, “Didn’t you say your family was never cursed? I might be one pint short of a keg right now but I can still remember.”
“Oh uh, yeah um,” I restarted, this man should be on the floor not calling my bluff, “so uh, there was a witch-“
“I’m not buying it,” Mason stated, putting his mug down and staring at me hard. Stretching out one nostril, he tried to steady himself. It was the only real indication of this man's blood alcohol level and even then he could still take anyone in a fight. Smiling, knowingly, he added, “I listen, Jake. I know a fisher's tale and when to go fishing.”
I sighed hard, he got me and I knew he wasn’t leaving until I had told him. If Mason was any normal man, I’d have gotten away by now or just told him knowing that there was a good chance he’d never remember the story. Mason though, Mason was something else. Something like me maybe.
“So my great grandpa was a bard,” I started, like always did, with a half-truth to this but a half-truth that made sense to some, “And his… well my great grandmother was… is… sort of a dragon.”
“Half-breed?” Mason chuckled quietly.
“Noooo,” I stretched out, wishing that was the case, “full-blooded, cold as ice, and, once upon a time, curious.”
“And why not? Why shouldn’t she be?” Mason laughed, “We are lovers, fighters, and fecking fantastic.”
“Sure,” I accepted.
“You’re great-grand-pappy?” Mason asked, “He give her a night to remember?”
“Courting was better than the act,” I explained, trying to mimic her tone when she had unpromptedly started talking about it, “As she said. She told me he was gentle. First time a male hadn’t left a scar on her and it was the first time she hadn’t left a scar on a male. Two years later, she decided to produce my grandmother as a gift for him and she’s sort of looked out for us ever since.”
“As,” Mason scoffed at me leaving the story there, “What your nanna? Schoolmaster? Queen?”
“Sort of like a nan,” I said, tilting my head back and forth trying to figure out what el’Thena actually was to me, “She has never been around much to be much of anything other than a curious neighbour.”
“Uh, I have those,” Mason empathized, taking another deep drink of beer, “My aunt comes by, asks me a thousand and one questions, eats my food, and then says something about my weight and just leaves.”
“My Avia’s so much worse,” I said with a smile, I wasn’t expecting Mason to be a open person, “She once barged into an exam I was writing just to measure my feet and count my toes. Her nephew had told her that you could learn a lot about a human by their feet.”
“Her name?” Mason asked.
“Avia’s like what she is to me,” I explained, “I’m not allowed to give her name to those she has not already given it to. Dragon rules or something.”
“My Nanna,” Mason started as he nodded, “she has. Uhh, I’m drinking too much. My Nanna will feed you until you are bursting then complain that you get pudgy.”
Grabbing his belly fat and lifting it out, he made a show of being annoyed at how large he was. I knew Mason cared but at the same point, he liked being large enough not to have any problems with the locals. No one messed with him.
“My Avia has zero boundaries,” I laughed, “She’d totally feed me to see me grow larger and then starve me to shrink me back down.”
“My Nanna once told a girl that I liked that if I only got her to make those noises in bed,” Mason countered, “She’d find a new grandson.”
“My Avia has asked if she should find a new great-grandson to some of the women I liked,” I argued back, “I didn’t even know she was around or that she knew who I was dating.”
“Brutal,” Mason laughed, “Dragon Nanna sounds funny though. She trying to understand humans or something.”
“She’s apparently young,” I explained, “She wanted a ‘test hatchling’ as she calls us before producing a true heir.”
“That’s so weird, man,” Mason said with a vigorous nod, “And I have giant blood in my family so we’re not too normal either.”
“I didn’t know that,” I stated loudly.
“I didn’t tell you that,” Mason groaned, sitting upright and giving his mug a good hard look, “I shouldn’t have said that.”
| 2022-10-11T08:44:55 | 2022-10-11T08:21:24 | 116 | 67 |
[WP]An old genie grants you three wishes. After granting your first two, you tell him the third. He is horrified, and begs you to reconsider
|
I'd like something I can read to my kids. Always wanted to write a story they could illustrate so thanks for the prompt! :) Here goes.
---
In the land of the fairies and sunshine and sweets,
There lived a young lady named Addy Elise.
She frolicked and played and read books and explored,
But on this fine day was exceptionally bored.
---
> "Mama" she asked "May I please climb the hill?"
> "I am terribly bored it would be such a thrill."
---
> "No you may not and for reasons you know."
> "You may *not* climb the hill I will *not* let you go."
---
Addy felt angry and sad and upset.
There was magic up there and on that she would bet.
So without any thought or regard or regret,
She went to the hill with Ralphie, her pet.
---
They climbed and they climbed until well after 3.
They climbed past their dinner and bedtime TV.
They climbed over obstacles, branches and rocks.
Ralphie complained "Just please, Addy, STOP!"
---
She paused for a moment and petted her friend.
Believing that magic was just round the bend.
She pleaded with Ralphie "Just please ten more steps".
And Ralphie replied "That is all that you get."
---
Onwards they went and they rounded the bend.
How right she had been for they found a new friend!
> "I am a genie" he said with a grin.
> "You may have three wishes not twenty or ten."
---
> "A genie? And wishes? I knew I was right!"
---
> "You must hurry up or we'll be here all night."
---
> "For wish number one I want freedom and fun."
> "I don't like the rules from my dad or my mum."
---
Poof it was done and the rules had all gone.
Wish number two "I want my own Swan."
Ralphie looked worried but soon it arrived.
Remarkably fast for a bird of its size.
---
> "And now" said the genie "your one final wish?"
---
> "I wish that all genies no longer exist."
---
Astonished the genie recoiled in fear.
> "But why would you possibly wish that my dear?"
Ralphie looked sad and afraid and dismayed.
Upset with the wish that Addy had made.
---
> "But Addy!" he cried and he begged and he whined.
> "This genie of ours is a marvelous find!"
---
> "I know that Ralphie but you know it too."
> "If mommy finds out we'll have baby two."
> "He deals in dreams and grand wishes and magic."
> "If mommy found out the results would be tragic."
---
> "Your mommy and daddy both love you a lot."
> "They'd never wish that but it matters not."
> "For you my sweet thing are more special than others."
> "Your mom and dad cannot wish for a brother."
---
> "What do you mean? That's just what they'd do."
> "They'd wish for a brother and we'd have a zoo."
---
> "I'm trying to tell you my princess of tricks."
> "If it weren't for me you just wouldn't exist."
---
She gasped and turned to run away.
But Ralphie begged her please to stay.
---
> "So my princess, wish number 3?"
> "Shall I disappear and let you be?"
---
> "I know they love me and I've changed my mind."
> "I'd like it if please we could go back in time."
---
> "Just how far would you like my dear?"
> "Today? Yesterday? Sometime last year?"
---
> "Just after lunch just before we went climbing."
> "So we can tell mommy we love her, good timing."
---
EDIT: Holy mack I got gold. Wtf. You guys are fun!
|
He stared back at me, mouth agape, with a look in his eyes that mirrored eons of anguish and loneliness.
"You... you can't be serious..."
"I am. I wish to be a genie."
I didn't sense it at the time, but the desperation in his voice as he pleaded with me to change my wish was drowned out by my own thoughts of the infinite possibilities that awaited me in just a few moments' time.
"Please," he spoke softly, somewhere between a cry and a whisper, "you don't know what it is you're asking. You've no idea the-"
"Just grant the wish already! I'm bored of this world and all it contains. My last two wishes gave me everything I've ever wanted and there's nothing left that even remotely interests me. Life is short and this body is too limited to waste the rest of it on simple human activities." I was getting impatient. Why wouldn't he simply grant me my wish and be done with me?
The Genie wore the look of a defeated animal, as it’s predator closes in for the killing blow. As if sensing my next words, he hung his head in submission as I spoke:
“My final wish is that you make me into a genie.”
“…as you wish…”
He looked up and our eyes locked. Had I seen the blinding light that issued from them only a split-second before it happened I would’ve known to look away, to take it back, but it happened instantly. A vicious red beam, shot from his eyes into mine and I was paralyzed, as if electrified by the connection. Our minds connected and I knew at once the reasons behind his fear, his terror, his pleading. A pain such as I have never known before filled every part of my body, as if each cell had burst open and I became one large container of liquid flame. I lost all sense of physicality as somewhere deep in my mind, I began to understand. I was no longer myself. I had my memories, but my body was gone.
The voice of the Genie issued from somewhere deep in my consciousness, “And so the Power comes to you. You have made the conscious choice to join your soul to the bonds of the Genie. Before you return, you will relive the memories of those who came before you, so that you may understand the nature of the existence that lies ahead. You cannot return to your body as it does not possess the ability to contain your spirit any longer. What’s left of my spirit, once you take over the Power, will attempt to possess your body as my own. However, after so many millennia, it is doubtful I should survive the process.”
I managed to convey a simple thought, “What will happen to you? Do you die?”
“Our souls become one with the Power of the Genie. When we return to human form in the body of our successor, we may rebuild a soul with the time that person has left. As a result of the life you chose, however, you did not have much time left in this world. I was forbidden to tell you of your approaching demise. Along with my ancient soul, it is unlikely I will be able to rebuild a human soul worthy of natural life and death. If my assumptions are correct, your body will be destroyed by my soul and I will cease to exist.”
The fear had been explained. I had sentenced him to oblivion. Guilt such as I’d never known possible was forcing its way to the core of my being. This cannot be the foundation of my continued existence.
As if sensing my question, the Genie spoke, “No, there is no going back. Certain wishes may be undone with another wish, but as this was your last wish, it is not possible. The transference cannot be reversed except by the former Genie upon becoming human, and as I shall not survive the process…”
There was nothing for it then. He was doomed, and I was sentenced to imprisonment in the memories of the Genie until I caught up with the present. But how long would that be? A thousand years? Ten thousand? A hundred thousand? How many genies had there been before me? What would the world be like when I finally woke up?
I could sense the transference was nearing completion and the Genie spoke one last time, “I have lived longer than any being in existence, longer than any Genie before me, and so I speak truly when I tell you, I would undo this magic if I could. It is not for normal men to become Genies. In the time when I lived as a human, things were much different. I could bear the isolation, the seemingly endless periods when I had vanished to time, unknown by humanity. When I was discovered, I would flit about for a few years, or a few decades, only to be lost again to the world. The difference between the longest time among the living, and the shortest time alone in the Void is great, and I do not pretend to leave this happily, as I have never found a more unfit being to shoulder the burden of the Power. However, you will have some time to grow accustomed to this domain before you return to the mortal world. My time is now at an end. I wish you a short life, my friend. I only wish our time together were longer. There is so much you have not learned. I must go now. Good bye.”
The blinding beam of light through which we had been connected broke, and as I ascended fully into the body of the Genie, I saw the last few frames of my old life. I watched helplessly through the Genie’s eyes, now my eyes, as my old self struggled with the acceptance of a new soul. A better soul. A soul worthy of an existence far greater than mine. I heard a piercing scream that came not from my old mouth, but from the very depths of its core. Just as it had begun, it stopped, and the body crumpled into a lifeless, fleshy heap. And the Genie was no more.
As if someone turned a light switch off and on again, I found myself staring into the void of space as I struggled to comprehend all that had transpired these last few moments. Just minutes ago, I had been a human being, and now, Earth was lost, life was lost, and I had driven a great spirit into nothingness. I wasn’t ready for this… What had I expected? To become an awesome genie like he was and we could pal around together as magical friends? How could I have thought magic something so trivial? I was a fool. I had always been a fool. Is this what he meant by not being fit for the burden of being a Genie?
As I drifted through timeless space, unbound knowledge came to me. With nothing to think about except my former life, the wisdom of the Power of the Genie sorted the scene of every action and every decision and every event my meager life held into place, and the picture before me grew. It grew into something much larger than anything I could’ve ever anticipated. And with eons ahead to muse over the collective consciousness that was the Power of the Genie, I knew that my journey was to start in the most terrible of places.
| 2014-07-26T14:04:22 | 2014-07-26T14:00:56 | 76 | 56 |
[WP] In a world where all people speak as if in a movie trailer, one man has a complaint about his breakfast at IHOP.
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A weary waitress approached the man. The man, sitting at a table with a clean fork, a glass of water, and a plate of pancakes, pristine as the one's IHOP has printed in its sticky menus. The man's face was stern, he looked up into her eyes. These days she knew what this look meant. She sighed, inwardly. Outwardly she asked "May I help you with something?" A cloud briefly obstructed the midmorning sunshine, and the dining room perked up- like a herd of gazelle before the rain. The man took a sip of his water and cleared his throat.
"The world is starving. It is a disease. The disease of want. Its not hunger. It's survival. " He looked at her, narrowed eyes under furrowed brow. "At the hour of greatest need- one woman stood against the malnourishment. She brought hope to millions." The woman smiled politely. "But she made one." He slammed his hand on the table. "Big." Slam, again. "Mistake." The other diners took notice, and the waitress's smile became a nervous one.
His voice began to tremble. "This breakfast hour, you'll get seated. You'll get pancakes. But you won't get..." The entire dining room was silent in suspense. "Traditional Syrup." He sat back in his plastic booth and looked at the waitress with smug satisfaction.
"It's coming soon to a table near you." The waitress replied as she borrowed a syrup container from a nearby vacant table. She set it down deliberately, and it immediately stuck to the table.
|
In the background, the faint sounds of violins can be heard, with the volume slowly rising and swelling until it reaches a full crescendo. Then the voice comes out of the sky, narrating Earl's life in their gravelly tone.
Earl's gotten used to this, it's been happening his whole life. When he told his shrink, the guy had no idea what the hell Earl was talking about. He's learned to accept the constant bacground music and the omnipresent voice as a part of his life.
*"This summer, one man journeys to IHOP..."* blared the voice as Earl walked through the doors of IHOP, ready to fill up on fluffy pancakes.
*"His journey is one fraught with peril, where only the brave survive..."*
*Peril? The brave survive? What the fuck is this voice going on about?* Earl wondered.
He sat down, ready to order. A young girl walked over, and said eagerly "Here's your menu, what do you want to drink?"
"I don't need a menu," Earl said, pushing away the menu, "I already know what I'll have. I'll have some coffee to drink, and I'll have a short stack of your buttermilk pancakes."
"Okay, mmmhmm," The waitress nodded, rapidly jotting down the notes, "We can do that."
*"A hero will rise out of great terror..."*
*Okay, now what is this voice going on about?* Earl wondered. He shrugged, and took out his phone. He looked around the restaurant, which was mostly empty except for Earl and some senior citizens. He absentmindedly played Candy Crush while taking small sips of his coffee, when the waitress came back, with his pancakes.
"Here you go sir, your breakfast." The waitress said, putting down the stack of pancakes on the table. "Anything else you want?"
"Nope, I'm good." Earl said, grabbing his knife and fork. He cut into the pancakes, when all of a sudden, the omnipresent voice boomed;
*"Life is about to be changed for everyone."*
Earl ignored the voice, as he had grown accustomed to after all these years, and cut into his pancake. Suddenly, a green goo oozed out of the pancake. Earl looked at it, perplexed.
In the background, the music had gone from being the throbbing violins, and had turned to a high pitched shriek, as if the orchestra leader had gone into a frenzy.
*"Life is changed irrevocably when the Goo arrives"*
Earl was freaked out. He called over the waitress, with a feeble "There's something wrong with my pancakes."
The waitress walked over, and asked "How are we?"
"Do you see this? It's like- there's like, a green slime coming from here."
"I'm sorry sir, I don't see anything. Do you want me to bring back the pancakes to the kitchen?" asked the waitress.
"Look lady, there's some fucking freaky shit going on here." Earl said, staring intently at the goo. "My pancakes have this green goo coming out of them. Look closer!"
"Oh yeah, I see it." The waitress leaned over, looking at the pancakes. "That's pretty weird. You want me to take-"
The green goo suddenly jumped out from Earl's plate, onto the waitress's face. She let out a blood curdling scream as she fell to the floor.
*"The Green Goo; a tale of how one pancake order went very wrong."* blared the voice from the sky.
The seniors looked over from their table to see the waitress writhing on the floor, with the green slime stuck to her face. They screamed, and grabbed their walkers, briskly escaping the IHOP. Earl looked around, as papers flew all around him. *Where is all this wind coming from?* he thought.
Earl walked out of the IHOP, with violins shrieking. He clutched his head, he couldn't take it anymore. He was sick of all of it; the violins, the voice, the melodramatic atmosphere. He wandered into the street, and a car swerved to avoid him. The car drove into a gas station, conveniently located across the street from the IHOP. The gas station blew up, going up into a fireball. Earl looked around at the mayhem on the street, and looked over at the deserted IHOP. The last thing he saw was a massive green blob rising out of the roof of the IHOP, sucking in the cars. Then everthing went to black.
*"A new film by acclaimed director M. Night Shyamalan, 'The Green Goo', out July Twenty-Seventh in 3-D."*
----
Sorry, this wasn't my best work. I wrote this in a rush, but the practice was fun!
Edit: Fixed Formatting
Edit: 2 Fixed Writing to writhing (sorry /u/Stone-D) and fixed the spelling of M. Night Shyamalan's last name
| 2015-05-14T07:25:16 | 2015-05-14T06:10:22 | 172 | 87 |
[WP] Write me a story with a really likeable protagonist until the very last sentence, where he becomes a huge asshole
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Jonny's favorite thing in the world to do was eat. From dawn to dusk he would cook, often giving away his marvelous concoctions to neighbors and friends to enjoy when he himself could not finish the food. Everyone loved Jonny. On Christmas, Jonny decided to cook a meal that would feed the whole town. He added all kinds of vegetables, spices, sauces, and a special meat he called "sugar meat" to this feast of feasts. The community loved it and dedicated a street to be named after him. Jonny was beyond thrilled. He ran home to tell his wife all about the delicious meal he made for everyone, and how much they loved it. He cracked open the door to his bed room to see his wife laying in the bed.
"Hey, Sugar," he said, "too bad your arms are tied up or I would let you try some! Your calf meat is to die for!"
|
It was a cool spring morning when an aging, gray-haired man got up from his bed to the sound of chirping mockingbirds. He took a look at the little metal clock at his side.
The time was seven o'clock. Oh boy, time for work.
This gray-haired man who oddly resembles Donald Trump was very different from the faux-political businessman in a number of ways. The first being that he's willing to present his birth certificate to whoever asks.
But, this narrator digresses.
The gray-haired man first worked a seven-to-twelve part-time shift at the local soup kitchen. The poor, hungry faces that lit up when given a hearty bowl of morning breakfast filled the man's heart with a sense of joy and pride, like that shallow feeling you get when you help people even though you know you only do it for that feeling.
At about twelve o'clock in the afternoon, this man takes a quick jaunt up to the old park to enjoy a nice lunch of tuna sandwich, a fruit cup, and a mellow-warm thermos of coffee. Of course, being the upstanding citizen he was, he'd invite some of the younger park rangers over to join him, sometimes even throwing in a bit of advice about finances and education for this futures.
(This man retired early enough thanks to a good bit of fortune he'd earn through hardwork and no inheritance whatsoever, because that's what people view in an ideal person these days.)
Alas, his watch rung his little bell around around one o'clock. Time for street repairs.
Every so often, this man would volunteer for a shift or two cleaning up the highways of the city. Not only did this allow him to contribute greatly to his community, as is to be expected, but it also let him meet some of the more colorful faces of the city.
Namely the serial murderers, rapists, drug dealers, human traffickers, and the people who knowingly park their car the wrong way at a crowded shopping mall on Sunday.
The worst of assholes.
As was expected, a whole for hours went by with complete silence between the good man and the human trash that picked up the highway's trash.
At five o'clock, this gray-haired man took a bus back to his humble adobe in the suburbs.
He spent ten minutes reheating a nice turkey he'd left over and started changing out into his nice evening suit.
After all, it was six o'clock. Time for the evening sermon down by the Church.
The priest that led the assembly went on with leading the people in graces, prayers, and short songs. The gray-haired man did love this sort of thing. Why, being with people was always a pleasant time for him. If only he could get along with everyone, that'd surely make for a good time. That's what the father had always said, "love thy neighbor."
At the end of the evening service, the priest stood up and spoke over to the crowd.
"I'd just like to remind everyone to say hey-diddly-ho to your neighbor-eenos and have a wonderful evening, you hear?"
At about seven o'clock, the gray-haired man was walking out into the streets completely shirtless, having given up his coat to a shivering pair of siblings who'd made a promise to their freshly-diseased mums to go to church to honor their memory every week or so.
Outside the church, the man was stopped by a strange elderly person who was begging for some spare change.
The man proceeded to write the scraggler a check for two-thousand dollars and offered the homeless man a place to stay for the night.
For his kind act, the hobo revealed himself as none other than Black Jesus, and offered the kind, gray-haired man a wish.
The good man thought deeply, before responding. "I'd like to better understand the more... assholish folks of this city. They always seem to do nothing besides calling me a shit-spewing whitey before egging my car."
"As thou wishes, dank Big J shall granteth. Yo."
With that, the son of the father disappeared in a flash of light, leaving the good man behind in a dust of divine presence and energy.
When the dust settled, there sat the good man.
He was now, quite literally, a giant shit-spewing asshole.
EDIT: wright is not the right way to spell write.
| 2015-08-04T09:37:03 | 2015-08-04T09:31:01 | 43 | 13 |
[WP] "Every year I hire a Hitman to kill me - so far they have all succeded"
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I flipped through the catalogue. Not too bad, they've expanded their selection quite a fair bit this year.
'Sir, how about Snake Eyes? He's a sniper with a perfect success rate. He comes highly-,' said the small man behind the desk.
'Nope, I hired him two years back. I don't make the same hire twice, it gets boring,' I cut him off.
'Oh, a regular? I'm sorry Sir, I'm new here.'
'Not exactly. Once a year. Where's Sam, he's got good recommendations. He knows what I want.'
'Sorry Sir, I'm the only one around today. Please fill me in on-'
'What do you know about parallel worlds new guy?' He looked at me dumbfounded. His confusion grated on my nerves. I continued, 'You see, there are infinite parallel worlds. Each one consisting a different you. Five years back I successfully worked up a way to-' His face gave way to disbelief, disbelief and a tinge of ridicule. How dare he.
'Anyway things got messy and now a portal opens up every year on my birthday. Every year, an alternate me comes for my life.' I took out my phone and looked up the photo album, Doppelganger. I flicked past the photos, each a dead me. I looked at his stunned face, satisfied.
'The first year was the hardest to manage. That me came from a world of magic, he claimed to be a paladin I think. That's when I found you guys. You've got some insane talent. After the first three years, I devised a way to predict which world the next me will be from. Then it's just a matter of picking the right guy and enjoying the show.'
'Wow, sir. This is quite a strange case. What is your prediction for this year then?'
'This year will be tricky. A shapeshifter. I'll need your best hunter, someone who won't be fooled by appearances.'
'Sir, I'd recommend Araphat then.'
'Araphat? I don't see him on the catalogue. He's a good hunter?'
'Oh no, he's not exactly a hunter. But he's the best coroner where I come from.'
'A coro-' I stopped, something wasn't right. The small man had a dangerous glint in his eyes.
'Dear me, did you perhaps not predict my early arrival?' The small man's face warped to reveal my very face. His voice deepened as well. 'Happy Prelated Birthday,' he said as he pulled a pistol from under the desk.
----
More mind farts at seeyounextdoomsday.wordpress.com
|
I don’t understand why my friends think what I do for a living is weird. We all get our highs from different things. The thrill, the adrenaline as I watch the trained killer hunting for clues on my whereabouts. The feeling of euphoria as he finally tracks me down. The sweet taste of my own metallic blood as he fires round after round into me. What a job.
My first death was the one that changed the way I viewed the world.
I was 17. I was jobless, I lived in my parent’s house still. School was never really for me, I could never pour over books for minutes, let alone the hours needed to get good grades. My friends, a lot of them are still my friends to this day. But they were an odd bunch, the so-called ‘failures’ of society. Pot addicts, Heroine, the works.
My parents had told me that they couldn’t afford to give me any more money. They were poor themselves, bless them. Even at that age, I appreciated how much my parents did for me, so I didn’t complain, I set out to find a job.
I found myself walking in the direction of the Red Lion, a small pub near my house that me and my friends used as our usual hangout. They had a pool table and a dartboard, in a small town like mine, those were luxuries.
It was that day I was introduced to The Solemn. They were a gang of sorts, they sold drugs as well as other… services. Mark, a friend of mine since nursery, had introduced me to his older brother. Steve looked dangerous. His bandana was a deep marron, with wisps of grey twisting around it. The colours of the Solemn. I knew it before I even spoke to him, that the man was a higher-up in the gang, not realising the man in front of me was soon going to become my employer.
I was about done with life at that age, it didn’t take Steve long to convince me to go ahead with his proposition. Eight hundred thousand pounds. Cash. Delivered to my family, in a legitimate way. The specifics were a bit strange, it was some sort of loophole with inheritance law. But the main thing was the money was legit. They could use it, pay off the mortgage. Maybe even get a new place. My mum wouldn’t have to work anymore. Losing me would be hard for them, but not as hard as their lives had been raising me.
I accepted. He filled me in on the details. They would sort out the payment with one of the top hitmen they knew. He would come after me, he would hunt me. I was advised to stay away from my family and friends, and to only use cash. Cash they had given me. A hundred thousand. But the most important rule, the one he kept stressing, was that I could not at any time turn off my GoPro or take it off. I was given spare batteries to make sure it never died, as well as portable chargers. “This is what the audience want to see, the hunted panicking in their final hours. Our clients may even throw a bit extra our way if they really like it. If they do, thirty percent goes to your family.”
I wasn’t dumb, once I was dead how would I even know if he’d paid them? He answered the question easily, showing me a few videos of his victims. Then Googling their parents’ names, each of which had either ‘won a lottery’ or inherited money somehow. And I was willing to perform for that money.
My first hotel was nice. Everything as luxurious as I wanted, after all I had money to burn. I ordered all the expensive foods I had never tried, munching away happily. That was until my hotel room phone rang. There wasn’t a voice on the other side, but there didn’t need to be. I knew who it was.
I left immediately. Now, I wanted my family to get paid but that didn’t mean I wanted to die. I wanted to survive for as long as possible. I truly did underestimate just how talented a hitman was. Three bullets, fired rapidly one after the other. I sank on to my knees, dropping to the floor. But I was alive. It hurt, but I was alive.
He approached me, obviously under the impression I was a dead man. He began ‘cleaning up’ the mess, he’d waited until I was a fair distance from the hotel, there was no CCTV around here. He picked up my body and threw me into the back seat of his car. We had been driving for hours before I decided to speak.
“Sir?” He turned around in horror, firing off two rounds from his pistol into my chest. I winced, before continuing. “I-I’m not dead. No matter what you do, I can’t die. At least I don’t think I can.” The car continued to drive down the road, him ignoring me. We reached our destination, where he put my claim to the test. Kerosene, knives, guns, even a small stick of dynamite. I healed up from my injuries immediately.
Steve visited the old warehouse, and beamed when he saw me. “Me and you, we’re going to make a LOT of money.” And so it continued, but now with a twist. Every three months, I had to make a video. Each time I was paid a million pounds, which was laundered through a business I had opened. His clients loved seeing a familiar face hunted again and again. If you’re curious you can probably find illegal copies of the videos, somewhere on the deep web. Just search for “KennyNeverDies”.
-----
Liked the story? Here's my [blog](http://www.kasimskorner.com), my [twitter](http://www.twitter.com/kasims_korner), and my [Facebook](http://www.facebook.com/kasimskorner)
My subreddit /r/KNDwrites has all my WP responses
| 2015-08-05T05:01:01 | 2015-08-05T04:05:14 | 63 | 22 |
[WP] A dyslexic child accidentally sends their Christmas list to Satan, surprisingly they get what they wanted but there is a catch.
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The modestly sized family sat under the Christmas Tree with a mess of glitter and wrapping around them. The young boy had already torn open his single present in excitement and now happily played with his new shiny toy car. All of a sudden, in the midst of this normality, a big crate appeared under the tree with a puff of smoke. Attached to this crate was a note:
Dear Jack,
Sorry this is a little late, but I don't make a habit of early mornings.
Hate you,
Satan
But before the parents had finished reading the note, the young boy had already slid the side of the crate open.
"Mom, Dad, he did it! He got me a puppy!" Jack exclaimed happily.
And the parents watched with horror as their only child flung his arms around a perfectly adorable puppy... with three heads.
|
Alex hugged the wall, fighting back hiccups of horrified fright. Tears were streaming down his cheeks, and his blankets were clutched to his chest between fingers gripping so tight that his knuckles had turned white. He had wet himself, but the uncomfortable moisture building beneath him was his last concern.
*Thump. Thump.*
Heavy footsteps paced from one room to the next, scraping across the hardwood floors. Gruesome sounds; sounds both human and not echoed across the otherwise silent walls. Sickening snaps and cracks followed by gut-wrenching gurgles. Alex was torn between sobbing uncontrollably and making the least noise an 8 year old child can make when frightened for his life.
Without warning, his bedroom door swung open so hard the door flung from the hinges and crashed in to the wall beside him. Alex clutched his blankets up over his head and mouthed a silent scream. Fear had gripped him too tightly to squeak out even the tiniest sound over his ragged and shallow breathing. He panted as he felt himself start to lose control over his bowels, overcome with shame, guilt, remorse, fear, and anxiety.
Then.. Silence. Alex panted and wavered, ever so slowly bringing the covers down. He peeked through the scruffy fabric, only to be greeted by the most unexpected sight he could have imagined; his mother, standing in his doorway, smiling. The same smile she had smiled at him just hours before. Hours before the noises began. Before Alex was too afraid to move from his bed.
"Sweetie, come out here. Your presents are ready." His mother motioned for him, beckoning him from his room.
Alex knew fear, he knew caution, but he also knew imagination. Had it all been in his head? Was all the noise and fear just his overactive imagination? He wriggled uncomfortably, suddenly very aware and very embarrassed to be siting in a puddle of his own urine and excrement. He mumbled something underneath his breath; his voice still hadn't returned to him. His mother sighed and shook her head, turning to walk down the hall.
"Get cleaned up and come out here!" she called, as if nothing at all had happened.
The time it took for Alex to cope with the reality of what he was starting to believe was just a hallucination - or more aptly, his overactive imagination - was certainly no minor consequence. For several moments, Alex wallowed in his own mortal fear and panic, until his heart rate finally subsided. Several awkward and uncomfortable minutes later, he tentatively emerged from his room and in to the silent hallway. His head immediately turned to the living room at the other end, and like an Olympic runner off the start, he sprinted full speed down the hallway and skidded to a sudden stop at what he saw.
From wall to wall, floor to ceiling, everything he could have imagined or wished for lined every shelf, nook, and cranny. Every single item Alex could fit on his exhaustive list of things he wanted was somehow displayed clearly before him in all its wonder. It was enough for him to completely forget the events of the night in his childish wonderment. He scurried over and began to play with all the toys he could get his hands on, trying one and moving on to the next moments later.
Out of the corner of his eye, Alex noticed a small letter sitting on the center of the coffee table, directly in front of the candle-bra illuminating the room with a soft, warm glow. The letter in itself was peculiar; thick, heavy cardstock that shone almost brilliant white even in the dim room. A single "A" printed on the front in a rich red beckoned his attention. As curiosity and children do, he picked up the card and flipped it open to see only one sentence, written across the center of the otherwise blank card, in what seemed to be a smeared red ink..
**NOS OSSOS QVE AQVI ESTAMOS VELOS VOSSOS ESPERAMOS**
It was only as Alex's eyes left the last letter of the page that he noticed the warm, heavy, putrid breath rolling down the nape of his neck..
| 2015-11-19T11:35:30 | 2015-11-19T11:06:26 | 95 | 15 |
[WP] You're a cop who reported to the final events of an action movie. This is your police report.
|
Jimmy: Evening, John.
John Wick: Evening, Jimmy. Noise complaint?
Jimmy: Noise complaint.
[looks over John's shoulder, sees the dead body on the floor behind him]
Jimmy: You... uh..."working" again?
John Wick: No, just sorting some stuff out.
Jimmy: Oh well, I'll leave you be then. Good night, John.
John Wick: Good night, Jimmy.
Form 3095B
Responding officer report.
Noise complaint at the residence of a middle aged man by the name of John Wick. Nothing to report.
*Report ends*
|
MPD REPORT #157225 - Page 2
Suspect: "Gammatron" Age: Undetermined, appears to be early '30s. Race: Undetermined - skin is bluish in color.
Distinguishing Features: Subject wears lime unitard decorated with blue and silver lightening decals and a large letter "G" on the chest. Subject wears a similarly colored helmet and goggles that appear to be attached to his head. Subject shows remarkable physical strength and stamina.
Seargent Roark: Upon arrival at the dispatched address, 501 Pierpoint Drive, Metropolis, I observed the Suspect ("Gammatron") on top of the building at 501 Pierpont. Suspect was grasping a female about the waist with his left arm and in his right hand brandished a weapon that appeared to be a large caliber automatic pistol or ray gun. The female subject was identified by a by-stander, one (James "Jimmy" Olsen) as Lois Lane, a reporter for the Daily Planet. Olsen further advised Ms. Lane was a hostage.
At this time, I also observed several damaged vehicles in the street including an armored car on its side and the back door open. I observed two subjects dressed in "Brinks" security uniforms outside the truck who appeared injured, but not critical. I also observed a blue pickup upside down, a burning orange delivery van (owner unknown), and two sedans of undetermined color that appeared to have been thrown or launched into the 7th and 9th floors of 503 Pierpont.
A large crown had gathered and I instructed units 7 and 12 to set up a perimeter for public safety and notified dispatch to send medical services immediately. Unit 9 was assisting with the evacuation of 503 Pierpont (Metropolis Bank and Trust). 501 Pierpont is an unoccupied building under construction.
As I contacted dispatch for more crowd control units, I observed a subject arrive by air to the rooftop of 501 Pierpont. Subject was wearing a blue unitard with a large "S" on the chest and a long red cape. Subject is a white male, approximately 30 years of age, dark hair and blue eyes. Subject is unidentified at this time, but is known as "Superman." Several in the crowd identified him as Superman after some speculation about whether the flying object observed in the area immediately preceding his (?) arrival was a bird or a plane.
Subject Gammatron and Superman engaged in a verbal exchange which I could not hear, but which seemed to cause the hostage some additional distress. Following this exchange, Gammatron trained his vision in the direction of Superman and the parking garage at 503 Pierpont was struck by a blue/green beam of light originating from his eye/head area to the parking structure, which glowed red and then crumbled, subsequently crushing every car in the garage (See Officer Janaway's report for a full list of damaged vehicles and owners) and per Officer Stephen's radio transmission cutting off at least three exits to 503 Pierpont hindering evacuation efforts.
At this time, Superman leapt or jumped from the roof of 501 Pierpont to a point above Gammatron causing Gammatron to look up, the beam of light still shining from his eye/head area where it encountered a white satellite dish and was reflected back to the roof of 501 which began to glow red and shake as if an earthquake was in process. The satellite dish was part of a news van located in the street. I have no explanation for when or how the dish was moved from the street to the top of the building.
Superman then dropped the satellite dish and jumped or flew (?) toward Gammatron, grabbing Ms. Lane and flying her to 503 Pierpont's roof. At this time, the buildng at 501 began to collapse and I lost sight of Gammatron and Superman as I started an immediate evacuation of the scene.
| 2015-12-14T10:34:26 | 2015-12-14T09:15:16 | 49 | 28 |
[WP] Write a really BAD guide for getting a guy/girl. Bonus points if the narrator is mocking you for still being single.
[removed]
|
Sitting alone in your basement lurking on shitty dating sites won't get you anywhere, today I'm here to tell you about the DENNIS system. Follow these steps carefully and you can achieve the undying love of any female you encounter.
>--------
**D** Demonstrate value:
Demonstrate your value to your selected female by doing something that shows you care, picking up medicine for your dying grandmother at the pharmacy is a great way to do this (it doesn't have to be true either! as long as you do a good job selling it)
>----------
**E** Engage physically:
Take her to a shitty restaurant, someplace even worse than the sty you call home. Make sure the restaurant is closed, that way, when you get there, say that you should both just head back to your place and watch a movie. Make sure to have a TV in your bedroom for this, proceed to bang.
>---------
**N** Nurture dependence:
A good way to do this step is to call her number (from a payphone) as an angry neighbor, threatening to take her life and trash her house for a reason that is beyond her control. She'll call you out of sheer horror and you'll be there to comfort her in her time of need
>---------
**N** Neglect emotionally:
Continue the prank calls, but don't answer her calls to you, neglect her every need, sending her into an emotional downward spiral.
>-----------
**I** Inspire hope:
Show up at her window saying that you're sorry for everything, that you want a chance to do it again, make up a story about how you were afraid to love and she cured you of it. Proceed to bang.
>-------------
**S** Separate entirely:
Leave in the middle of the night never to be heard from again.
|
Tired of being the single friend? Need a date to all those summer weddings? Ready to settle down? Look no further! These are the 5 magic tips to trick a man into marrying you:
❤ Never ever ever initiate a date. Men love to hunt, so play hard to get. When he asks you for a drink, tell him you're a high class lady and deserve dinner.
❤ Put on as much make up as you need to make yourself look passable. Bonus points for false eyelashes. Wear something sexy, with super high heels, you want him to desire you as soon as he sees you.
❤ Make him open the car door for you before you get in. Order the most expensive item off the menu so he'll know you're worth it, but only eat half of it - you don't want him to think you're greedy. Agree with everything he says. When the bill comes, pointedly excuse yourself and go to the bathroom to powder your nose. He'll get the hint.
❤ When he asks you up for a coffee, accept and proceed to sleep with him straight away so he'll know you're serious. Sleep over, but wake up super early to fix your make up and surprise him with a full-cooked English breakfast! Be creative and fashion the bacon bits into a heart! He'll be super chuffed.
❤ If he starts to make noises about being busy - perhaps he wants to watch the football - tell him how much you love football (pro-tip: ask him what team he supports so you can swat up on it later, he'll be super impressed) so that he'll have to ask you to stay.
❤ Men like honesty, so make sure you're both on the same page as soon as possible - does he want 2 children or 3?
❤ Before you leave, make sure to give him a cheeky BJ to show him how grateful you are. Then text him immediately once the door closes with an, 'I miss you!' It's super funny and cute, and a great way to initiate a conversation.
❤ If he doesn't reply to your text within 2 minutes, just text him again with cute monkey emoji. If he doesn't response after 5 minutes, just call him until he picks up! He's probably worrying about what to text back and would appreciate a girl with the guts to call! If his phone goes straight to voicemail, it's probably run out of battery so just send him another text, 'thinking about you, hope ur okay! xx' so that he'll see it when his phone is charged.
❤ Change your facebook status to 'in a relationship' and tag him. Men don't like too much bother, so he won't want to message all his friends to say it isn't true, he will probably just roll with it. He just needs that little nudge!
❤ If you haven't heard from him in a few days, casually message him on all his social media accounts to ask when he's free for a second date. Add lots of winky faces and aubergines, so he'll know it'll be worth his time. If that doesn't work, send him a nude - but that your face is in the picture, so he'll think of you and have something to put as his phone wallpaper! Hee hee!
❤ When you receive his call after two weeks at 2am, make sure to pick up straight away. It's SUPER flattering that he's thought of you so late. He might ask you to go over; if so, call a cab! That way, he'll have to give you a lift home or let you sleep over. If he asks you to call a cab, tell him you have no money. If he offers you money, say you don't feel comfortable with taking his money. This way, he'll know you're not a gold digger.
❤ Don't wear protection this time! Tell him you're on the pill. Accidents happen all the time, and you're not getting any younger. Prop your legs up before you sleep, for maximum chance at fertility.
❤ Make sure to leave some of your stuff at his house, like a hair-drier, a pair of shoes, your toothbrush and a clean thong. This way, you can move in without him noticing!
❤ If he doesn't text or call you back after your second date, just turn up at his house with grocery bags and cook him dinner! He'll be super surprised and really appreciate a three course meal cooked in the comfort of his own kitchen! He'll see that you are prime marriage material!
❤ Hint about a proposal by browsing pinterest on his laptop. Leave a page of engagement rings open - and make sure to heart the ones you like so that he'll have something to go on!
Now you have all the tools you need to secure yourself a husband.* Go get him, girl!
* If something goes unexpectedly wrong and he wants to break up with you, break down and cry in front of him. Men like it when a woman is vulnerable. This would be a good time to tell him your life story, so have faith and make the most of every opportunity.
| 2017-06-10T03:32:12 | 2017-06-10T02:49:35 | 16 | 11 |
[WP] You have a small superpower. Whenever you tap someone on the shoulder, they always look over that shoulder, without fail. At first, you just used this for harmless pranks. Then, you realized you can kill people by tapping both of their shoulders.
|
Kindergarten starts today! I'm so excited, I'm a big kid now. My teacher, Ms Mcconel, she's so fun, she plays games, sings songs. We're learning a new song today she says! Yay!
First she shows us, then we do it together.
The music plays.
We put our hands on our heads
"heaads"
Then our shoulders
"shouull--"
😊
|
It took me a while before I knew what it was. I was always a nosy child, and I wanted my parents to notice me. Every time my fingers touched their shoulders, they'd look over at me. No fail. I'd always assume that they loved me enough that they'd look at me whenever I did that. Irritated, my mother told me to stop touching her shoulders. Long story short, I admitted to my mother that I did this with others. She took me to the family doctor on my next checkup and before it was finished, she took the doctor aside and attempted to explain the situation without sounding like insane. To convince him, my mother had me tap her shoulders in front of the doctor. Curios, the doctor had me tap his shoulders. To no surprise, he turned around on the spot. Curious, he had other patients tested. Each one turned without hesitation. I can still remember the frantic conversations the doctor and my mother had. It was then I felt I had something special.
Now, it just seems like a cool party trick. Something you could do to prank someone or an easy way to get their attention. But there was always a burning question in my mind: what would happen if I tapped both shoulders? I thought about it for some time, however I was too fearful.
One night, however, I was taking the taxi home. When the taxi arrived, the driver asked where I wanted to go, and we left. However, the driver began making strange detours and I began to object. I repeatedly asked the man to stop but he refused. When I lunged for the door, he swerved violently. "I wouldn't do that, Mr. Key." I realised that both my phone and wallet were gone.
We arrived at an abandoned mall. He parked the car and turned off the ignition. He grabbed something from the glove department, got out of the vehicle, and gestured me to leave. We walked into the mall: a decent looking mall although there were no lights. He led me to the food court where a chair was waiting. 'Sit," he ordered. I sat. He sat down beside me. He wasn't close enough for a lunge but if I could just tempt him closer. "Password," he asked. "7591," I responded. He unlocked my phone and was surfing through it. Just then, I lunged for the man. I sort of tripped and ended up stabilising myself by placing both hands on his shoulders. He began to shake violently, frothing at the mouth. Spooked, I jumped back before he fell onto the floor. I slowly walked towards the man, reaching and grabbing for my phone. He had no external injuries but he wasn't breathing nor his heart was beating. I grabbed the keys from his pocket and left the mall. In his glove compartment was the wallets of other individuals he has stolen from, most likely deceased. I stared back at the mall for a second before departing.
I could never get the images, the feelings out of my head. I felt almost obliged never to use my powers, and I never really did. I was able, however, to track down all the people and returned the wallets to them, console them of the death of the kidnapper. ~~At least, out of this tragedy, some good.~~ I can still hear the cries as I held their loved ones. Their hope makes me feel that I've done something right. That my powers weren't destructive, that I hadn't killed someone out of spite. Out of their hope I can at least find some consolation.
--------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------------
EDIT: Wow. My first "popular" post. Thx.
EDIT 2: Changed the shitty ending.
EDIT 3: Added better logic for the discovery of superpower. Thanks u/KenLinx
| 2017-06-27T19:52:50 | 2017-06-27T18:17:24 | 3,313 | 152 |
[WP] You and a friend that you secretly love make a pact that in 10 years if neither are with someone you two will marry eachother. You spend the next ten years ruining their relationships at any cost.
|
"I've never had much luck in dating, as I'm sure all of you know."
John nodded somberly, thinking of all his past actions. Did he regret it? Was it all worth it?
"And yet, as I stand here, I realise that there's been one man in my life who has been with me all along. Helped me through the heartbreak, through the highs and the lows. One man that never left my side."
She looked so beautiful. He'd been waiting 10 years - no, far longer than 10 years - for this moment. All his misdeeds, all his plotting and manipulation... it had to have been worth it.
"And that was *you*, John. You were the perfect man for me. It just took me 10 years to realise that. With or without our 'pact', I'm sure we would have ended up together. And now we're going to spend the rest of our life, together."
John tried to smile, but her words hit him like a punch to the gut. Was she saying that he did all of this for nothing? That she would have eventually married him eventually?
He shook his head, absolving himself of it. He was so close now. He'd treat her right, like every other man in her life never had a chance to.
John looked at all the guests. There were so many of them. More than he'd remembered inviting, actually. He scanned over their faces, and many of them seemed familiar. *Very* familiar.
The priest nodded, looking over the wedding. He addressed them all:
"If anyone has any objections, speak now or forever hold your peace."
John heard a rustling in the audience, slight at first, then unmistakable. He turned to see 12 men in total, all standing, all staring directly at him.
And he realised why they looked so familiar.
|
My best friend did a lot of great things for me. I'll admit that first and foremost. He was one of the people who saw me for who he thought I really was. To him, I wasn't just a pity vote, like I was to everyone else. He's been good to me, but man, is he easy to put down. Of course, the team captain that he is got all sappy before graduation day. To him, we were all brothers. I can't say that he was wrong, but I can say, with great certainty, that it is the cheesiest line possible in a goodbye speech. He showed up to a scrimmage once wearing the most tacky headband I've ever seen in person. He claimed that the letters on it meant "courage" in Japanese. At least, that's what the guy in the grimy t-shirt store on the beach told him. Everyone has called hum a tool at least once behind his back. He poured his feelings out for his first girlfriend before they had even been in two dates. He was also the most red-blooded American in our high school by far. He had multiple flags, an NRA sticker, any many other things like that on his pickup truck, which I swear was older than us. He even had the clock on his phone set to military time, for God's sake.
One night, it was freshman year, we were both 15 (we were born three days apart from each other). We were hanging out in someone else's basement, playing old Soul Calibur games, and as everyone else was getting bored, he jokingly put a tranquilizing hand on my leg, and said "Why don't we try and seduce Tom?" I knew he meant it in jest, but it was already working. I jerked my leg away, to avoid raising any suspicion.
Two years prior to that, we were the annoying middle-schoolers that talked during movies and messed around in shops like we owned them and swore Madden was the greatest game in the universe. We were playing a game of pickup football, a pastime we still enjoy to this day whenever enough of us can get together to form teams. Again, everyone was getting bored enough to want to leave, so he conjured up the idea that we should see how long everyone could last in a chokehold before tapping out. I gave my best effort to try and seem reluctant and timid (and to be fair, I was [and still am] a very reluctant and timid person). But, I am also a great liar when I need to be. The act worked, and I went last. This was a tactical move. Once he was done with me, we wouldn't have time to get hung up on why I seemed to be enjoying this before our parents showed up to drive us home. He put his arm around my neck, and yanked me back. I felt his warm chest. His soft body, yet immensely strong body. His bicep crushing me harder and harder every time I tried to exhale. I felt myself go more and more numb, and as I did so, I felt more and more satisfied. To add to the joke that was this entire thing, he whispered calming words to everybody as he crushed them like a snake crushing its prey. "Shhhh." "It'll be okay. Just go to sleep." "Are you ready to meet you maker?" To me, this just added more to how much I wanted be under his control. I didn't tap out. After enough time, he let go. I was okay. No one knew what had happened.
There was still some short time before we all had to go home, so we got to talking about girlfriends, as the wide-eyed, prepubescent rats that we were. The two of us made a pact that if, somehow, we hadn't gotten girlfriends at the time, we would hook up. He was joking. I was not.
It was pretty easy for him to have no luck. As I said, he poured out his heart for his first girlfriend after three days. Every relationship he had pretty much went the same way. He would say that he was putting more effort and loving her more than she appreciated him for. Our senior year one girl even painted a recreation of his football helmet for him to use as a pencil holder. As for me, I never seriously sought out anybody. No girlfriends. No boyfriends. At one point I created a both an online dating profile in college to seek out wither one. That lasted a day before I lost interest in it.
It is ten years after our pact was made. We are both brawny, but well-fed men, standing at 23 years old, ready to truly start our lives. I shoot him a text, "Hey, do you remember what we said to each other in middle school?" The conversation carries on for some time, and his says that he's spending a weekend in California to sit on the beach. My new job is in California, less than an hour away. Since it's the weekend, I'm able to show up to the beach not long after and find him in the crowd. He puts an arm around my shoulder: an arm that is as pacifying and lulling as it ever has been, and we walk back to his hotel room.
| 2017-09-17T17:45:00 | 2017-09-17T15:49:31 | 106 | 35 |
[WP] Write a letter to someone you miss
It's been a rough week. Everyone has someone they wish were still with them. Write to them and tell them how you feel. Pour your heart out. No judging. Even if they never see it, someone will. And thank you. It's tough to be alone.
|
Hey Moose,
We had a good run. 16 years is good for a dog that somebody else starved in their back yard for a while.
You did really good. You remembered all those tricks somebody else taught you, showed the cats/birds love, and learned to stop being scared over food. You gave the best hugs on the planet.
I'm sorry that your last days hurt so much. We tried to work around your sickness best we could but it was too late when we figured out what was wrong.
I know you couldn't understand at the time but the other twin dogs were hurt just like you, but instead of missing food they never had love or anyone else. Thanks for trying to love them, too. They've gotten a lot better at nipping and trusting people over time.
That last year was really rough but the time the family had with you was beautiful...even though the " dog ate the sofa" story still makes the rounds at parties. Say hi to Herky, Xena, Scouty, Jazz, Ouma and the birds for me.
Thanks for that last smile.
Hanging in as always,
E.
|
I can't believe it's been almost a year. As long as the days are, the months are short.
It's remarkable how much my memory of you has changed tone in the past year. There was a time, not too long ago, when I would have burned my world down if I knew you'd be caught in the blaze. And yet now, all I feel is a bittersweet fondness for a friend who showed my such kindness that my life would be far less worth enjoying without her having been part of it.
Shortly after we less than ceremoniously parted ways, the depths of my once depressed, empty mind were steadily flooded with dreams so wildly different in their emotions that I could not tell you how I felt about any of them. I dreamed of hatred, I dreamed of reconciliation, I dreamed of a burning swell of emotions I can't even begin to interpret.
My mind was such a volatile place at that time, and yet my body betrayed no sign of it. The wordless world spun around me, its occupants muted and grey. At night, I looked to the sky with hollow eyes so that my tears would never fall, and yet I saw nothing but the dead echos of stars a million light years away. Whether you meant to or not, you had divided my life into two sections; the time before I knew you, and the time after you left. I was foolish to act surprised - after all, the only thing all my stories have in common is that they end.
And yet, I can't help but mourn for how short ours was. It's my fault entirely, I know, but that doesn't make it hurt any less.
I've learned so much since then. I can control my mind now, and handle the pressures I once dumped on you. Events that would have once left me terrified and anguished beyond repair have come and gone in droves, and yet I can remain steady. My life has found a track, and I am seeing it forward. All roads lead somewhere, so long as they remain roads.
Even now, after all this time has passed, I wish I could speak to you, if only for a moment, to let you know that I'm okay. Despite how it all ended, I know how much you cared about me and wanted to see me happy. And for whatever it's worth, I completely understand that what you did was best for both of us, even if I couldn't see it at the time.
When I was being treated, I was consistently told that I was experiencing loss the same as anyone else would. Part of that is while this kind of pain never gets any easier, you can get better at dealing with it. True as this is, part of me can't give up on the idea that one day I'll see you again. Maybe it's fruitless, but it's a nice thought. It can't be so wrong to afford myself nice things every once in a while. That said, even the best tennis player can't beat a wall, and one of the most crucial lessons I've learned is how to accept being told no, even when it hasn't been expressly given. I suppose the most important thing is that I can be at peace with either outcome.
Even still, I miss you beyond what my words can say. I miss getting ice cream and eating it in the car. I miss singing along to our favorite songs as we drove up and down the highway. I miss your voice, your enthusiasm, your laughter. Most of all, I miss the comfort that came with knowing I didn't have to be alone anymore, because for the first time in my life, someone understood me.
That feeling was the root of all our disasters, if I'm going to be honest. It was such an unexpected thing, that I became obsessed with it. I wasn't able to keep my longing for companionship within the bounds of your comfort. When I think back on our time as friends, what pains me more than anything is the worry that you might remember that period of our lives as one of anxiety caused by me, rather than a fondness for the joys we shared.
My single greatest regret is that I failed to be the friend you deserved. I only hope that one day, I am afforded the opportunity to express onto another the same kindness you showed me throughout one of the darkest periods of my life. If you see this and read it, all I can hope for is that you'll look back on our friendship with the same smile that I do. That would be enough.
I wish you the absolute best in joy and harmony. Thank you for everything, /u/mkotter.
| 2017-11-06T00:29:00 | 2017-11-05T22:26:46 | 235 | 11 |
[WP] The year is 2038 and net neutrality has been dead for almost two decades. But a rebellious group managed to travel back to 2017...
https://www.battleforthenet.com/#bftn-action-form
Edit: Obligatory thanks for the gold! Just trying to do my part on this fight, but as I don't live in the US, raising awareness is the most I can do, glad it worked!
|
Ajit Pai lied back on his throne and sipped his goblet. He roared in laughter Soon Net Neutrality would be repealed, and every link on the internet would redirect to a picture of his face unless people payed money to make it go away.
Suddenly, a group of brave souls appeared out of nowhere.
“Mr. Pai, we came from the year 2038 to stop your reign of terror! In the future, we have to pay 1000 dollars just to browse Google!” the man charged towards Ajti and threw a phone at him.
“NO! Calls to your senators! My only weakness!” Pai started to melt away.
“I almost got away with it, but you brave group of future resistors foiled my evil plans! Curse you, the C.I.R.C.L.E.J.E.R.K.E.R.S!!!!!” and with that, he melted into a pile of goo.
“Great work gang! Now let’s go stop EA!” The members of the group pulled off their masks, revealing none other than Bernie Sanders, Elon Musk, and Dan Harmon, as they raced off into the night.
|
Just as Donald was about to press the button that would trigger the bomb - the bomb that would level the FCC headquarters - he heard a voice.
Named for Donald Trump the First, Inaugurator of the Great American Monopoly, Donald had never heard English spoken with an accent anything like the one the voice carried:
"I'm gunna needya to put that trigga down mate."
There was a distinct menace in the tone, and a confidence of someone who is usually obeyed.
Donald hesitated, wondering if this was one of those illegal aliens people talked about from the time before the walls. People always said aliens talked funny, but few people in 2038 had heard one.
"I dinnea think he underrrstood ye" a second voice muttered, before a third voice exclaimed "Be a good chap and place the trigger on the bed. We won't kill you unless you refuse."
Donald whirled around, expecting to see little grey men, or green sludge monsters. The sight that greeted him was significantly more perplexing. Three men, well dressed, well armed (at least Donald assumed the things they were pointing were weapons) and one of them carried something that Donald had never seen before - a smallish rectangular object which had moving pictures on the top face - the person holding it was jabbing at it and running his fingers across the images.
The first voice spoke again - coming from the closest man, who waved his 'gun' to get Donald's attention. "For the last time, put down tha bloomin' trigga!"
As Donald slowly complied, he objected as non-threateningly as he could - "You don't know what you're doing! I've travelled here from 2038! Time travel - real genuine time travel! And do you know why? It's to stop the repeal of Net Neutrality!" A touch of desperation crept intonhia tone as he inched his had back toward the trigger mechanism.
"Aye laddie! We ken why you're here. We just can't let you do it!"
"But why?" Donald wailed "the internet is useless when you have to go through a paywall for each leg of every journey your data packets have to go through! Did you know that the top course at every major university is the state sponsored "Bachelor or Trumpian Communication Systems?" Any search that needs to be completed in under a week requires an advanced degree specialist!"
"Well here's the thing old chap" - voice number three again. "You see, we come from 2038 as well. We represent the combined interests of the post industrial economies of our time, which is the rest of the world, give or take."
Voice number 1 "As much as we admire the effort you and your little cadre of freedom fighters put in to get you here, there are many things you don't understand. 30 November is celebrated all around the world as the day the internet was set free!"
Donald's mouth hung open in disbelief. 30 November was when it happened. When the arch nemeses of all free flowing communication forever plunged the light of the internet into the deepest darkest pit in the lowest circle of hell. Only freedom fighters as.dedicsted as Donald had a chance of fixing it!
As Donald tried to explain, voice number one cut in again - "Nah mate! You've got it all wrong. Net Neutrality was never even a discussion outside of the USA. The day the FCC killed Net Neutrality in the US, dozens of countries around the world designated internet access an essential service, forever protecting the free flow of information."
Voice number 3 - "He's quite right you know Donald. It took about two weeks for all of the major tech companies to really understand. Then one by one, they reconfigured their offshore disaster recovery solutions to become primary services, and moved operations to any of the countries waiting with open arms to welcome them. Amazon is based in Monaco now, Netflix moved to Scandinavia, Google went truly global and has a presence in every major city,
Since no content could get oit of the States, media companies from around the world stepped up, globalised their offering and shut down connections to USA. Even primary DNS services move put of the USA.
"So no - you won't be killing Ajit today. Go home. When you get there, try to defect - swim 1 mile straight out to sea from this location and well pick you up in person. No one should have accept sub-standard internet.
| 2022-08-04T05:58:14 | 2017-11-21T23:28:33 | 186 | 33 |
[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?
|
Death watches as the boy in front of him starts getting excited, blithering on about some competition he had won and gotten an "awesome tool of awesome." The man starts rummaging around his untidy room looking for something.
Out of the closet comes several odd items. Board games, video games, a glass tube with burn marks around one of two openings, some dirty clothes that would have made anyone with a sensitive nose cry out in horror. When the man finally straightens up, he muttered to himself. "Must've stored it under the bed."
Death is fortunately not bound by the pretty laws of time, and this does not feel the need to hurry the emaciated man up. He is, however, able to get bored. Instead of watching the man continue to remove items from under his bed, he looks at the posters on the walls, all of famous musicians. Oddly, it appears that they're all playing a specific instrument, a-
"Found it!" Cries the man. He triumphantly holds out a instrument case. "I won this in a competition a few years back."
Death had never been the musical type, which meant any musician wise enough to use this against him had an advantage in these death games. One day, he'll beat Keith Richards, just you see. He reluctantly opens the case to find a beautiful instrument, one that had clearly not been made by mortal hands. It's shine reflected the dim light all over the room, the pale light illuminating the dark and dusty room. Despite being unused for several years at least, plucking the strings still produced the proper tones. Despite appearing to be made of gold, it wasn't heavy.
"Alright, so let's have a rock off." The man says, clearly getting excited. "We each get a turn on the guitar, and whoever plays better wins."
Death signs dramatically. "Sure, just one question first. Where did you get this?"
"I told you, from the devil, weren't you listening?" The man clears a space suitable for rocking out by bulldozing the myriad of junk out of the way.
"Mmm. Well, Jonathan, are you ready?"
Johnathan grins. "I was the best that ever was. I was *born* ready."
|
I pant as I sprint across a smokey field of nothing, ball in hand, as a dark cloud chases after me. My legs felt heavy, and I was almost sure the endless, misty expanse around us was weighing me down. There was no way I could prove it though. Death was a clever one.
We'd been at it for over half an hour, and I was feeling it. Even though my body has been given an unnaturally long life, it's still starting to show some wear and tear. Death thought it would give him the edge over me eventually, but it wouldn't. He was already faster, stronger, and more durable. I had something he didn't.
As the cloaked figure sets upon me, I throw the ball into the air as high as I can, and dart to the left toward my true goal: a bat, lying on the ground. I snatch it up, and turn, facing upward. Sure enough, Death is already up there. He had caught the ball and is winding up.
"Tactical strike!" I yell as he lets loose. I step aside, and waggle the bat ahead of me. The ball flies past me with such force, it embeds itself in the ground.
**You missed. If I recall from last game, that means I get seven points.**
He has a good memory too. I shrug. "Yeah, that was well played, but I called my shot beforehand, so I get to advance to the 15 yard line." Death is clearly a little annoyed as he digs the ball out of the spectral turf. I grin as I jog to my new position.
**Are you ready to begin?**
I barely get the word "yeah" out of my mouth before Death rockets toward me at blinding speed. I had intended to just finish the game right then and there, and Death had picked up on it. He was going to tag me, and I'd already said that was worth 30 points. He only had 164, but that was the 8x multiplier ball. He'd pass me for sure, and then I'd be in trouble.
"Wait! Time out!" I cry. Death stops on a dime, even the smoky cloak he wore seemed to float in place, as is unaffected by the sudden change in momentum.
"I have 297 points, so I want to use 132 of them to impose a penalty on you. You have to do 132 burpees before you can keep moving." I knew that would be enough time. Death was impossibly fast, but an exercise like that relied on gravity to bring you back down to the ground. Unless he was obviously cheating, I would have enough time to get to the endzone.
**Then I will use all of my remaining points to impose the same penalty on you**
"You can't!" I say reflexively. "You... have... homefield advantage. You can't spend your points if you have homefield advantage!"
Death leans in slightly to look into my eyes. I can only see the shape of a face inside, the sight completely mottled by the black smoke he exudes at all times.
"That's the rule." I say. Death stands upright again, and after a short moment, drops to the ground, rockets his legs out, barely touches his toes (I assume) to the ground, then springs up to his feet again, rising just slightly into the air, despite his explosive jump. After seeing him stop on a dime before, I have no doubt it's just his natural ability to stop his momentum like that. He's going so fast that by the time I determine he's not altering gravity, he's already done thirteen burpees. I panic, and start sprinting toward the end zone. I probably had time, but I didn't want to risk having him fly into me with that kind of speed. The impact would probably kill me regardless of our game's outcome.
I lift my legs as I run, and they feel like a hundred pounds each moving through jello. No doubt about it, the fog along the floor of the realm we were in obfuscated everything below the knee, and felt thick.
"I know you're doing this!" I call him out.
**That's just my home field advantage**
Death sounded almost snide. The closest thing to any real emotion in his voice I've heard. I had to get away from him. I push forward, but I realize I can no longer see the line of the endzone through the fog.
Luckily, I pull my emergency paddle off my back, and use it as a makeshift fan, blowing the smog away. I hop over the thick chalk line aand throw my hands in the air.
"I win!" I shout, turning around. I see Death stop mid-burpee, and sink into the thick fog. He emerges almost instantaneously in front of me, acknowledging my victory. It's difficult to see what he's thinking, but hs skeletal hands are balled into fists.
**Very well, mortal. You win again**
I stick my tongue out "Don't be a sore loser." The world around us seems to swirl, and melt into itself as I get returned where I was before. My messy bedroom, with shelves crammed full of old comic books. On my dresser is a picture of Susie (I always wondered if she'd be mad at me for making her wait, but I wasn't ready to go yet) and a tattered stuffed tiger. Death loosens up, and almost seems to sigh.
**24 times we've played this game, and still the rules are unclear**
I grin and shrug. "That's Calvinball."
| 2018-03-07T09:07:30 | 2018-03-07T08:20:44 | 55 | 24 |
[WP]: Intergalactic olympics are gathering. All creeds and cultures of the galaxy are arriving and greeting each other. Suddenly a fleet of spaceships appears, blasting We Will Rock You. Everyone freezes. The humans are here.
|
We will we will rock you!
"What is this? Is it a Human war cry?" asked Glibyerb, wearing a concerned face. "No, I believe they call it music" answered Naroh, defeated. "Since the Humans learned of the Galactic Games, they have made it an almost insane drive to remind us of there superior might."
"what do you mean?" asked Glibyerb, watching the great Human ship land in an overt show of 'non threatening' lasers and explosives
"Just watch little one" said Naroh pointing to the opening doors.
The giants marched out, standing twice the size of even the tallest of local races. They wore masks, not because they needed them to breath, but because the humans excrete poisonous Carbon dioxide at an alarming rate. On there feet were weights put in place by the games committee to even the odds against humans, since Humans are used to a stronger gravitational pull, there already formidable strength is doubled.
Needless to say, they win every year.
|
> ...
>
> "We will we will rock you"
>
> "Alright"
>
"Not again," said Bill. He activated the transmitter on the desk infront of him. "They've arrived, send the *welcoming party...*"
"Roger that captain sir," said a voice mixed with static.
Captain Bill slammed his oversized finger onto the button labeled *End*, the audio sputtered out. He stood suddenly, his chair clattered to the ground.
"Human trash," he growled to the room.
The hatch to his quarters slid open slowly. He eyed it as it approached the cieling. It groaned to a half.
"Dammit," he shouted out of the doorway. "Where is that guy, Don?"
Several crewmen in the room beyond shrank away at their captain's booming voice.
"Sir," said Bol, one of the larger members of Captain Bill's crew saluted as Bill moved into the room. "He's down at the mess."
"Summon him," said Bill.
"The humans?" said Bol.
"The welcoming party has been dispatched?" said Bill.
"Yes sir," said Bol. "The Games Commision were readily prepared for this eventuality."
"Good," said the captain. "Fetch Don, now."
"Yes, sir". said Boll. He spun around mid salute and fled the room.
Bill glanced toward the tactical display on the wall.
A bright green triangle shot across the system toward a disorganised group of orange squares at the far edge of the anchorage.
"I want to hear the exchange," said Bill.
"Yes captain," said a member of the crew.
The communications officer tapped his way through a group of items on his display. The voices of the dispatched party filled the bridge.
Bill ignored them for now, the Games Commision wasn't under his jurisdiction. They would do their jobs.
Bol returned with another of his species, a more dishevelled member.
"Don," said the captain.
"Yes sir," said Don, he gave a sloppy salute.
"I've told you time and again," said Bill. "Stop buying this human junk. I only want the best parts to be used on my ship."
"But, sir," said Don. "They're great value."
"Great value?" said Bill. He pointed to the hatch to his quarters on one side of the room. "Half this stuff is either broken, or breaking."
"Those humans," said Don. "They know just how to put stuff together with the minimum effort."
"They're a waste of space," said Bol.
"Right," said Bill. "Get me some Dackari engineered parts."
"The humans are genius," said Don. "I bet they even get to compete this year."
Don began to laugh and slapped his knee as he hinged at the waist.
"Compete?" said the captain. "You saw them at the tryouts. I don't even know why they sent a team."
"I hear they got a wildcard ticket," said Don.
"A wildcard?" asked the captain.
"Sir," said one of the crew across the bridge. "The Gaming Comission vessel has docked with the lead human ship."
"Let's hear what they have to say," said the captain. He signalled to the crewmember.
The voices of the Gaming Commission crew grew louder.
"You are in voilaion of the Intergalactic Olympic charter," said a woman's voice over the audio link.
A moment passed with no audible response.
"I repeat," said the woman. "IOC Bye-law #3 states, Non participating species are not permitted at this pre-event social drinks event."
Sniggers, barely audible of the audio-link could be heard.
"Stop that," said the woman's voice.
The sniggers burst into laughter.
"Look," said the woman. "You can't convince me. It's the rules."
"Let's get some video in there," said the captain. "Anyone broadcasting? It sounds like the Gaming Comission are having a hard time."
"Nobody sir," said a crewmember.
The woman's voice cut in. "That's not going to work, nobody likes your party games."
"Not even..." said an unknown voice over the audio-link.
"No," said the woman. "Nobody likes beer pong."
"But," said a voice. "We bought so many cups."
"I," began the woman. "I don't even..."
| 2018-04-28T11:13:00 | 2018-04-28T10:59:23 | 29 | 19 |
[WP] The longer you charge an attack, the more powerful it becomes. SWAT charges a punch for 30 seconds to break down a door. You’ve been charging for the last three days.
|
It was a stupid dare. I could see that now. They say hindsight is 20/20, it's just a shame that foresight is legally blind. So Jimmy Bubkins had gotten the best of me again. It stung, I'm big enough to admit that. Of course, the realization of my own folly didn't do a whole lot to resolve the problem of my present circumstances.
Day three. I mean, day two was supposed to be purely hypothetical, and the bet had only been for three hours. But my hand had started to glow at two and I couldn't figure out a way to release the charge without causing mayhem so I just sort of...didn't. At least the look on Jimmy's face had been worth it, he couldn't even hold a charge past ten minutes, so when he saw me all glowy-fist after school he knew he'd screwed up.
But it was sort of one those winning is losing situations. Luckily it had been a Friday so I could run home after class and try to work out what to do. But nothing really came to mind and it was getting harder to harder to hide the situation from mom. Glowy fist was now full on FLAMING TERROR FIST and I could feel the strain of the charge starting to wear me down.
Maybe mom would be, like, proud or something. I'd never heard of someone holding a charge for three days before. It had to be some sort of record. Perhaps I'd get a prize or something.
I slumped down in my chair, the blue flickering of the charge flame blazing so brightly I'd taken to wearing sunglasses. I sighed. All I needed to do was unclench my hand to release the charge, but there was no telling what it would do. I might kill everyone in the town at this point.
I was scared. I could admit that. It was hard to tell if I was more scared of the charge or what mom would say. I glanced at my fist again, squinting even through the sunglasses. I could feel the charge building, feel the pressure to release it growing.
I was more scared of the charge.
I drew in a deep breath, knowing that if the charge didn't kill me mom was likely to, but I couldn't wait any longer.
"MOOOOOOOOOOOOM." I hollered out.
"What? Come down here if you want to talk to me, I'm making dinner!" She yelled back, the statement accentuated by the clanging of pots and pans.
I exhaled and then began to trudge down the stairs, the blue glow from my fist illuminating the way. Finally I walked into the kitchen. Her back was facing me as she stirred a pot of chili.
"Hey mom, how's um...the chili coming?" I offered numbly, my fist behind my back, giving me a blue halo.
"It's a good batch. Now, what is it that you wanted?"
"I'm, sort of having a problem," I removed my fist from behind my back, my eyes welling up.
"What's that hun?" She turned around, a look of concern on her face. Almost immediately her eyes widened, "Oh my god Sam, what have you done?"
"It's Jimmy's fault! He dared me!"
"What? What did he dare you to do?"
I start crying in earnest, "He dared me to hold a charge. He said I couldn't do it for even an hour and I said I could and so I did and then I couldn't release it at school and then I got home and then I hid it all weekend and now I have a flame fist and I'm super super scared." I begin to wail, my body trembling.
Mom came over and kissed me on top of the head, "Don't worry hun, we'll take care of it. We can worry about the rest later." She was in full on mom commando mode, something I once saw her do when my sister broke her arm. She turned off the stove and picked up the phone, dialing a few numbers in and then putting it on speaker phone so I could here.
"9-1-1 Emergency, how can I help you?"
"Yes, my son has been holding a charge for three days--"
"Ma'am, this is for serious inquiries. Filing a false report--"
"YOU SHUT THE HELL UP AND LISTEN TO ME," Mom screamed. It was totally epic. I wish I had gotten it on video so Jimmy could watch it, even though he wasn't my best friend any more because he tried to kill me with a dare. "HE HAS A GIANT BLUE FIREBALL AROUND HIS FIST. YOU SEND HELP OUT HERE RIGHT NOW OR HALF THE TOWN IS GOING TO BE IN RUINS."
There was a frantic clattering on the other side as the operator entered data. "Can you confirm your address is 31 Maple?"
"Yes. I can." Mom had regained some of her composure, rearranging her hair. "Please hurry."
"I have dispatched a specialized charge unit. They should arrive within ten minutes. Please remain on the line."
Mom moved away from the phone, and pulled me in close. I hugged her with both arms, keeping my fist tightly clenched behind her. "Don't worry Sam. You're going to be just fine. I'm sure this sort of thing happens all of the time."
"I can't believe you yelled at 9-1-1." I said, a tremor of awe entering my voice.
"Yes, well, sometimes you need to get your point across quickly, but I don't want to hear you yelling at your sister any time soon. This was a special emergency."
"I love you mom." I begin to blubber again.
"I love you too Sam." She hugged me close.
**Platypus out.**
**Want MOAR peril?** r/PerilousPlatypus
&#x200B;
&#x200B;
|
At first it started out as just a joke, but eventually it became an obsession. I think that's what ruins everything in the end, when it spirals out of control and suddenly something you were doing so you could laugh about, becomes something that destroys everything that you care about. Since all stories that I've read start with a backstory, even when its a sequel to a best selling novel, I'll include mine for anyone that cares to read it. Everyone in the world that I live in knows that you can charge an attack to make it stronger, but you had to be careful about how long you did it, which is why we didn't have kids very often, they destroyed absolutely everything. I didn't get to grow up with my parents, as they lived in a wooden house, with wooden furniture, I would have turned that place into splinters, and I would have killed myself. Yeah, you can charge up any attack you want to make it more powerful, but then you deal with the consequences. A swat officer can charge up for thirty seconds to smash down a front door, but only people who undergo bone augmentations are allowed to do that job after criminals started reinforcing their doors with metal so it would shatter the persons arm. That was why almost no one had children anymore, because your kid would kill himself if you left him alone for more than a few seconds, because you didn't have to willfully charge the attack. A child might see someone do something, and then hold up their arm in preparation to learn how to do it, and once they hold it up and charge it for several minutes before they figure out how to actually swing their arm like they wanted to, it's enough to kill them.
So children did not grow up with their parents, and I did not grow up with mine. I grew up inside a machine, that prevented me from holding my muscles in any attack position, and it kept me from not killing myself but it kept me from also being free. When I reached the age of six, I was deemed capable of understanding the dangers, and earned limited freedom until I was eleven, and then finally I was introduced to the rest of the kids. Education was the most important part, and before I was released, I was shown a series of videos that showed kids killing their friends with a charged attack, not understanding just how important it was to never charge an attack. However, no level of education was ever enough to combat the stupidity of youth, we are supposed to learn from doing. As we grew up together we started to create stupid games, charging up jumps to see who could time the charge perfectly to slap a bullseye on a wall. Eventually, we reached a game that balanced stupidity with fun, and a twinge of danger that made it so enticing. We called it "Mercy" and it was played very simply. Two of us would stand facing each other, and then prepare a slap. The first person to cry mercy would lose and then both people would release their slap and we would take the hit. The only thing that really made the game safe as the way that we would slap. We would move our hand as slow as possible and instead of trying to impact the face, we wanted to just rest our hand on the face. This reduced the initial amount of force that was built up, and so we could charge for a few seconds and it would just be a hard punch and not a lethal blow.
We were hanging out at my house, bored as usual, when we decided to play the game. We didn't play it that often, but one of the kids was having a rough time at home so we decide to play it to blow off some steam. I was currently in the lead, having called mercy once while making two other people call mercy, and was facing down the last guy in the group for all the marbles. I was eager to win the game, and so I cheated by bringing up my hand right before someone said to go. This was an effective cheat because the other person knew that his slap would always be weaker, so I would automatically last longer. This would have sealed my victory, but then before my friend said go, my mom called up the stairs, "Matt, there is a girl on the phone for you." We all froze in the room, and looked at each other, and my friends began to plot just the best method to tease me, and so I called downstairs, "Which girl?" There was a lapse while my mom asked and then yelled back, "Sarah." There was a chorus of laughter throughout the room, Sarah was a girl that I had a major crush on. Then Eric started to cry, and we all looked at him, and then looked at my hand. It was still in the air, ready for the slap that I had completely forgotten about. Everyone panicked and Eric backed away from me, how long had I been holding the slap? A minute maybe? No one knew for sure, and so we didn't know what to do. I should have just slapped the wall then, might have lost my arm, but that would have been the end of it. Instead, my friends rushed down the stairs and yelled at my parents, who couldn't understand them in all the chaos, and by the time that they figured it out, I had been standing here for more than ten minutes now. My parents panicked as well, knowing that I was going to lose my arm, and called the police to find out what the correct procedure to use was, because I might take down the house if I hit something now. The person on 911 misunderstood and thought someone was threatening them with a charged attack and told them to wait while they sent a squad car over. Thirty minutes later, the police arrived on the scene, and then ten minutes after that they came up to talk to me. They evacuated the entire area, but I had been holding the attack for three hours by the time that they cleared the area, and so they called back to ask for an attack specialist to evaluate the impact of the damage.
I didn't learn this until now, but up until this point, the longest prepared attack was five hours and forty three minutes. It was a suicide attacker, who charged up a stomp for as long as he could hold it, and then released it. He leveled more than three football fields worth of the city with that attack. I reached that point as the specialist was asking me to remember if my hand had moved at all during the first minute of the charge, so he could estimate the base level of the charge, then some specialists from the hospital came in around the seven hour mark and put my hand into a cast to prevent it from moving. When you hold a charged attack, you can't move your hand out of the attack until it's finished, and so my entire arm was on fire, having been forced to hold it perfectly in the air for so many hours, but the sling did nothing to help it. Even though it couldn't actually move anymore, my muscles still burned like I held it up. A doctor stayed with me through the night, while I cried on and off, unable to sleep, in nothing more than agony. The next day several experts were there, asking me over and over again to tell them about the attack that I was charging, they had used the phone call records to estimate when the whole thing had started. A kind soul put a tv in front of me, hoping that it would distract me, but that just allowed me to listen to the news as they talked about me. There was a huge debate across the internet, as people suggested just shooting me in the head so I could not kill the entire planet. That's what the debate had reached by the end of the second night, if I carried out my attack at this point, would it shatter the planet, and if so, should they kill me to prevent it? I asked a doctor straight up if they would kill me, and he balked and told me that there was a huge debate amongst the scientific community while they tried to figure out if killing me would release the stored energy anyways, since it had to go somewhere. By the early hours of the third day, my arm has moved past pain, into something else and I manage to sleep for a few hours. No one but my parents talk to me anymore, the scientists are busy crunching numbers to determine if they can kill me, or put me in a coma.
On the fourth morning the scientists come to tell me the plan, and my parents are in the room. They are going to build a ship to send me deep into space, where hopefully my slap won't be able to affect other planets. My parents are crying now, and I feel like I am being sentenced for my crime. It had started off as a simple joke, a fun way to pass the time, and now my parents weep while the scientist explains that due to the time it will take to build the ship, and the time that it will take for me to leave, I will have to make the choice on when to make the attack. The longer that I hold it, the more likely I am to end the entire universe, but the quicker that I release it, the more likely the shockwave will kill humanity. My mind goes back to the video's they showed us before they released us back into the public, and smile an ironic smile. At least no kids in the future will play a game of Mercy.
*****
You can always catch more of my writing at /r/iruleatants
| 2018-10-02T15:28:41 | 2018-10-02T15:20:01 | 127 | 72 |
[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.
|
It's a good job. I think. I don't know. If I chose it, it's probably good.
Every morning I take the motions through my morning routine, get up, shower, get dressed, brush my teeth, pack my lunch, and leave.
And every evening I take the motions through my nightly routine. Unpack my lunch, make dinner, eat dinner, do the dishes, a few games on the Oculus, watch TV, brush my teeth, sleep.
And I have no idea what lies between these.
As soon as I'm in the car, backing out of my driveway, my consciousness fades and picks back up as I'm pulling into the driveway.
It took me a few weeks to realize this. After I left my old job at Starbucks, I remember going to a few interviews and getting a job. For a few weeks I started going to my new job and eventually realized I remembered nothing about it. I checked my contacts for coworkers and found nothing.
I never went out with friends during the evening, only on weekends. It eventually occurred to me that I could use my weekends to try to figure out where I worked. On the third Saturday of 2020, I began my search.
After a little thinking, I checked my history on Google Maps to see where I went every day.
I followed my path on the first day of my new job to a house not too far from my own. I went here every weekday according to Google, and the similarity of my paths ended there. Each day was a completely unique route around the city. And every day I ended up back at the house, following the same route home from there.
Was I some kind of chauffeur? That didn't align with my skills at all. I thought I might have picked up some office job.
The following day, I bought an audio recording device and planted it under the steering column. I set it to record and wirelessly send the data to my computer back home.
The next day, I left in suspense for my job, coming home with the same feeling. I rushed inside, not even unpacking my lunch, and listened to the recording.
Silence.
So, skipping my routine, I went out to buy a camera I could plant in the car.
And I planted it.
Tuesday.
I drove. I returned.
I watched.
I stopped in front of the house. The passenger door opened, and a figure in a black cloak holding a long scythe got in. It pulled the cloak out of the door's way and shut it.
At every stop, it got out, and I waited a few minutes. It came back in, and i drove again.
Was I Death's chauffeur?
|
It's possible that I don't remember what I do because I don't really do anything. Something... something... leveraging undervalued subprime assets... something... evicting depreciated high-risk creditors... something... repossessing over-leveraged collateral.
From the steady increases in my monthly paycheck it appears that I am good at whatever it is I (don't) do. The reasons and nitty-gritty of it all confounds me so much that I try my best not to think about it. I appreciate the simpler things in life; my sodastream, for example, or an aged whiskey on the rocks in a chilled tumbler on a hot day. When I'm inevitably forced to confront what it is I do (my children need to bring me in once a year to tell their peers that they might have a future in *mortgage interest adjustment*), I know that their are statistics and tables I can use in a powerpoint that are just the right combination of boring and distractingly colorful that no one (including myself) will pay any attention to a word I'm saying.
I see that as a win-win, none of the words I say have any meaning to anybody anyway.
I've found that the less I think about what I do, the better I am at being truly grateful for my children, my wife, and the occasional escort which spices up the rest of my life so I can concentrate on the important things.
I hate the American-Psycho types that I encounter. No sense of perspective. Things are all numbers and profit margins to them. No. I see the beauty in an afternoon spent picking my kids up from school and teaching them to... maybe... play golf. Just an example, although Todd might be old enough to bring to the driving range. What a fun thought.
It's not just my work that I don't remember though. I seem to be especially bad at remembering names. Another example; I recently had the misfortune of visiting the town I was raised in (I've adopted a new *hometown*, and consider myself spiritually free from the burden of the dying little midwestern place I grew up.) Each time I go I'm forced to grab groceries for my parents who seemed to have shrunken into themselves over time. Depressing. I don't remember their names but I don't have to - they're "mom and dad." The only time I need their names are for when I also need their social security numbers which I have saved under their appellations (what a great word) in my little phone.
Anyway. I'm walking through the grocery store and I've done the whole tiresome routine of loading items onto belt (In my hometown we have a grocery delivery service. Another reason for adoption.) and do my best to avoid eye contact with the poor slob who makes eight dollars an hour to scan and bag. It almost went successfully too until he asked me if I wanted paper or plastic in a voice that sounded so uncannily familiar that I was forced to meet his inquiring gaze.
"...Plastic please, thank you."
"No way!"
"What, is there something wrong with plastic?"
"No, dude, I know you! We were best friends in middle school remember?"
I'm forced into espionage and try to subtly glimpse his name tag to confirm if he's right. It was unhelpful. He was a James. Do you know how many James's I know? How many I encounter a week? Not. Helpful. It made me think of writing a strongly worded letter to the grocery store requesting first and last on name tags to spare their customers this sort of embarrassing interaction with their employees.
"James! Of course!" I lied, something I'm surprisingly good at.
"Aw man, look at you, all in a nice suit and everything. You know, you were always quiet as hell but we all knew that you'd go and make something of yourself. What do you do?
"I uh-"
"No actually let me guess. Accountant."
I shake my head.
"Lawyer? Politician? You work on Wall street or something? You're not a professor are you?"
The torrent of questions made me feel dizzy and uncomfortable. "Let's say Wall street. It's boring and to be honest I barely know what I do."
He seemed to like that. I was proud of the charisma that I managed to whip up.
"What about you?" And I regretted it as soon as I asked. It was obvious what he did. He worked in a fucking grocery store. It made me mad that I had been put into a place where I had to be making small talk with a fucking grocery. store. clerk. He didn't seem too hurt though.
"Oh you know, I get hours here and Wednesdays and Thursdays I get janitorial work at the high school. I had to go and pick up extra hours at the diner down the road when my momma's house got repo'ed though... so you know... this and that."
"Oh. That sucks. I'm sorry about that." I lied again. I couldn't tell if I was angry or bored with this conversation probably both. "Anyways I've got to run these groceries home to my parents. It was nice bumping into you."
I hate the town I was raised in. I hate the James's out there that fuck up my day by *needing* me to remember their names. I hate that I'm expected to remember that I grew up there and that I'm expected to care about James's *momma's* house.
That night I told my parents that an urgent call had come in. And that I needed to leave within the hour to make a flight that the company had booked for me. It was a lie. I found a motel near the airport which was in the next town over. And took my original flight home to my wife and my kids who knew better than to ask me about my work or my trip and were just happy to see that I was back.
| 2020-02-11T20:50:13 | 2020-02-11T19:13:54 | 22 | 10 |
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